When I made the transition to secondary school in the 1980s, one of the big attractions was that the comprehensive I was enrolled at had an outdoor swimming pool.

What a treat, I thought to myself.

At junior school, all swimming lessons had involved a coach ride down to the local leisure centre in Ashford. There we’d don our pyjamas and dive down to pick up rubber bricks and the such like. Do they still make kids do that?

As Peter Kay once quipped: “I've still yet to save a black rubber brick from drowning while coincidentally walking past the side of a canal wearing a pair of pyjamas.”

The thought, today, that state schools could boast such facilities seems strange; but it was far from unusual.

My mind imagined how diving in would be much like going to the French campsites we used to frequent on family holidays; nice, warm water and splashing about while bathed in sunshine.

The reality, of course, was rather different.

On our first swimming lesson, taking place on a grey, chilly day, it quickly became apparent if the water in the pool was heated, it was set barely high enough to prevent ice from forming.

Rather than jumping in and enjoying this swanky facility, my overriding memory is everyone nervously standing around acutely aware they were about to experience something akin to cold water shock.

Ordered in by an unsympathetic games teacher, parts of a young boy’s anatomy was at risk of shooting up to where it had first descended upon contact with the icy chill.

Back then, we had the 13-plus rather than the 11-plus, so when I scraped (and I mean scraped) into a grammar school a couple of years later, it too had a pool.

And, I remind you, this was Ashford; not the affluent west of the county.

The one advantage here was that we were only taken to the pool when the sun had been shining and the water was, as a consequence, rather warmer.

During the annual swimming gala, I’d been all keyed up for the breaststroke race (I came second – possibly the pinnacle of my sporting achievements) but that was all quickly forgotten during an underwater competition.

Pupils would dive down and start to swim; the winner whoever could cover the most distance while fully submerged. On reflection, it was always going to be a recipe for disaster.

Thus, when one of the powerful swimmers started doing laps without coming up for air, there was a fair amount of excitement. Until, that is, he suddenly stopped. He was clearly drowning.

I can still remember the speed at which teachers sprang into action and dived in to fish him out.

When one of the boys started doing laps without coming up for air, there was a fair amount of excitement. Until, that is, he suddenly stopped. He was clearly drowning

Chest compressions were delivered and an ambulance swiftly summoned. Remarkably, he survived.

It left us all rather shaken up, to put it mildly. I suspect that may have drawn the curtains on that particular discipline in future years.

My only other memory of the facility was being where some pals and I thought was the height of cool to hide behind and smoke tiny Café Crème cigars (for some reason we thought them a more sophisticated option to cigarettes). Probably not what the pool was designed for.

Today, secondary schools have bigger fish to fry – and maintaining a swimming pool, I suspect, is so not on their priority list.

Kids can, as a result, breathe a sigh of relief.