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SHEPSHED MCMLXXX

Part 21

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Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20
Part 21
Part 22
Part 23
Part 24
Part 25
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Gods Cop

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Ooops, fags and fishnets and fodder for our very own Gods Cop!

James Anderton became the chief constable of Greater Manchester in 1975 and remained in the post until 1991. He earned the nickname as "God's Cop" as he was an outspoken Christian a well as being a high-ranking member of the Mancunian Plod or The Dibble to give them their colloquial monicker. He was particularly scaything towards homosexuals, prostitutes and drug-addicts. With the spectre of AIDS looming in the late 1980's, Anderton is widely quoted as saying that gays, hookers and junkies were indeed ''swirling round in a human cesspit of their own making.''
 
Pretty strong stuff! In 1985, we got our very own "Gods Cop" in a way at Shepshed High. His name was Mr Cartlidge and we graduated from the calming, dulcete tones of our Yorkshire born tutor "Sooty" (Mr Sutcliffe) to our very own, outspoken albeit former law enforcer.
 
He was a tall, bony man from Staffordshire with a pasty face. His hair ws always immaculate combed to one-side. He revealed that he had left the Police force to become a teacher and believe you me, we were scared shitless of him. Maybe it is unfair to call him "Gods Cop", after all I never canvassed his views on homosexuals. I would not have dared even mention them!
 
By now we were approaching fourteen, puberty was kicking in fast and he was added to the growing list of adult "anti-heroes" which included my Dad and that miserable old git "Contacts" who used to chase us out of his sweetshop on Forest Street, when we used to mither him to death asking him daft things like "How much are your penny chews?"
 
However Mr Cartlidge would not take any crap from any of us. Bursting with hormones, we were well and truely repelled. Any potential disorder was represssed. A stern look could strike fear into any one of the class. Girls would cry, boys would fight back the tears because as Robert Smith (the Cure) told us at the time "Boys don't cry!" - they very nearly did.
 
Eventually something would have to give and one day late in term, he finally got into "God Cop" mode with a rant about our elder peers across the road at the Hind Leys college. I don't remember what sparked him venting his spleen about our elder student comerades, but one day he gave us a piece of his mind about "the youth of today", no not the song by that Reggae band of serial truants Musical Youth, but us.
 
Basically we were a slovenly, scumbag, scruffy bunch (Cartlidge would always wear slacks, beige or brown, matched with a round-necked sweater, brown or grey). I don't remember his epic speech word for word, but he caused outrage amongst the girls when he said something about the College girls over the road "laying about smoking in the grass like prostitutes in their short skirts and fishnet stockings" - it was a priceless moment!
 
I wanted to go and have a look to see what the fuss was all about. I had to fight back the laughter, but like the rest of the class I was frozen with fear.
 
It rankled the girls in our class and one who was unfortunately nicknamed Gooly sought my advice. Like me, she was no oil painting but she said she was organising a protest where all the girls would turn up in short skirts and fishnets to put one over on "Gods Cop". Like a dirty old man I agreed they should do it but stopped short at a wild notion she had of getting the boys to dress like that too.
 
Unfortunately her well-intended plans fell on deaf ears (or maybe they were too scared!) she turned up the next day in a school skirt (turned up above the knee) and a pair of white fishnet tights which were so baggy, she looked more like Nora Batty than Madonna.
 
So Gods Cop was right! He had won again and we longed for his next message of salvation to save us, the impressionable Shepshed Youth from a life of deviancy and debauchery.
 
Eventually my attitude towards him softened and I incurred the wrath of my classmates by saying (when we were well away from the school gates) that actually "he was alright!".  I managed to engage in a bit of friendly banter with him about his beloved Stoke City, who were relegated that year from the First Division. To shut me up, he brought me in a Stoke City FC Pencil and made me use it! He also complemented me when on a day at he end of term when we were allowed to bring in "records" (yeah that's right, real records) I brought in Ian Dury's "Hit me with your rhythm stick" and he literally snatched it from me, ripped "Mai Tai" or whatever rubbish was playing off the turntable and put on in his words "a great record". For three minutes whilst dear Ian Dury played, he was one of the lads and I think he enjoyed it more than us!
 
It was the longest three minutes and 45 seconds of my life. I was praying that he did not "flip" the record as the B-side was called "There ain't half been some clever bastards" and I knew he had a bigger downer on swearing and bad language than my Dad. Luckily he carefully replaced the record in its sleeve and handed it back to me with a smile!
 
So I suppose he weren't all that bad after all!
 
OTHER TEACHER'S (honorable mentions of course!)
 
Miss Bishop (French Year 1) unfortunately had a nervous breakdown.
 
Mrs Masters (Science) never liked me from the moment I exercised my right to reply in my school report and put I disagreed with her comments that I was childish and disruptive (yes, she had a point but I once wanted to be a lawyer!!!), a point thereafter she never wasted an opportunity to remind me of.
 
Mr Graham (Science) thought he was a great bloke until he gave me and Dave Stockwell a blue slip (blue meant extraordinary bad behaviour, parents informed, deep shit!) for playing baseball with a conker and a three-metre rule stick. In mitigation M'Lud we were bored shitless doing some daft project hunting for "earth worms" on the playing field and why the hell we needed a three-metre stick to measure them is beyond comprehension!
 
Mrs O'Leary (French) me and Dave nicknamed her "David" after the long-serving Arsenal/Ireland stalwart and future Leeds United manager. Never called it her to her face though and with hindsight, she may have done a better job managing my beloved Leeds.
 
Mrs Wileman (German/French) when Dave Stockwell moved to Germany briefly, he wrote me a very daft letter, I made the mistake of showing Mrs Wileman who sighed and remarked "Sadly Germany has not changed him for the better, he is still immature and silly" - we thought she was paying him a compliment!
 
Mr Lackenby (Science) sported a beard and was cruelly nicknamed "the werewolf" - cue mass howling when he walked into class.
 
Mr Burt (Design) a lovely man who had been there for years (my neighbour Raymond had been taught by him) failed miserably to teach me how to throw a pot properly, not his fault you are either born with the skill or not. Some cruel sod had daubed "Baldeagle Burt" on his classroom door but he did not seem to mind.
 
Mrs Redfearn (Science) another of those "put the fear of god into you" types. In late 1985, I accidentally broke one of her microscopes. I spent the next six months living in fear she would find out it was me because sneakily I put it back and she had a rant in the next lesson about carelessness and woe-betide the person who has done it! Even when I moved to my new school in Ashby, I was terrified her wrath would follow me down the A512 and make me face justice.
 
Mrs Wilkinson (English) a fine tutor who I did not really appreciate at the time. A gentle, fragile, ageing gracefully lady. My most memorable moment was when she launched into a tirade about a well-known Loughborough criminal family and how they ruled "the bell town" with intimidation and fear (she too lived in Loughborough). Obviously that sort of thing was way above the heads of us gentle Shepshed folk, however I could not resist piping up that my mum knew the family in question quite well because they all drank in the Green Man and she said they weren't that bad actually!

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"Having our very own Gods Cop as a tutor for a year or two was often amusing to say the very least!"

Life in Shepshed, 1980-1986