School Of Despair
A Memory of Clacton-On-Sea.
Seduced by the professional expertise of our family doctor, my late mother was persuaded to send me away at age 7 to the Ogilvie School which promised a health giving regime for children who were thought to be of "delicate" constitution. Upon arrival I was overwhelmed by institutionalism so far removed from the protected and loving family environment hitherto enjoyed that I might have been whisked to another planet.
I never recalled a single member of staff who had any childfriendly inclinations or teachers who were other than time servers. Apart from confinement during Chickenpox and the occupational therapy then enjoyed, every moment spend in this horrendous prison was tearful agony and homesickness.
Significant memories?
The King died, I discovered gooseberries were quite tasty if eaten uncooked from the extensive kitchen garden, I saw the Brabazon fly overhead and I encountered Slipper Limpets on the shingle beach where we were frequently taken on crocodile walks.
I see the actual buildings are still there bearing the logo of another educational establishment, one can only pray that humanity has developed enough to relieve those currently confined from the torture I endured.
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