Reading the many fond memories recorded by so many ex-Moor Lane pupils reveals what a profound and last effect the school had on the many children who attended there.
My family lived at 131 Sutton Road our neighbours were the Bills family. Many will identify that Mrs. Bills taught at Moor Lane. Her daughter, Elizabeth also a pupil at the school (sadly lost contact since moving addresses) became a friend, although slightly older than me.
I can recall with clarity my initial day at Infants school back in 1953 when in Mrs. Greens class such a lovely teacher I recall. John Parkin and Neil Clayton were the first two children I met, both of whom lived further along Sutton Road, and we became friends spending many an hour around Kingsmill reservoir and playing cricket on the tipping as it was called and constructing vast bonfires in time for 5 November!
I remember the coat hooks at Moor Lane had pottery pictures on them for ease of identification to hang your obligatory plimsoll bag. Christmas was unfailingly a highpoint making lanterns out of sticky paper and waiting for the Mayor to tour the school.
Miss Rowel despite her strict approach to discipline, excelled as a teacher, as indeed were many others who taught at the school. The transition from infants to juniors again allowed me the benefit of being taught by some wonderful teachers, Mr. Warrington, Miss Walker, Miss Brotherhood, and Mr. Phillips, who if you could sing certainly became more of a friend than rather than having to face up to his fierce ‘killer Phillips’ image. Ann Lyons, Robert Marriot, John Wilkinson (excellent footballer) Susan Endersby, all names remembered.
It made me smile to read all those that were in the school band seemed to be relegated to play the triangle – me too, and much to my dismay because I had a passion to play the drums! I remember going on a school band trip to Nottingham and after an hour of producing unrecognisable music (poor teaches must have been deafened), we all filed back on the bus returning to Mansfield.
Mr. Warrington taught me to swim and the dread of winter trips to the old Mansfield Baths, which I recall had a small pool next to the main one. The water felt to be straight from the tap and so cold you came out of the pool almost blue. Sports day at Berry Hill was another high point on the calendar, arriving there always with the smell of newly cut grass (tracks having been mowed the day before) and the tension building as you approach your race – what happy days.