(Illustration: Station Road Methodist Church and the Buddle Middle School and downstairs flat)

One Sunday morning, while Bob and I were still living in our first flat, there was a knock at the door. I looked out through the nets of the front window, and saw that it was a priest. I don’t know why Bob assumed that this visitor was someone I knew, but he sent me to answer the door. I was still in my dressing gown.

“Is this where Bobby Hamil lives?” the priest asked, showing no emotion, not even a smile.

I said ‘Yes, it is.’ and I invited him in, in fact, I doubt whether I could have stopped him, he seemed determined to step inside.

I showed him into the lounge, and he went over to stand by the fireplace. The first thing he did, when he got there, was to trail his finger along the top of the fireplace, testing for dust!

I couldn’t believe he did that! I disliked him immediately for being so rude!

Bob, by then, had come into the room to see who this visitor was, and he recognised him straight away. I left them to their conversation.

It seems that this priest, Father Heywood of St Luke’s C of E Church, Wallsend, had been the curate, at Christ Church, in North Shields, a church Bob had once attended with his mam, and also where he had been one of their boy scouts, (a Queen Scout actually.)

I think this ‘shepherd’ had come to seek out his ‘lost sheep’!

His visit set me to thinking about my Methodist church roots. Now if either one of us intended to return to the ‘fold’, it was far more likely to be me, rather than Bob. Having being inspired by Norma Minto’s outreach work with young people, and having now qualified as a teacher, I knew I could probably be useful to the church in some kind of ministry with children. I also felt I had time to offer my creative gifts outside of school. It was a thought anyway.

But I was very much looking forward to putting all I’d learnt into practice at school. My interview with the Director of Education, was more of a formality, as he already had a school in mind for me.

I was to start my career at the Buddle Middle School, Station Road, Wallsend, my very first full time job at the age of 21.

Once I began teaching, I walked into the nearest Methodist church, Station Road Methodist Church, (now called Trinity Methodist) just around the corner, and after the Sunday morning service was over, I offered to help in some capacity as a teacher. My membership was renewed, and I was accepted as a Sunday school teacher there, and yet another little music group was formed.

Not long afterwards, Alan Barker, another willing member of the congregation and I started a Friday night youth club. We soon had over fifty teenagers attending for one hour’s ‘fellowship’ with me, with teaching, quizzes and games; which was followed by an hour’s disco, run by Alan. We were a good team.

The club became known as ’The Meth’, and we met every week.

The teenagers, many coming in off the streets, had all kinds of challenging questions to ask when we had discussions, and eventually they began to bring their friends along.

We even formed a small drama group, and they came up with their own ideas for themes. One idea was an ultra-modern drama, based on the parable of the ‘Good Samaritan’, and the group were encouraged to perform it at one of our church services.

Our robbers decided they would dress themselves as characters from the weird film ‘Clockwork Orange’, a film popular at the time. (One of these robbers was Claire Hardwick, who would go on to become the well-known actress ‘Charlie’ Hardwick)

This drama was quite scary, but very effective, but it wasn’t received favourably by everyone, as I think it scared the living daylights out of some of them!  I might well have felt the same had I actually watched the film! But in this drama they were grappling with two very important issues; society’s uncaring attitude towards the needy, and the need to demonstrate compassion in our world today.

To their credit, the congregation continued to support and encourage us, which was marvellous. It was obvious to us that these teenagers were totally engaged with their club and its activities. 

I was only there until 1974, but Alan and other youth leaders continue running this club to this day. It caters for around 30+ children, years 8-11; with disco, games and tuck shop, and the group also sponsor children in Nicaragua to provide for their education!

If I were being honest, I would say that I had returned to church initially, out of a sense of duty, and I’d actually missed not going to church for the three years following my dad’s death. I also felt I needed to offer something, and it felt good to be involved again, with young people.

I didn’t need to be persuaded to go to church anymore, I wanted to go and that was the difference.

