Boozing led to date with a big slipper
RETIRED history teacher Steve Marquis, who lives in Thurmaston, shares another extract from his memoir about growing up in Wigston in the 1950s and ’60s.
ONE teacher who stands out from my time at Guthlaxton College was my form tutor in years 10 and 11, Michael Minchin.
He was a newly-qualified biology teacher, expected to earn his stripes by undertaking missionary work among the heathen plebs.
He also had the dubious honour of teaching his students the facts of life.
A larger-than-life character, it was a terrible shock when he suffered the heart attack that snuffed out his life in his early 40s.
Hundreds of teachers and ex-students crammed into Countesthorpe Church for one of the most poignant and saddest funerals I’ve attended.
The stand-out highlight of Guthlaxton was going abroad for the first time on a trip to Switzerland. The trip leader was a religious zealot, with a penchant for attacking his students’ backsides with an exceptionally large plimsoll – its previous owner must have been the mythical Sasquatch (Bigfoot).
A strict prohibition on drinking alcohol, backed up by bloodcurdling threats, was never going to deter 15-year-old reprobates being presented with an easy first-time opportunity to openly buy booze.
A few of us sneaked out after lightsout, heading to the nearest bar.
In a typical example of young Brits abroad, and to our eternal shame, on leaving the bar after a couple of beers, we gratuitously vandalised the outside by throwing all the tables and chairs into a stream.
We would soon be visited by divine retribution. The chewing gum, taken in a vain attempt to take the smell of alcohol from our breaths, failed to save us – the inevitable rendezvous with the Bigfoot’s footwear followed.
■ A full version of Steve’s memoir can be found at: