The Isis School Memoir: Childhood in Bolton, Lancashire, Remembered

This memoir is an honest attempt to capture my early years at The Isis School in Bolton, Lancashire, where I attended between 1960 and 1962. It is a story not just of a school, but of a time, a place, and the peculiar texture of a boyhood lived in the shadow of the 1960s. The memories remain ‘frozen in time’, vivid and untouched. This brief but formative chapter of my life features the formidable headmaster Mr. Hoyle and characters like ‘Dizzie’ and ‘Harkie’.

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Attending the Isis School: Fortune Favors the Failure

Fall into Shit and Come Up Smelling Like Roses

My old friend Charles used to say I had a talent for ‘falling into shit but coming up smelling like roses’. I was fortunate that the frustration of failing the 11+ examination resulted in me attending a better private school, thus avoiding the ‘social dustbin’ of a Secondary Modern. My parents had no other choice than to plunge deep into their pockets to pay for my private education.

The Isis Entrance Examination: The Interview, The Lie, and The Headmaster

The Interview with Mr Hoyle, Headmaster and Gatekeeper.

The interview with the headmaster, Mr. Hoyle, who carried himself with the gravity of a retired bishop, led to the fateful question: “And what books have you read recently, young man?”. In a moment of panic, I invented a book. Unsurprisingly, I was the only top-performing candidate not awarded a scholarship.

Addendum: An Equal Opportunity Sham

The entrance exam itself was something of a theatrical performance. Technically, no one ‘failed’ the Isis exam, as the school depended on fees, not genius. I lacked not intelligence, but the right “presentation”.

The Harknesses Attending the Isis School

Starting at the Isis School came with a surprising advantage: a good Harkness name. I was now “Sandy’s younger brother” — and Sandy had been one of the golden boys of the Isis School. Teachers’ eyes lit up, expecting another paragon of athleticism and intrepidness.

The Grand National and Radiogram Days

I clearly recall the day that Dizzie had a confrontation with another boy over the radiogram during the Grand National broadcast. It was one of the few breaks in the formal routine.

The “Talk”: An Unforgettable Misfire in Motivation

I recall the unforgettable and regrettably phrased motivational talk from my father: “Ah expect ye tae wirk solid. Ah expect ye tae wirk… like a nigger”. For a brief and shining moment, I became the hardest-working “nigger” in all of England, before the spell wore off.

The Isis School Building: A Touch of Hogwarts in Bolton

The building was an imposing three-storey Victorian Gothic structure with an air of dignity—or perhaps brooding menace. It felt like a shrunken urban cousin of Eton, Harrow, or, yes, Hogwarts. The irony is that the noble ideals and Gothic staircases couldn’t pay the bills, and the school quietly went bankrupt in the mid-1960s.

Historical Irony: From Orphans to the Privileged

Only later did I learn the school building had once been Eden’s Orphanage, founded in 1874. The irony is stark in hindsight: children once raised on gruel and charity were replaced by boys like myself, paying for the privilege.

The School Photo: Proof of the Past

To prove this account is not “some sort of self-indulgent fiction,” I’ve included the actual 1961 school photo. Every face in it really did exist. Find your own face among the rows.

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Read the rest of the complete memoir in the interactive flipbook below.