I’ve just remembered this post which I first published four years ago on my blog ‘From Pyrenees to Pennines’. It tells much of the story of my year or so at my first school in a small North Yorkshire village. I’ve remembered more since, and found a school photo, but I’ll have to show you that in my next post. Watch this space.
We went to Thirsk, our next nearest market town this week, to the cinema. Nothing remarkable about that – to anyone but me.
I last went to the Ritz almost exactly 60 years ago, my very first visit to the cinema. I’d gone with the whole school – about 40 of us – to see the newsreel showing the Queen’s coronation. I remember queuing with all my classmates, quietly and slightly over-awed, outside this vast building and going up dark stairs to an even darker and cavernous auditorium. I remember the excitement of seeing that screen, so large it filled our entire view, with its flickering black and white images of the Queen’s horse-drawn carriage processing with regiments of bearskin-helmeted soldiers marching before her. But I can’t remember how we got there or how we got back: yet it must have been quite an expedition from our village school, some…
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