Rites of Passage/Privileges

Some Rites of Passage are merely caused by the business of growing up (eg, second teeth). However, there are others that reflect the mores of a society that have developed of many years, including, for example drinking in a pub.  In recent times, I walked into a local pub and witnessed four children occupying all the available bar stools; by exercising a Rite of Passage at such an early age not only denies the later sense of achievement but also skews the whole gleeful process of ‘winning’ an important Rite of Passage.  Even now, I can vividly remember my first public consumption of legal alcoholic which I took aboard in the White Hart, Witley.  By denying the young the wherewithal to celebrate those traditional benchmarks of maturity that society once imposed, are modern generations missing out on feeling any sense of achievement?  Do the grown-ups now succumb to the entreaties of the young who tell us “I want it and I want it now.”  In sum, do these factors produce armies of spoilt brats?  After, all when everything comes up with the ration truck there is little sense of achievement.

Below, in note form, is a summary of some of my Rights of Passage or earned privileges notwithstanding those of others might be of more interest than mine:

Arbroath (Subliminal memory).  Locked in the airing cupboard by a WRNS baby sitter who opted for an evening with her boy friend in lieu of an evening with me.  Accepting I was probably bad company, I can’t blame her but it triggered a long-term fear of the dark.

Sunday School.  Sticking colourful stamps in our personalised booklet.              Learning at last to ride a bicycle after frequent visits to the stinging nettles at the end of the road.

First Christmas Party with a Bran Tub, Village Hall, Staunton.

Wearing a Uniform . Failing my interview for the Choir, the Vicar nullified that disappointment by appointing me Boat Boy.  Wafting incense around the Priory did not please my Low Church Dad.

Thursley Village School.  Girl pupils ran the show, very scary in the playground.

School Film Night.  Learning the dates of the Kings and Queens of England from 1066 to 1952 to be allowed to watch Saturday evening films.   The next step on the privilege road was to master the 12 x Table.

Roadside Birthday Party in a rural car park.  Mum, Dad and me.  Fireworks and given my first wrist watch.

First awareness of death and foreigners.  In one lesson we were shown wall-to-wall photos of the death of Stalin.

TV for the first time.  A nine inch screen overlaid by a large bulbous magnifying glass, distorted by parallax if viewing from the slightest angle.

First caning – three cuts and didn’t blub (over the years a maximum of six came my way).  Much better than being kept behind to write lines.  Immediate punishment quickly forgotten.

First family holiday, Nuffield Club, Portsmouth.  Introduction to Squash, Tennis and Cricket (the Club balcony overlooked the Hampshire Cricket Ground).  Evenings, while parents in the Bar, armed with Ten Bob note, alone I hit the town that offered such choices as: Cinemas, Billy Mannings Fair or Roller Skating.  Such freedom if a tad lonely.

First suit – short trousers, photographed looking very smug.

Seminal event – a nocturnal emission.  Unknowing Mum told me not to be so careless by spilling coffee in bed.

Second suit – long trousers.  Not photographed although wearing long trousers seemed very important.

Sighted Headmaster’s confidential assessment of my performance: “Academically he is average for his age, with no out-standingly good subjects.  He is perhaps rather weak in Latin.”

Sat first formal exam to enter Secondary School – best marks:  Latin and Divinity; neither studied at secondary school.  But proved the Headmaster wrong!

First shave – very excited with such maturity little realising what a tiresome daily task it would become.

Fitted with school uniform by rogue tailor in the Hard Portsmouth.                      Initial Muster Parade at school.  Captain Superintendent observed that my uniform trousers were a different colour to the jacket.  Dad forced to buy a replacement.

Driving lessons in Witley Park courtesy of the owner – Gerald Bentall.  Advised to have an accredited Driving School lesson otherwise I would not pass the test.  Sat in a lay-by for the entire lesson discussing parts of the dashboard.  Cost One Guinea.

Driving Test.  Examiner’s first question “Who taught you to drive”.  Answer “Tilthams School of Motoring” (NOT Mum!).  Passed despite having to perform a hill start on the wet cobblestones of Guildford High Street.  Guinea well spent.  History now shows it was the only exam I ever passed first time.

Bought first car: Ford Consul Mk 1 £150 courtesy of £200 legacy from an aunt.

Consumed my first legal alcoholic drink in a pub – the White Hart, Witley        First kiss, under an apple tree in Witley.

First paid work – GPO Parcels Delivery in Farncombe.  Despite then being a poor area I did well for tips – probably because it was parcels rather than letters or cards.

Career defining event; sitting Civil Service Commissioners Exam in North Street, Guildford.  WI Bazaar on the ground floor made a noisy distraction offset by permission to smoke (odd I can’t remember my first fag).   Candidates escorted for pee breaks to prevent cheating.

My shared 21 Birthday Godalming Borough Hall.  Too scared to fly solo.

So I became a grown-up at 21 years not at 18 years.  At either age I would not have been well equipped to vote, yet today the Government suggests that today’s young are sufficiently informed to exercise that privilege at 16 years.  I wonder why!

Conclusion

There is nothing unique about my childhood although it’s odd that I cannot remember my first cigarette which was, probably, a Domino weighing in at a cost of four for sixpence.  My underlying point is that many of the events marked a rung on the Rites of Passage ladder – earned privileges in some cases.  The really important lesson is that we had boundaries and, believe it or not, children hanker after them even if they don’t admit to themselves.  By good fortune my generation preceded the corrosive Tik-Tok age in which few, if any, boundaries are applied.  In fairness to children, including teenagers, they need and deserve boundaries.   So far, I have avoided imprisonment and I guess, like many of my age, growing up in a world of benchmarks did me little harm.

I have tried to be as honest as my dog Frank: