The stench! The bloody stench! It will stay with me until long after I've shuffled off this mortal coil.

Boiled cabbage bubbling in the school kitchen - day after day - week after week - month after month. There are two things I remember from my first days at Newtown school (a short walk from where we lived). The smell of that evil concoction, and a Chinchilla in a cage.

Chinchillas make ideal pets and classroom ornaments. Not only can they jump up to six feet high, but they eat their own excrement, negating the need to clean up after them. The only drawback of this of course is that they never produce white faeces; what a bummer I hear you cry.

Sadly the gymnastic prowess of this cute rodent were never seen, as Chinchillas are not too social during daylight hours, but I'll bet this little rogue had a ball each day when the cabbage was extinquished and the doors locked until the next school day. I'd say that there was a fair chance that he was joined by some "party rats" after lights out. And why not?

This leads me into my first memory of learning, as my primary school teacher, Mrs Hayter banged it into us that we should NEVER start a sentence with the word "And". And until now I never have. Sorry miss, but times change.

Like all schools of the time we had the mandatory "assembly", which gave all of the less balanced pupils an excuse to faint. This occurred on a daily basis which was great because it put back the start of lessons whilst that sickly child was attended to. I never fainted; probably because there was always one who beat me to it. This would become an ongoing issue in the years to follow. At the 11am "playtime" we were given a half pint bottle of milk to drink through a straw, although there was always someone who was allowed to drink orange juice.

I'd imagine that if this were the norm today half the class and more would be fainting through the sheer shock of having to drink milk from a cow. You might have guessed by now that I am pretty intolerant of the intolerant.

Playtime was always a good time to have a go on "the ladder", which consisted quite literally of a wooden ladder suspended around 6 feet from the ground and which allowed pupils to swing like monkeys from rung to rung. The true sporty types could manage to get across it in around 4 swings using every fourth rung. The rest of us could only manage 3 rungs max, but there was much competition and a few nasty landings on to the tarmac below. The master of the ladder was a tall thin lad called Timothy, who was soon to become my nemesis in the annual school swimming gala.

As far as diversity went, the school was mostly white, with the main exception of some Sikh Indians who lived adjacent to the school. They were good lads who's parents were in the retail business, and as this was a time of life before the peers or parents could twist young minds with colour prejudices, all was well in the hood - for now.

I soon made it clear to my parents that I was not able to digest the school dinners. The boiled green spew, coupled with potatoes that were seemingly mashed by an imbecile were indedible. I'll never forget the dark green lumps which would not melt even on the rare ocassions that gravy was involved in the creation of said meal. It was like eating in a Dickensian workhouse but where nobody was crazy enough to ask for more. My complaints had little impact on the parents for a long time, but I was eventually allowed to walk home for dinner, as did my father from his job as an admistrator at the City Council office where he worked for most of his life.

Dinner was cooked by my maternal grandmother (nan), who travelled the 2 miles or so from her council flat on the bus each day. My mum worked half a mile away in the County Hall, rising from the typing pool to eventually become secretary to the County Solicitor. She cycled to work and back each day, including for her dinner break.

Ideal one might think, a proper family scenario, but this was not the case. As I later discovered the old man did not get on with the mother-in-law for reasons which were never made clear to me. I've always been a bit slow to get the gist of family matters. As a result he was served his food in the front (living) room whist we ate in the small kitchen along the passageway, and woe betide anyone who interrupted his 1pm feast. Frequently one of my four maternal uncles would appear at around this time with requests for a loan from nan until payday. Occasionally, Uncle Dave would call around and would give me a lift back to school on his motorcycle, with instructions to hold on tight as he powered away up the street. Quite frankly the 2 or 3 minutes it took to reach the school terrified me.

My maternal relatives were a steadfast bunch, not given to drinking, smoking, leaving Exeter or anything which I personally would deem a necessity in life. To a man they were enthusiastic bowlers and this included my mother to a lesser extent. They were/are good people who for the most part we only saw at Christmas and other such family ocassions. This was no doubt in part as a result of my father's resistance toward family stuff; a trait which I inherited myself. Some people might call it rudeness, but I don't see it that way given the way I've seen families treat one another. It's lucky you can choose your friends.

The paternal side was a different, and far more interesting matter. My grandfather originated from what was known as the "West Quarter" of Exeter, which was basically a slum until the 1930's. The West Quarter was an impoverished slum area, during the 19th century, with crowded and unhygienic accommodation. By the 1920's soup kitchens had been set up to feed the poorest. The City Council decided that something must be done about the conditions, so the council embarked on an ambitious development of new housing, using some of the new ideas developed by the Garden City movement. In February 1928 a compulsory purchase order was made by the City Council for 90 acres of farmland on either side of a lane in Wonford which took its name, Burnthouse Lane, after a farmhouse that burnt to the ground one Saturday Night.

Ironically the West Quarter is now the trendiest part of town, probably made possible in part by the thousands for ultra-rich students from Exeter University who shop, and more increasingly live there. But I digress......

So it was that Charles Percival Alford (Char) moved into a brand new council house to bring up his new young family. This was situated at 47, Shakespeare Road, in the heart of the community and just a stone's throw from the new church, St Pauls where Char used to show his rabbits and win medals. The back garden at Shakespeare Road was basically taken up with around three rows of rabbit hutches and a small vegetable garden at the top.

My father had two sisters and a brother. Phyliss was to stay in Burnthouse Lane her entire life and was known for her lively manner, straight speaking and ability to drink others under the table (mmmm, I see what she did there). Then there was Margaret, known of course as Peggy who wised up during the war, married a US soldier and spent the rest of her life living in California. The eldest brother, Ivan moved to New Zealand like many other Brits in the 1950's and became a sheep farmer. He was also known to down a few jugs from time to time.

Meanwhile, back in the classroom we worked toward the 11+ exam, which was the ticket to study at the local grammar school, Heles. Whether you agree with the Tripartite System with its academic, technical and functional strands, which was introduced to try and match schooling to the ability of the child in those three disciplines is a matter of personal opinion. It turned out not to make damned difference as they abolished it the year before I was due to sit it, and for me this would prove to be a major turning point.

And so it was that in 1972 I took my place at the newly created "middle school", rather than the loftier grammar school, before ascending the giddy heights of "secondary modern" education, followed by the ultimate Alma Mater, HMP Haslar Detention Centre aged 17.

More to follow ..........