When I went to Boston Grammar School, in the late 1950s, the number of cyclists were a bit overwhelming. The vast bike sheds were always full, and you were not allowed to bike to school unless you lived over two miles away. Each bike rack was numbered, and there was a waiting list.None of the bikes were ever locked. Most teachers walked or biked to school. Although the school was situated on a narrow two way street, which also carried commercial traffic to and from the docks, I can`t recall any serious accidents.
My own journey to school was as follows. I would bike two miles into the village, and park my bike in a farmer`s shed. I walked across the road to the bus stop, where I caught the school bus, which took me the five miles into town. From the bus station, I would walk about a mile to the school.
Sometimes, I would bike all the way to school. It was actually quicker, and I valued the freedom of having a bike available to bike into town at dinnertime. The trick was to arrive at the last minute, and scan the bike racks for an empty space caused by someone being absent from school. Sometimes I would borrow a bike from a friend to go into town instead.
I referred to dinnertime. In Lincolnshire, dinner is a meal eaten around midday. The early evening meal is called tea or teatime. This once cost me a meal. As a young man, I went on a course at a technical college in Birmingham, which meant a few weeks staying in digs. I arrived at my digs at about five o`clock on the day before the course was due to start. The landlady enquired if I had had my dinner, and I replied that I had. I wondered what she was talking about, as of course I had had my dinner at noon.
Being young and naive, I was too shy to ask her what had happened to my tea! Re leaving bikes in farmers sheds. It was always a local custom to leave your bike at a farm to catch a bus, or if you were doing work locally, for example the "Navies" who used to clear the weeds from fen "drains"[ drainage channels]. The custom was so well established that it was considered unnecessary to ask permission. In later life, I met a man who had moved here from London. He bought an old farmhouse in a village opposite a bust stop. He was always complaining how rude Lincolnshire people were, leaving their bikes in his shed without permission to catch a bus. They had probably used that same shed all their lives, and did not realise that the place had changed owners.
