Thursday, April 1, 1982


I got my marks for the English mocks: in Hirst’s class an ‘O’ (41%); for Williams a 'D’ (53%). I couldn’t believe it!

I was really sickened and strode back through the rain to the workroom where I sat quietened and humbled along with everyone else. I'm suddenly afraid that I'm now in real danger of throwing everything away. Maybe I'll be stuck in Easterby, on the dole, with no future. A nightmare prospect.

Outside it was foul, dirty and drizzling, as if to mirror my inner shock and disgust. We all cheered up a bit towards the end of the day but really it’s Zero Hour. It’s now or never.

At home more tension, with Dad airing his bitter, narrow-minded despair over “permissiveness” and “do-your-own-thing,” demanding an “eye-for-an-eye.”

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