In Leeds, most secondary schools fall into one of two color tribes: red or blue. It’s like Gryffindor versus Slytherin, but with less magic and more soggy buses. I once watched a mate, a proud Red, refuse to hold a blue pen during a group project. “It’s the principle,” he said, as if the pen itself was plotting against his childhood.
The rivalry kicks off before you even start secondary school. Your older siblings, cousins, or even your grandparents have already picked a side. It’s almost like inheriting a football team loyalty, except your team is literally the uniform you have to wear for five years.
The Commute Chronicles
The real battleground isn’t the classroom—it’s the number 42 bus. That bus is a rolling circus of tension, where Red jumpers sit on one side and Blue blazers on the other, separated by an invisible line only broken by the occasional dropped bag. I’ll never forget the time a Blue kid accidentally sat on the Red side, and a girl whispered, “Mate, you’re lost,” like he’d wandered into enemy territory at war.
At the bus stop, you learn to spot the signs. A Red student will casually adjust their tie like a secret handshake, while a Blue student might flick their collar with an air of superiority. It’s all very dramatic for kids who can’t even vote yet.
