Forget swine flu: moon fever is the real pandemic of the moment. The media have been constantly reminding us of the imminent 40th anniversary of the moment Neil Armstrong stepped onto the surface of the moon.

I'm lucky enough to remember the excitement of July 1969. I was just five at the time, and about to finish my first year in school, at Bishop Perrin in Whitton, Middlesex. Our teacher, Mrs Carol, explained to us that the Apollo 11 space mission was trying to make history. We listened to radio reports as the mission unfolded, but not the actual landing, which happened in the early hours of a British Saturday morning. She made clear the risks Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins faced as they headed for the moon: the chance that the 'satellite' (presumably the orbiter) might crash to the surface of the moon, leaving all three men in mortal danger. Happily, as we all know, the mission was a triumphant success.

Looking back, Mrs Carol was right to stress the dangers. The near-disaster of Apollo 13 the following year showed that going to the moon was an extraordinary thing. This 953,000 mile mission relied on amazingly primitive technology: less computing power than my washing machine. But it all worked triumphantly. The moonshots turned unassuming astronauts like Neil Armstrong into household names around the globe – along with commentators such as James Burke, the presenter of the BBC's moon landing coverage.

Back in 1969, it was easy to believe that moon travel would soon be commonplace. Jonathan King's 1965 hit Everyone's Gone to the Moon captured the mood of the era. But soon after NASA's July 1969 triumph, the moon programme was slashed, and no one has stepped on our nearest neighbour for 37 years. Like Concorde, the moon landings did not represent the future, but a moment in time.

Armstrong's famous 'one small step' wasn't the only famous event that Bishop Perrin pupils followed that Sixties July. We also watched Prince Charles' investiture as Prince of Wales at Caernarfon Castle live on television. The school's involvement of children in current events was unexpected in many ways: Bishop Perrin appeared a very traditional establishment, and made no concession to the revolution in teaching methods that were sweeping the country after the famous Plowden report of 1967. We learned to read with the help of pre-war Janet and John books. The headteacher, Mr Davies, told the education authorities that he would adopt their methods when they could prove to him they were more effective than his tried and tested techniques. I discovered his success a couple of years later when we moved back to Cardiff and was shocked by how many of my new friends at Lakeside primary school still struggled to read at the age of eight. I owe a huge amount to my Sixties teachers, and not just memories of that giant leap for mankind.