Bob, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in church or matters of faith then, as he had attended a Church of England college as a student, and none of the priests who taught there, had wanted to engage with the challenging questions he had asked.

So, he read the newspapers at home instead when I attended on a Sunday morning.

I loved the school I taught at, it had a lot of character. It was a Board School, built in the 1870’s, and it was built to provide education for the working classes. It was named after John Buddle, a notable Wallsend figure and local mining engineer, who became manager of Wallsend Colliery in 1803 where he contributed to the improvement of safety underground, principally through the introduction and improvement of the safety lamp.

The school was also full of interesting pupils, so enthusiastic, and keen to learn.

A tutor once told us never to go into the teaching profession, unless you loved children. And I did love each one of them.

The teachers there were, on the whole, a friendly bunch, but I was given really strange advice by the headmaster in his office, before I started. He said, “My one piece of advice to you, is keep both ears open and your mouth closed!” I never really understood what he meant! Unless he was advising me that it was wise not to be involved in gossip!

I absolutely loved my new class; and they were all mine, more than forty of them! No more teaching ‘practice,’ this was the real thing! It was rather scary to think that their education and care were my responsibility for an entire year.

I wanted teaching to be fun as well as a challenge, creative as well as memorable, engaging not lifeless, and so I worked hard at nights to make my lessons interesting for each new day.

I taught guitar once a week in my lunchtime, and had over fifty children in my club at one point. It took ages to tune the guitars up. Some of the pupils showed real promise. I still meet some of them today who tell me, “You taught me the guitar!”

I also coached a junior netball team, the senior one was already the domain of a more senior teacher. But I think drama was my favourite subject.

I recall one year, the children helped me make a giant ‘crop duster’, an aeroplane, made with papier maché, balsa and wire, for a Harvest Festival presentation. We were using up a lot of cold-water paste though; it kept ‘evaporating’ mysteriously from the dish which I left covered over with newspaper each night.

When I came to use it, for the Art lessons, the paper was always damaged!

A cleaner asked me after class one evening, if I was leaving any food out overnight.

“No,’ I replied, “no food at all, but I have had some cold-water paste go missing!”

“ That’s what it is!” she replied.

She was shocked that week, to see a rat as big as a cat in my classroom! UGH!

Rats will eat anything, so I was to learn, I suppose my paste was its dessert! I had been fattening it up! Let’s hope there was only one!

Those were the days.

One boy, was my little hero, that first year of teaching.

He always came to my rescue, whenever I discovered large black cockroaches inside the classroom store cupboard. I would summon him, shout out his name, saying with a grimace, “Here’s another one!”

He showed no fear at all, and simply scooped up the cockroach with both hands, and took it outside for me, with careful instructions not to kill it. Your guess is as good as mine whether he did or not.

But he was also the one that got into the most trouble during his break time. He was a real character though, with big brown eyes and an impish awkward smile. His written stories were highly imaginative and colourful, rather scary to read though.

I've always got on well with the more challenging pupils! 

A couple of years later, I walked into the staffroom one morning, to hear staff discussing a road accident. I learned that two local boys, had gone for a joy ride in a stolen car the night before. There had been a head on collision, and one of our pupils had died.

“Who are you talking about?” I had asked them.

When I was told, that my little hero was the boy who had died, I could hardly believe it. I was devastated.

A few weeks before this road accident occurred, I had found him and another year 8 pupil, in my classroom at lunchtime, where they shouldn’t have been. Most likely they were up to no good.

I had walked into the room, and interrupted them ‘at work’, so I asked them what they were doing there.

This boy was so much older now, and he quickly chirped up,

“Mrs Hamil, all this God business, is it really true?” By then I had found my faith again, which I will mention in the next chapter.

I invited the boys to sit down, and said, “I’m not doing anything else this lunchtime, I’m only too happy to discuss this with you!”

So, having a captive audience of two, I sat down with them, in an attempt to answer in full, their questions about faith in God, which took the remainder of their lunchtime, a full thirty minutes. We actually had an interesting discussion; and they both seemed to enjoy themselves.

