St Francis School

I still remember my mother helping me dress for my very first day at St Francis School. I cannot though remember my first day in school, maybe that sums it up. I do nevertheless remember some of the things we trained in at that preparatory class, if we were very good they allowed us to take our work to the next upper class and show off to the older ones.

They sent me to the upper classroom so that the older kids could laugh at me. The reason because my mother made me wear long trousers and not the uniform short ones. It is a strange thing that these memories come back to you but it was so important to the teacher that she referred the matter to the headmaster (the ultimate adjudicator). They relented because shortly after many more skinny white legged kids appeared in long grey trousers.

This was Miss Lenten’s class and it is not me making cakes.

Happy days it would be another full year and a new class until the teacher smashed my head on the desk time after time because I struggled to read. I got there in the end and I still remember this particular vicious teacher telling my mother that it was obviously a mental block that needed to be cleared.

My days at St Francis school do not bring back happy memories, not the fault of the teachers, more that I always wanted to be doing something else (whatever it was). Nothing changes there.

When we reached the age of ten we sat the 11 plus, still of no consequence to me as I was clearly not bright enough.

To continue our education we went St. Francis secondary school, which in those days consisted of three nissan huts in vinters park. One hut sectioned into four classrooms, one was the school hall and gym facility and the other was the kitchens and living accommodation of our caretaker.

I remember the cold of the classroom in the winter as the site was so exposed, the caretaker would come into the classroom periodically and throw coal onto the stove and generally try to encourage it to give out more heat.

I also remember the caretaker having an enormous Alsatian dog that he kept promising to set on us if we misbehaved. We nevertheless took little notice and still never had to fight of the vicious hound.

My hard luck story is that I left St. Francis at the age of fourteen, but only because I was going on to further education at Maidstone Technical College.

Trish (Patricia) Roberts (Walters)

Maidstone I remember it well: I would love to know when the photo of Miss Lenten's class was taken. It looks very much like me, sitting at the little table. I can remember the cloakroom at the entrance of the classroom, and the sandpit and milk crate in the classroom. I also remember having to go up to Miss Lenten's table, one by one, to read a sentence from Janet and John. Miss Lenten was one of the kinder teachers. The one who hit me on the knuckles with her ruler for biting my nails was a tyrant. Was it Miss Nolan?

Next up from Miss Lenten was Miss Stroud then Miss Coackly (sorry about the spelling) then Mrs. Nolan. It was Miss Stroud that smacked my head on the desk because I couldn't read fast enough. Miss Coakly caned me for not understanding latin and Mrs Nolan picked me up by my hair because I wasn't singing loud enough. In answer to your question it could have been any one of them they were all pretty handy in dishing it out.

Terry McKenna

Maidstone I remember it well: Hi peter. It was my younger brother Shaun you were at school with. I have just made a connection with another contributor to these pages, Patricia Roberts(Walters)who now lives in Melbourne and wrote about her "Memories" of St Francis rather "Stern" teachers AND she too remembered my name but not the face!! So we all must be getting old.