Games and Sport at Chailey Ugh! How I detested most of them. They were the weekly torture that I dreaded during fine days and even on the wet ones. There was no escaping them and how I wished I could. I was reminiscing with Eileen the other day about the torture we underwent on the days that “Games” were scheduled. No allowances were made for full length callipers, and braces, and walking sticks, and elbow crutches, and to my amazement some people actually preferred “games” lessons to history or English. After arithmetic and later mathematics, games were the worst thing Chailey could do to you. Well, so I thought at the time. My introduction to sport was Tennis. Even today the mention of Wimbledon brings me out in a sweat. I stood on the court balancing on one crutch one wonderful sunny day. In my strong left arm was a racquet. The tennis ball was lobbed at me and, as it travelled towards me, I raised the racquet and took a swing at it. I missed by a country mile. I dropped the racquet, picked up my crutch, and stomped towards the ball. After a few minutes of sweat I managed to pick the tennis ball up, place it in the handy pocket of my knickers, and made my way back to where I started. Now I had to drop my crutch, retrieve the ball, and figure out how to bounce the ball and hit it over the net. It was never going to happen, as I lost my balance and landed on the ground. Goodness knows what I weighed but Mrs Robbins got me on my feet and I retired, crutches clanking, to the sidelines. This weekly torture continued all summer until autumn when I became a guide. Mrs. Phipps, a Scot, was the guide leader, who introduced the pack to a version of Shinty. This was slightly better than Tennis because it was winter and we were indoors. We had two guide patrols, Swallows and Robins. Each patrol lined up in a row facing the other. Does anyone remember the Pax Est hut? At least it was shelter. Chaos ensued as we tangled crutches and shinty sticks as we tried to get the puck(?) past the opposing side. Crutches, shinty sticks and a lot of wobbling, as we wildly swung to try to get past the opposition. I have no idea of the final result...it was probably a tie. I won’t describe the total mess I made scoring the annual cricket match between old scholars and school. Mr. Holgate selected me to keep the score without any explanation of the game, the rules, or what was going on. I think they declared it a draw since no one was able to decipher what was written. All this mayhem about sports reminds me of one of the first lessons I had in maths. It was a glorious sunny day and we were allowed to sit outside. It was a mixed sex class! One of the boys had a portable radio and asked permission to listen to one race in particular. It was the great Emil Zátopek who was taking part. I fell in love with athletics that day. At last a sport I could never compete in but that I could enjoy … and look how things have changed ... brilliant, and I have always loved watching athletics. BUT... and there is a but, the absolutely worse thing was one Saturday ... a dreadful day ... but in the beginning it seemed so promising. Someone (and I never found out who) arranged for a teacher from the Margaret Morris School of Dancing to come and give us a lesson. Such a lot of speculation! Was it going to be ballroom, or rock and roll, or ballet ... no we thought not ballet not with callipers and sticks. “Everyone sit on the floor and make lots of room for each other.” The music came on, not ballroom, not rock and roll, not very musical. “Now everyone imagine you are a tree and you are waking up for Spring.” My first thought was “What?” “It’s time for you to let the buds swell and open ... your leaves are unfurling and reaching for the sun. Slowly, slowly, you are stretching out and growing.” Most of the girls were by now were in fits of giggles but the tutor bravely carried on talking, urging us to feel the sun and the springtime. My imagination was put to the test. I promise I did try to become a tree but it was a wooden effort and it was only on one occasion. I’m just not built for athletics, or cricket, or shinty, or tennis, or being a tree in springtime.