Firstly, a couple of bits of feed-back following previous TRMs.

In his letter, the 'Old Man' mentioned David Whitfield, the Yorkshire born, hugely successful 'pop' tenor, and I was delighted when Mavis Jones (nee Nichols) rang to say that not only could she recall him performing at the Empire, she'd shared the same stage, because she was also performing on the same bill.

Thank you Mavis.

I'm also grateful to 94 year old Connie Thomas, who rang with regards to Alan Phillips' RNAD recollections.

Connie said her dad, J J ( Jack) Davies, Blackbridge, had worked in the depot boilerhouse, and in 1967, on his retirement, had received a commemorative clock.

We will be returning to RNAD memories, but this week's TRM is a 'school special' starting with this from my old chum, John Gillespie.

"Early September 1954. A momentous time for me. Doris Day was top of the music charts singing The Black Hills of Dakota from the musical Calamity Jane.

No, that isn't the reason it was a momentous time for me. It was "Goodbye" Mr John, Mr Saunders and Miss Chick at Hakin CP school and "Hello" Mr Tidswell and the teaching staff at the Big School.

Milford Haven Grammar School.

There I was, eleven-and-a-half years old, barely four feet tall, still in short trousers, but resplendent (I thought) in black blazer, trimmed with gold coloured ribbon, cap with gold coloured badge, and my black and gold striped tie, neatly knotted by my mum.

The school uniform, as I remember, obtained from Whicher's Clothes Shop (I think) with the help of a school clothing grant and a loan from "The man from the Pru," repayable at a guinea for every £1 borrowed.

Yes, I had passed my 11+ exam, albeit in the bottom third of the 100 or so successful candidates that year.

I realised this when I was put into class 1C which was the lowest class of Form 1.

I seem to remember that my first classroom was not in the main

building, but in a church hall or annexe, on the opposite side of the road, which meant using the Belisha beacon crossing when moving between buildings.

I don't remember any road crossing patrol officers in those days, but then of course, there was not nearly so much traffic.

So it was all aboard the Greens Motors' double decker for the two-mile trip to school, a ritual that was repeated almost every day until I finally left school.

I have nothing but good memories of my time at school...the building itself, the teachers with their chalk splashed robes billowing out behind them, the rituals and the many friends, largely unseen since I left Milford in 1968... that I made.

It is said that our schooldays are the best days of our lives and, looking back through rose-tinted glasses, this may well be true.

I finally left in July 1960 having been interviewed in school by the deputy county treasurer of Pembrokeshire County Council for a two-year appointment as cover for another employee who'd been called up for National Service.

The appointment lasted almost 20 years before I changed jobs.

I left school reluctantly, but my situation dictated that I did.

Top of the music charts on that day was Jimmy Jones singing Good timin'. Was it good timing for me?

I like to think that I did OK thanks to my days in Milford Grammar School."

Cheers John, there are so many similarities to my own MHGS memories.

The next recollection was sent in by the wonderful wordsmith, David Howlett.

"Virus may take away the sense of smell, a radio announces in the background as a waft of newly-learned bread-making interrupts the sawing tasks of my 'lock-down' DIY.

Freed now in my minds eye by that warm aroma I flit through memory's past images and see once more my school blazer, tie and cap thankfully discarded in Mum's tea-time, toasting kitchen.

How sad if Covid robbed me of these memory transporting smells.

Dust from my sawing and I am once again short-trousered in the Yorke Street's tin hutted, floor creaking Ty-Coed classroom. The hidden pencil shavings 'curing' on the turtle stove, still warmly lulling my classmates into glazed attention.

Roused now, we rush to break, summoned by the rattling, chinking, warm milk-holding crates. Memories of pungent cheese and onion crisps, citrus Spangles and inhaled Polo mints. A secret corner and a bully's tussle, misted by illegal 'Woodbines' thinly drifting below the staff room's windows and its inner sanctum of smoking gowned chatterers.

Soon only warm magnolia teacup dregs and a smouldering butt witness rushing footsteps as the wafting smoke traces their classroom bound haste.

A clicking key and we file 'short back and sided' newbies into that Gothic chapel - like alchemist cave that was the chemistry lab.

Always hazy, sun-lit shafted, bubbling and oily atmosphere. In my memory 'Pop' P. appears, eyes twinkling, magician-like from his 'treasure' store with some anecdote related chemical marvel.

Released by the bell, propelled, fresh leather satchel clutching, into those parquet corridors of noisy, towering and sweaty adolescents.

Only my blue Quink-fragranced fingertips it seems can open doors into those memory classes of unchanging furniture and unageing characters.

Freshly reproduced Banda spirit maps lie waiting for an in-drawing sniff, whilst formaldehyde-bathing specimen stare unblinking from lofty biology shelves.

Fleeting glimpses release memories of their connected odours: woodwork processes, expectant dinner queues, an exhausting gym and the cleaners' regimes.

All too soon the seamless greying film draws to an end, seeing myself exiting, tousled hair and shirt tail flapping to that thousand feet-stepped route.

It seems that memory's progress homeward is unstopped by the sudden smell of refinery, distance, or the warning of The Kimberley's Belishas.

Like some film set I join the unageing, chattering and calling 'extras' of that home-time rush, heading myself to where a toast hazed kitchen awaits."

Terrific stuff, as usual, David.

Now to accompany those memories, here are a couple of snaps... an old one of the school plus (courtesy of Brian Hearne) a school sporting one from 1956.

Now for all our teasers, here's one from John Gillespie.

HIJKLMNO is something we can't live without, but in the wrong circumstances can kill you. What is it ?

I leave you with a sobering thought from Mark Twain: "The only way to keep your health is to eat what you don't want...drink what you don't like... and do what you'd rather not!"

That's it for this week, if you're interested, I've got a variety of topics lined up for future TRMs.

Meanwhile, take care, stay safe.