A.R.Rigden - L10843, "Documentary" (2)

Regretfully, I know nothing about my mother. Evidently she died at my birth and I [was] breast fed by another woman. Who she was, I do not know, "but" about twenty years later I was accosted by a young lady who remarked, "you are Amos Rigden." I replied, "yes, I am, why?" "Well," she replied, "I was fed at my mother's breast the same time as you were." Hearing this, I naturally thought she was a nut case and was doing a piece of leg pulling, therefore I made no reply. A few seconds later she casually walked away. Now I regret I failed to enquire her name!

It must have been around the year 1907 when I was returned to my father. At that time he was living at Black Bird Cottage, Lower Brents, Faversham with three other members of his family, two girls and a boy. The names of the girls were Amelia and Bessie. William was my brother's name. Now Amelia must have been around fifteen years of age and was employed by the Rev. Amos, who was the local vicar of the parish church opposite to the cottage where we lived. Bessie and William were attending the Davington school about two miles away. I think it was my father, John Rigden, who introduced me to the Davington school where I was accepted as a pupil, and Bessie had the responsibility of taking me to school. Possibly I was considered too old to be entered in the register as an infant but I was accepted in the senior boys' wing and became a pupil in Standard One. Mrs. Coombridge was my teacher - rather a middle aged woman, I think. Mr. Sauder was the Head Master and he also taught Standard Six pupils. These were boys who, having reached the age of 14, were about to leave school. Altogether there were six teachers comprising the staff of the senior boys: Mrs. Coombridge, Standard One; Mr. Potter, Standard Two; Mr. Durrant, Standards Three and Four, about eighty or ninety boys in all; Mr. Stevens, Standard Five; and the Head Master, Mr. Sauder, Standard Six.

The girls' school, combined with the infants, was, of course, a little larger but in all I should estimate there were about 500 pupils attending Davington school in all.

Mr. Johncock, he was the school caretaker and was also responsible for ringing the school bell. This was tolled at 8:45 the first time and nine o'clock the second time, and could be heard for several miles distant. The pupils called it the first and second bell. Therefore, there could be no excuse for being late at school, neither was there any excuse accepted. When the second bell was tolled, all boys had to line up in their respective Standards, and when the Head Master blew his whistle they were called to attention by their Standard Master and marched into the large Mastering Room. They had to march like soldiers. Mrs. Coombridge played the British 'Grenadiers March' as they entered their respective mastering places. One could rightly refer [to] it like a platoon of soldiers marching in. A short lecture by the Head Master then the various Standards were marched to their respective rooms for scripture lessons. Each Standard Master was responsible for his teachings. Again, the same Standard Master was solely responsible for his pupils all day, irrespective of what lessons were being taught. Also, discipline was strictly maintained. If a pupil misbehaved himself, well, he was caned by the Standard Master. Very seldom did one go before the Head Master for a breach of discipline. In the course of a day, about six or seven subjects were taught. Mainly reading, writing, arithmetic, geography and history, drawing, dictation and singing, or "music tonic solfa."

Myself, with Mrs. Coombridge, I got along very well educationally, being rather scruffy, or ill-clothed, because my family were very, very poor and could not afford to buy clothes. Also there were many occasions when we went to school without any breakfast. At home, well, every member was expected to do something useful to help, to keep a roof over our heads. My brother and myself usually had to arise around 5:30 a.m. and visit the local refuse dump, seeking fuel for the fire or anything which could be saleable to the local Marine Dealer, such as rags, bones or metal. Also, it was necessary to be home by 7:45 because of breakfast, if any, then try to clean up for school, etc. Many a time we were scruffy. If the other more fortunate pupils did not assault us, sure as hell one of the teachers would; that was the situation my brother and I oftimes found ourselves in. Mrs. Coombridge herself was very tolerant and helpful but not so the other teachers. However, there came a time when I had to move into Standard Two. Personally I dreaded it. I was, of course, aware of what to expect and really did try hard to avoid it.

After a month with Mr. Potter things became difficult for me. Not so much educationally but for personal appearance. On several occasions Mr. Potter made an excuse to cane me. Any excuse was good enough. Then, around August, about eleven thirty a.m. we were having singing lessons, firstly tonic solfa, then singing "Rule Britannia". Personally, I was aware of the line but nevertheless not the words. This, of course, gave Mr. Potter his excuse. Before long it was, "Rigden, get up on to the seat of your desk, you need help in forcing your lips open." I did as told, then, bang across the knuckles of my hand with his pointer. Hell, did it hurt. Naturally I told him that I knew not the words of "Rule Britannia". "Well then, if you cannot sing the words whistle them." Had I been out of school I certainly could have done but with him staring straight at me and occasionally rapping my knuckles how in hell could I? [I] felt more like crying, not whistling. Also, he was just making a fool out of me to amuse the class, or Standard. For about ten minutes this went on. My knuckles felt numbed with pain and I felt desperate. It was then, seeing him in front of me, that little old pinched nose with his pince-nez glasses on and, to me, his baleful eyes' nature, gave me strength to take a jump at him. It wasn't courage; somehow sheer desperation. Without stopping to think I made a full frontal jump at him. My weight was around six stone - enough to make him fall back with the force of my jump - he went flat on his back, possibly taken by surprise. Any rate, that was to my advantage, but when I made a spring board of his chest and bolted for the door, well, that definitely was not to his advantage. Of course, I made for home. Fortunately my father was at home and when he saw the state of my right hand knuckles, all enflamed and swollen, and heard my story he made no remarks or threats to punish me. At school my jumping at Mr. Potter and knocking him down decided the Head Master to send for PC Savage, who lived only a few yards down the road, who heard one side of the story. Fortunately for myself, there were a couple of other scruffs like myself in the class and to them I was a hero. PC Savage elected to hear their story and, within the hour, PC Savage and the two lads who really told the truth were at our place to question me. My father remarked, "here, take a look at his hand", and I was taken to Doctor Gowland who examined it then placed it into a sling. The evidence was there. "Excessive cruelty" inflicting bodily harm, but [by] a school teacher. My father attended the school during the afternoon. I really don't know what did take place there, only PC Savage had quite a bother keeping my father away from Mr. Potter. For a week I remained at home, then I commenced school again. The education authorities elected not to take any action and things blew over. Also, PC Savage elected to keep his eye on me and, really, Mrs. Savage told me to call in at her place every morning and she would see I was presentable at school and also that I had a regular breakfast. The two boys who sided with me became my close friends. Really their social position was no better than mine. With us it was now "united we stand and divided we fall." Nobody attempted to interfere with us and we respected their feelings. But of course, if you really want a fight, well, come down Ham Road after school hours.