Passed/Failed: An education in the life of Pam Ayres, poet and broadcaster

'I must have looked very twerpish'

Pam Ayres, 59, has been writing and performing her humorous verse for more than 30 years, and was in the top 10 of a BBC poll to find the nation's favourite comic poems. Her latest collection, Surgically Enhanced, is just out, and her CD, Pam Ayres: Ancient and Modern, is released in November. She is appearing at Millfield Arts Centre, London N18, on 22 September

Why he picked on me, I don't know. I must have looked particularly twerpish. One of my earliest memories at my C of E primary school in Stanford-in-the-Vale, in the Vale of the White Horse, Berkshire, was of being bullied by Phillip, a big boy at the top of the school. He said, "I'm going to poke fun at you", emphasising each syllable with a jab in my bony chest. I was scared stiff. Eventually, my mother must have been down to the school and he left me alone.

I enjoyed being in school plays, particularly when I had a funny part. I remember having to say, "The Queen!", and flourish a lorgnette. It was made by the boys in the woodwork class who didn't know what a lorgnette was and so made an owly pair of glasses on a stick of balsawood. I was nervous but thrilled.

There was much trumpeting when the school library opened. It was only one shelf, but when I said that I was interested in a book about ponies, Miss Edmonds, the Reception teacher, gave me the first book that I read for pleasure, and that made me look for other books by the same author. It was Wish for a Pony by Monica Edwards, whose books were admittedly a bit snobby and made me look down my nose at our council house.

There were four classes and four teachers. Miss Bedford had the fearsome reputation of being a tartar and very strict. One day I inadvertently tore my exercise book by trapping it in the lid of my desk. I was so terrified that I feigned all sorts of illnesses, and for weeks I was away more than I was at school. My mother thought I had appendicitis and got the doctor out. One day in class, Miss Bedford said, "Pamela, will you bring your exercise book?". I burst into tears but she just said, "Oh, that's what it's all about", and repaired it with sticky tape.

I failed the 11-plus. I'm not saying I would have passed, but I remember being terribly irritated that the headmistress, who was invigilating, was gossiping with the vicar throughout the exam. So I went to Farringdon secondary modern. It overflowed into numerous outposts in town: "The Huts", a displaced-persons camp with corrugated-iron roofs, and an old Marines camp where we used to learn needlework.

The teaching was chequered. There was a madman who taught English and had insane rages. But Bill Reeves, who also taught English, was gorgeous. He encouraged me to write stories and we put together a little book called Ayres and Graces. He started a paper called The Conquest, and I wrote stories for it about ponies and escapades.

We all left school at 15. I passed the Civil Service exams. That qualified me for clerical work in the Civil Service, and they sent me on day release to a further- education college in Oxford, where I took O-levels in English language and literature. I didn't have any trouble in passing. I also got the mayor's award for Best Civil Service Student. All that was a life-saver as it showed that I was capable of more than my 11-plus failure had indicated.

I joined the Women's Royal Air Force, where I did geography, social and economic history, and the general paper, so I got five O-levels - like many girls at grammar schools - while having a full-time job. I've never taken any A-levels.

When I was stationed near Huntington, I used to take the bus to Cambridge and look through the gates at the beautiful colleges and think, "If only I had the chance!". It was like a foreign country.