When I was eleven I passed my 11+ Exam and got a place in the nearest Grammer School. I was so proud, I'd tried so hard.
I thought that it would make them (my parents) proud of me.
My Mother complained that I would have to be bought a new uniform instead of wearing my sister's old Secondary School uniform.
I wasn't allowed a Blazer, they were too expensive and we couldn't afford one.
New shoes weren't necessary either, just a good polish.

I went on my first day at Grammer School wearing a purple anorak with a streak of white gloss paint on the shoulder, where I'd leant against a freshly painted window sill.
All my contemporaries had blazers, I thought they must all be so wealthy.
I loved school and thrived on new friends and being away from home for whole days at a time.

We started Cookery Class and I loved the idea of making something nice to take home for tea.
I took the list of ingredients home ready for the following week.
I wasn't allowed Self rasing flour because we couldn't afford it, nor Caster Sugar.
My Mother assured me it was all the same thing anyway so it didn't matter, but my sponge cakes were never light and well risen and I would get into trouble for not bringing the correct ingredients.
My Dad would never taste anything I cooked in school because it would be vile.

My PE Kit got stolen, so I wore my Mum's old school PE skirt and a plain T-Shirt.
The Teacher took me to one side and kindly explained the procedure for poorer families to get help with uniform purchase.

At home sat my Dad's brand spanking new Jaguar in the garage, just for driving on a Saturday Night when they would go out for dinner.
His Tailor would visit and measure him for his handmade suits in our home on occasional Sundays.

When Dad got home from work at night he would throw money across the table and we learnt to count notes very quickly and add up the days' takings.
I was not allowed Friends home or phone calls until I was 16.
I assumed everyone lived like us.