When the transport costs for the coaches taking us to the heated indoor pool became too expensive, our school decided to have us use the pool in the local park - outdoors and unheated. Our sadistic bastard of a PE teacher would hurry us into the icy depths and then disappear into the little wooden hut to smoke, drink tea and take the piss out of us with the parkie-type man who worked there.
On one particularly bleak day, a boy, newly arrived from India, overcome with shock and cold and unable to swim, struggled weakly in the middle of the pool before passing out and rolling over for the last time. My friend Paul came to the rescue and began to swim towards the poor lad. The shouts finally alerted PE dick, who instead of jumping in to help, casually took off his sheepskin coat, trainers and socks and was removing his wristwatch when the boy was finally laid, unconscious beside the pool.
The other park-keepers revived him after a few tense minutes. There was no ambulance, no inquiry, nothing official. The PE teacher even blamed the boy because he couldn't speak English and never told him he couldn't swim. After the incident, Indian-boy-life-saving Paul somehow managed to convince himself that he was now a prime target for the National Front and it was only a matter of time before they would get him.