Quite simply, our Health Education teacher pointed to a diagram of a penis on the board, and exclaimed "The foreskin." One poor child remarked: "What's a foreskin? I haven't got a foreskin." The teacher was sympathetic, the kids less so. The teacher explained this was normal. However, when he the pointed on the diagram to the testicles, only to be met by the boy's increasing confusion: "What are testicles? I haven't got any testicles", the whole class lost all control of their senses. Womble, or "One-Ball", was created to celebrate this day. It turned out that he was telling the truth. It was carnage down there.

In our playground we had some rusty movable hooops, which we used to play netball or basketball with. One of the drawbacks was that occasionally the ball would become jammed up against the top of the basket, and whoever had thrown the ball would have to shin up and knock it back out again.

On one such occasion, Trevor Smith climbed up the pole and, after successfuly knocking the ball free, slid back down. However, he had forgotten that there was a hook designed to hold up a tennis net halfway down, which he duly impaled his nutsack on. In his obvious agony he let go of the pole and was left hanging only by his scrotum, about 5 feet from the ground.

I was one of the 20 or so boys who could do nothing but vomit as he flailed helplessly, emiting an ever increasingly high pitched scream until he was 'unhooked' by some teachers.

After a few weeks off school he returned with the imaginative nickname 'Womble' but frankly I would be suprised if anything had survived the rusty hook. Just writing this has chilled me to the bone(r).