Say "Cheese!"

All young teenage boys should have and pursue a hobby. When I was a teenager the easily led and good with colours brigade were interested in exactly what you would expect. Art, music and all other aspects of poofery that encompass the performing arts.1

Myself and my school chums, none of us being, to the best of my knowledge, light on our feet, tended to favour hobbies of the more manly variety, football, rugby, golf and the like. There was one period during this time where some of our number, myself included, did dabble briefly in a subject usually the reserve of the artistic types, that subject being photography. Don’t get me wrong we had not all suddenly got in touch with or found our feminine sides. 2

No, no. 3

The reason for our newfound passion in all things ocular was of course that Ms. Marks, our French teacher, woman with the schools longest legs and bumpiest jumper ran the photographic club. Photo club ran every Friday lunchtime, in the schools auditorium, which was located in the science block.4

This location for the club had its lists of pro’s and cons. 5

On the positive side, you could blatantly stare at and get an unashamed eyeful of Ms. Marks’s shapely, perfectly formed backside, as she prattled on, in the dimly lit auditorium, showing the gathered throng some god-awful slides of some photo’s she had taken in fucknowswhere.6

The negative side however was two fold. 7

Firstly this did mean we had to mingle with the bed-wetting, mummies boy’s fraternity of the school. Who, even if they did possess a penis, clearly had no idea what it was for and were actually there for the photography and not merely to get a ringside view of Ms. Marks’s more prominent features. 8

Secondly due to the club being housed in the science block and close to the staff room, we did have to suffer the odd visitor to the club from the teaching staff. Namely Mr. Jenkins a.k.a. Bullet Head a man who was most definitely in possession of a penis, as for the most part it sat atop his shoulders for all to see.9

Bullet Head being the lecherous, greasy haired, lothario that he was clearly fancied his chances with the nubile Ms. Marks, despite his marital status and seemingly never ending line of soap dodging offspring. Even I at that young age could see he had no chance.10

Then there was the extremely academically intelligent but clearly naive Mr. Brea a.k.a. Benny. Benny bless his cotton socks, as he was the commensurate boffin and a man not designed for the rough world of secondary school education. I actually think that in Benny’s case, had he been aware of what his knob was actually for, Ms. Marks gave the distinct impression, that she might have actually been up for some hands up the jumper stationery cupboard action. But alas the hapless Benny was more interested in the club, which he ran, namely Ornithology.11

Then one sunny spring morning at the arse end of April 1983…12

Doomed.13

“In two weeks time the photographic and ornithology clubs will pull together. Mr. Brea will be organising a nature walk for that Friday and this should provide us with the opportunity for some lovely photos. Which we will then display in the schools main entrance hall.” Said Ms. Marks pulling her extra tight sweater down even tighter, if that were possible, over her enormous shirt potatoes.14

Top marks to Mr. Benny Brea for being a naive overgrown public schoolboy type inbreed, who would rather feed the ducks than do the sex.15

The following fortnight dragged by as we dreaded the public humiliation of having to go on a lunchtime nature ramble with the schools sexually deviant and socially inept. 16

One thing or should I say one article of new kit did lift our gloomy spirits during this time of ever growing despondency. 17

Oss’s father, Oss senior had just purchased the modern wonder that was a Polaroid instant camera. For those of you unfamiliar with this modern marvel of the 80’s, rather than you having to wait until you had used up the whole roll of film, sent it off to men in white coats who know about such things and waited three weeks on it being returned to you. Click, flash, you took an instant picture, which a second or two later appeared out of the bottom of the camera, ready to be stuck in to the photograph album.18

Or as I should have said, that is what it was actually suppose to be used for. Oss on the other hand had found a particularly amusing use for his father’s latest piece of technologically advanced kit. 19

What did Oss take photographs of?20

Was it of rugged shorelines?21

Was it beautiful sunsets and daybreaks?22

Was it fuck! Oss basically took multiple, close up pictures of his own nether region and stuck them up on all of the schools notice boards. Never missing the opportunity to ask anyone with a bumpy jumper and I quote “Have you seen my photograph on the notice board, your missing a proper treat!”23

