Good memories? The first day when "Griff" called us altogether and we met our form teachers. Mr Coulson took 1c and later led Saturday rambles in the Hope Valley. Summer meanders on the roughs. Cross country runs up the Mayfield Valley. Joining the school choir and singing Non Nobis Domine under the baton of Mr Sargent at the Pontefract Music Festival. Joyful geography lessons with Jock Campbell and his slide lantern. Woodwork with Fred Allen and a pile of spoilt efforts. Metalwork and my caddy spoon. Sheaf magazine and its creepy humour. The bike shed and the swift downhill ride back to my home off Sharrow Lane. I can still recall the names of most of my classmates and would love to hear more from them. Bad memories? A few bullying classmates, several boorish teachers, the all-pervasive class distinction determined by whether your blazer was from Walsh's or the Co-op; long lasting snow and cold, wet feet. But some of those friendships endure and it was a much better start than any of the alternatives. And one final point? It was a grammar school and we WERE taught grammar! For me, that alone made it all worthwhile, as my career path shows.