I wonder if anything went into his head that day, so short a time before he died?

I hope so!

Children don’t always realise the consequences of their reckless behaviour. Some I’m sure, think they’re invincible, and they have their whole lives ahead of them. They want thrills, excitement, and to live for the moment, to take risks, regardless of who else might get hurt in the process.

But he, and his older friend, the driver, certainly caused terrible heartache, not only for their own families, but also for the family of their victim, the other driver, whose car they crashed into. He died too that night, leaving behind a wife and four children behind, so I was told later on. This episode would create in me a deep desire to share my faith with others in the years to come.

A year after we were married, 1971, Bob began teaching at Benfield Comprehensive School in Newcastle. Moving to a much bigger PE department, with so much more equipment and space, was a great move for him. Here, this school received children at the age of 11, rather than 13, which he, as a PE teacher, thought was much more beneficial.

He and I were thrilled when a school flat became available, soon after I began teaching, and it was attached to the school, where I taught! It was an upstairs flat, and we were delighted, but the couple who lived downstairs asked us straight away, if we minded if they moved upstairs instead, as they had experienced a lot of noise from the previous tenants. They said they would be more considerate, and would wear soft slippers, so as not to make a noise.

We didn’t mind one way or another, a fresh start in any flat was such a blessing. So we agreed to move in downstairs.

Unfortunately, we were soon to discover that there was damp all along the far passage wall, which had been painted a deep red colour, probably to hide stains; and not long afterwards, when I walked along the passage into the lounge my foot went right through a floorboard, and suddenly the most horrible stench rose up from below, and there was red dust all around. It was dry rot!

We had just returned from being leaders at Bellingham International camp, and were due to travel to Norway that following week, so Bob’s mam and dad kindly offered to organise and direct the repairs while we were away. It was wonderful to come back to brand new floorboards.

I’m sure there’s an old saying: ‘New house: new baby’!

Well, we did move into a new house in Park Road, Wallsend in February1974.

Bob’s mam, Harriet, had been passing by the year before and had seen it being built, and she claimed it straight away for us, with a deposit, before it went on sale!

We went to view it and loved it and we began planning the move.

However, tragedy hit us first.

Bob’s mam never did see us in the home which she had organised for us. She died very suddenly with a heart attack, on the morning of 7th January.

We had been with her the night before, as she was poorly with a cold and a harsh cough, and she had mentioned to Bob, that the bedroom curtains didn’t close properly. Also a kind neighbour had joked with her, as she left the house that day, saying, “I don’t want you to worry Harriet, but they’ve got the boiled ham on, Harriet!” She would have appreciated this joke.

But closed curtains were once a sign that there had been a death in the house, and boiled ham was served at funerals! This visitor felt terrible the next day to find out that Harriet had died.

Harriet was so excited she was going to be a grandma at last. When she heard our happy news she had given us a sweet little postcard which showed a cartoon of a little blonde footballer, with spiked hair, wearing a Sunderland football strip, kicking a ball. People weren’t told then, the sex of a baby! Our son turned out to be just like that little boy in he picture; sadly she never got to see him.

She was always so kind to us, and so generous.Her own mother, who to us was known as Gran George, died in March that same year. Another two family deaths in such a short time!

I had taught now at Buddle Middle School for almost three years until the Easter of 1974.

In those days, as soon as you knew you were pregnant, you were expected to hand your notice in and leave in due course, in good time for the birth. There was no such a thing as maternity leave then, but I didn’t regret that at all.

I raised three children, over a period of nine years, and enjoyed my new role as a mother, before returning to work again, at the very same school they all attended, a Church of England school.

The Buddle school building was now facing closure; everyone was preparing to move to a new site, lock, stock and barrel, and the new school was given the name High Farm Middle School.

In 1977 Buddle Middle School premises became the Buddle Arts Centre.

It's now quite empty and dilapidated, a Listed Grade 2 building. What will it become? Will it rise again?