Surprise, surprise Mr. Crampbell and the rest of the humourless bastards that made up the schools management committee, took a dim view of such antics and it was laid on the line to us at the following weeks assembly. “This is pornography! Pure and simple! The school will not tolerate such blatant inappropriate behaviour! Anyone caught in the perpetration of such activities will be expelled from the school!” Ranted Deputy Rector Mr. Crampbell in one of his by now legendary mass bollockings.24

It didn’t have anything like the desired effect however. As every pervert who’s parents possessed the correct photographic equipment, quite literally plastered themselves all over the schools notice boards. The onslaught of full frontal nudity was unbelievable, the like of which we would not see again until Scuddy Smith discovered his fathers much watched and borrowed copy of Debbie Does Dallas.25

With heavy hearts we all awaited the dreaded nature walk / photographic opertunity. Which brings me neatly on to our fearsome deputy rector the humourless Mr. Crampbell.26

Why did everyone fear and loathe Mr. Crampbell? 27

Simple, it saved time, I have to be honest and say that I would have broken every bone in my foot, before I would have tired of kicking the humourless bastard up the arse.28

So it was absolutely no surprise then, that sunny Friday afternoon, at the arse end of April 1983, when Mr. Crampbell, our fearsome deputy rector, reverted back to type and welcomed our group back on to school property with a snarled “Where the hell have you been? Mr. Brea it’s nearly 3 o’clock!” Mr. Brea a.k.a. Benny then attempted to come up with some ill-conceived half-baked and feeble-minded excuse as to why nearly forty pupils had missed the vast majority of that afternoon’s lessons. 29

Top marks to Oss for turning his watch back after telling the hapless Mr. Brea and I quote “I’ll tell you when it’s half past one!” 30

Mr. Brea was an Oxford educated, fully paid up, card-carrying member of the boffinry club. Unfortunately Benny, while being undoubtedly talented in the academic department, was sadly very short on common sense and was most definitely the chap at the head of the queue when they were handing out the gullibility and naivety. 31

On entering his classroom you could instantly tell how much of a hard time he had had during that days classes, by the number of cloths pegs attached to the back of his lab coat and by the amount of white chalk lines, scrawled down the leg of his black trousers. 32

Thus every time Benny asked Oss the time on our nature / photography ramble, his mantra was “Only five minutes later than the last time you asked! Don’t you worry I’ll tell you when it’s 1.30pm Mr. Brea.” “ You can trust me!”33

So it was then that the whole group headed back to school with the easily led Mr. Brea under the misapprehension that it was 1.30pm, when in fact it was closer to 3.00pm. 34

Despite mine hosts warm and charming welcome at the school gate, this did though offer up a couple of positive connotations.35

Firstly we had managed to dodge the dreaded Mr. Mortimer a.k.a. Morty and a mind numbingly boring double period of trigonometry. Secondly during our extended lunch break we had also managed and I quote directly from Ms. Marks. “Made the most of the opportunity to take some excellent photographs!” 36

Did we take photos of the assorted flora and fauna?37

Were our photographs of birds, wildlife, landscapes and the like?38

Were they fuck!39

Our photographs, being the young red-blooded heterosexual chaps that we were, featured mostly the kind of subject matter all adolescents are interested in, namely the curvy variety i.e. Ms. Marks. 40

Who it has to be said had been most accommodating that day, wearing one of her tightest tight skirts and bumpiest bumpy jumper combo’s. The following weeks photography club was our designated dark room time, set aside for developing said photos, prior to an on mass display in the schools main entrance hall set to commence the following Monday morning. 41

Some of the easily pleased bed wetters who attended the class, genuinely having an interest in photography, had, I have to admit, taken one or two reasonable photos of starlings, pigeons, rabbits and the like. However out of around the two hundred or so snaps developed, the vast majority were of the shapely Ms. Marks from every conceivable angle.42

Knumbnutts it turned out was top paparazzi. Alas David Bailey he was not. He did get though get the best tight shot of Ms. Marks’s rear end, where upon anyone viewing his work would have drawn the same conclusion as Knumbnutts, who summed up his own work most succinctly “If those pants cost her a fiver (£5.00) then four pound fifty of them are up the crack of her arse!” 43

Needless to say following this performance, our groups attendance at the photographic club, for reasons clearly apparent, was surplus to requirements.44