Memories Of A Headteachers Daughter And Her Wiggly Bum

Some years ago now in my profile on Ecademy (internet business networking site) I wrote this:


Primary School, St Andrews, Halstead, Essex. Apologies to Jennifer (headmasters daughter) for sticking your plaits in the ink well so that it swung like a pendulum painting arcs on your shirt.

Earls Colne Grammar School All boys school, but I met my first girlfriend at that school – the headmasters daughter (what is this with headmasters daughters?)

Memories fascinate me and I really enjoy the discussions about the way our subconscious minds affect all we do, that take place on Adam Eason’s Members Forum.

I will expand on the story about Jennifer because any memory that can stay so vividly portrayed in my memory must have affected me over the years – the question that fascinates me is – How?

I will tell the story as close as I can to the language and the thought processes that I had at that time.   I am very sure I was no bully – I was the smallest in my class for goodness sake – but I did have a very mischievious streak in me as a youngster and gained my street ‘cred’ through my pranks and humour.

Let me recall:

Jennifer Coxen will be 60 – she has to be because we were aged about nine at the time and in the same class  at St Andrew’s Primary school Halstead.

Jennifer was tall and walked  with a swagger – and as for her bum – it actually spoke rythmically as she wiggled it behind her.  “My dad’s the head teacher, my dad’s the head teacher” said her bum as she disappeared up the corridor.


Jennifer had two long plaits – and she had an amazing way of swinging
them in the opposite direction to the swing of her bum.  So there were
the plaits like a metronome reinforcing the message coming from the bum
“My dad’s the head teacher, my dad’s the head teacher” 

Oh yes the
detail is there – I studied these things – you do when you are nine.

You have to remember my hormones hadn’t yet kicked in and the constant studying of her wiggle had nothing to do with lust – in fact I still recall thinking at that time that girls were alien creatures.

In the classroom when seated Jennifer’s bum would shutup but her arm took over.  Whenever a question was asked by the feared teacher Miss Vitler (not made up – it is real I sware) up popped J’s arm “Please miss I know, Pick me miss I know, I’m really clever I know” 


Now there’s only so much a boy of 9 can take from talking bums and arms – they have to be brought down a peg or two.  The plan was cooked – it was very pre-meditated.  Which makes it even more bizarre that there were serious flaws in my expectation that I could get away with it.  But the street cred – what a reward!

I sat directly behind Jennifer in class in one of those desks of yesteryear – sloping lid with blotting paper, an inkwell and nib pen.  It took great skill to dip your pen and get exactly the right amount of ink and write without dripping a blue blob right  across your work.

The plaits – there they were invitingly, enticingly resting on my desk.  It had to be done – the plotting, the thinking about it had to end.  It had to be done.

Just before break I carefully dipped each plait into the inkwell and the site of the blue paintbrush of hair set my heart beating faster.

Bell – break time – up she stood and off she swaggered “My dad’s the head teacher, my dad’s the head teacher”  I was actually quite surprised how geometrically perfect the two arcs on her pristine white blouse were formed.  “My dad’s the head teacher, my dad’s the head teacher”

Now with just a modicum more of common sense I might have worked out that I could have conceivably got away with one plait daubed in ink.  It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes my dear Watson to work out that two plaits can’t accidentally trail in one inkwell.

The strangest thing about my graphically clear recollection of this event is that I can’t recall the punishment.  I must – just must have had one but it is repressed for whatever reason.  I will let my clever mind analysis friends over at Adam Eason tell me more about the whys and wherefores.

I just need closure and if you should chance to read this Jennifer – I am sorry – I might have been forced to apologise at the time but I probably never meant it then.

Anyway there is one consolation – whenever a see a female wiggling bum – which of course is now a delight – the reminder is of you.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *