By Isle of Wight Observer
In the final months of school, looking sharp was my primary focus; impressing girls was the goal. School uniforms exist because the powers that be want kids to look smart, however thick we might be.
In my last term, my school tie disappeared, and rather than buy a replacement, I substituted it with trendy ’70s orange flower‑power neckwear. Inevitably, our dour headmaster, Mr L M Ball, soon spotted this minor rebellion and I had to agree that my gay orange tie bore no resemblance whatsoever to the correct one.
My school blazer no longer fitted, and those tight black C&A school trousers had split once too often. I used to repair them myself most nights but eventually conceded defeat. Mercifully, Freemans came to my rescue. Do you remember their catalogue? I ordered a smart dark three‑piece suit at around 50p a week for 30 weeks and recall looking quite dapper in it, but truthfully, it was nothing like Whitton School uniform.
In adult life, I often meet chaps who not only still wear their old school ties but instantly recognise everyone else’s. I once innocently asked an elderly client what ties her two middle‑aged sons were sporting, guessing they were army. She looked at me disdainfully before curtly replying, “Eton, of course.” I felt like a complete imbecile.
During Cowes Week, I was invited aboard the Trinity House ship, Patricia, for a private gathering. The guest of honour was the Princess Royal. Who knows how I wangled an invitation to such an exclusive event, but I suspect there won’t be another.
While excitedly waiting for the shuttle to take us out there, I marvelled at the calibre of guests. Many wore Royal Navy uniforms; there was more than one Vice Admiral and countless commanders. Our own Major General Sir Martin and Lady White were among the invitees. I bet he’s spoilt for choice when it comes to ties.
On board, I was chatting with Sir Martin about the urgent need to increase defence spending when Princess Anne’s husband, Sir Timothy Lawrence, approached. He warmly greeted ‘Martin’. A good friend has occasional conversations with the King and I’m always chuffed that I know someone who knows a VVIP, because my calibre of celebrity chum doesn’t reach anywhere near that high. The Royals seem to have astonishing memories for names, while I struggle to recall the names of people I really ought to know.
Trinity House is responsible for our coastal lighthouses and shipping marks. If a ship sinks, it’s they who rush to mark the wreck. The wonderful THV Patricia has been a familiar sight in the Solent for as long as I remember. Eating and drinking aboard in the presence of Her Royal Highness was a special treat. While waiting for the Princess to approach, the person next to me let slip that despite her shipshape appearance, the ship actually had a minor outstanding maintenance job.
When the Princess stopped to chat, I opened with, “You and I have something in common, Ma’am. We both have an HGV licence.” The Vice Admiral hovering behind her seemed distinctly unimpressed by this lowbrow revelation; however, my unusual opening gambit seemed to amuse HRH, and we had a little chat about lorry driving and other matters.
Things were going well until I introduced her to the nervous, loose‑lipped maintenance person beside me and foolishly mentioned that outstanding maintenance job. The Vice Admiral vociferously disagreed and assured HRH that I was completely wrong!
I’m trying to erase the memory of my Royal faux pas and instead am focusing on those smart former Royal Navy officers discussing the unique ties they wore, each one earned for every ship they commanded. The one I wore came from M&S.