No. 125
The Trusty Servant introduced himself, and came in for tea and a nice chat. It was a kind gesture which I appreciated greatly and led to much further friendliness and help from this splendid man, soon to become a great headmaster. Otherwise, it was in at the deep end, though PEC was a wonderful mentor from whom I learnt so very much( and to whom I have paid richly deserved tribute recently in this publication). And while mentioning significant influences on my Winchester life, I pay tribute too to Ralph Townsend, who initially steered us all safely away from impending rocks, then provided secure, deft leadership and, on a personal note, very considerable kindness.
At the start, in the early 80s, dons were paid but three times a year, at irregular intervals. On mentioning my slight surprise about this arcane practice to a colleague he said,‘ Oh really? I have no idea how much I’ m paid.’ There were such dons then,‘ gentlemen teachers’ in no apparent need of what Joyce Grenfell called‘ the sordid topic of coin’.
I say‘ gentlemen’. There were only three full-time female dons: two splendid biologists and a young mathematician who stayed for just a year.
The boys( rather, men) wore, up to books, tweed jackets, and straw hats(‘ strats’) were compulsory. In the early 80s the boys were clearly becoming disenchanted with the latter and too many either‘ forgot’ to put them on or somehow the top came off, leaving a sort of an open cylinder which looked vaguely ridiculous. The ever-charismatic John Thorn wisely discontinued them.
Nowadays you scarcely see a tweed jacket and dark suits hold sway. Typical of boys: when you don’ t have an official uniform, they all end up looking exactly the same, which, in a roundabout way, brings me to my main point, perhaps my only point. So often I was asked by prospective parents what makes Winchester so special. That’ s easy. It is the absolute delight of the boys, their irrepressible humour and their friendly, frequently effervescent, nature which immediately struck me on joining and remains just as strong today. Welcome smiles and a‘ Good morning, Sir’ as you walk down the paths and‘ How are you today, Sir’ as they enter the lab( and I have had boys running in to ensure a front-row seat), then‘ Thank you, Sir’ as they leave. This, I submit, does not happen in many schools. Indeed, a teacher at another school said to me,‘ I wish someone would ask me how I am once in a while.’ Such mutual respect, boys to dons, boys to boys, and dons to boys, is the kingpin from which all else flows. Almost as important is their powerful intellect. Luckily, they do not know everything: note the first-year boy who attempts to connect his Bunsen burner to the water supply; another who asks,‘ Sir, where do you keep the flaming splints?’( one explains patiently that they don’ t come ready-flamed); and, fairly frequently,‘ Sir, my litmus paper isn’ t changing colour’, to which one points out politely,‘ That’ s because you’ re not actually using the litmus paper, but rather the cover of the booklet that the litmus paper comes in.’ I can confidently say I enjoyed my teaching every bit as much on my last day as I did on my first. All credit for that goes to the boys. That is not to say I did not appreciate my incredibly knowledgeable and friendly colleagues- I most certainly did.
Just as much fun as the teaching was being the Housemaster of Toye’ s. I have been frequently asked,‘ What’ s it like being a Housemaster?’ I remember on my first Saturday afternoon three boys appearing at the study door. The first asked if I would help with his Oxford application, the second said,‘ Please Sir, have you got a piece of string that long?’ and the third said,‘ I think I can smell gas coming from the kitchen.’ Being a Housemaster is like that. It was, however, an absolute joy and an enormous privilege to be there for the Toyeites and to guide these wonderful, delightful young men through that vital progression from the nervy 13-year-old to the 18-year-old university-entrant. That is not to say it was unalloyed delight. They gave me a hard time when my team, Spurs, lost; and they could, as was only to be expected, occasionally be naughty. I remember once when some of my top year decided it would be fun to go up to St Swithun’ s at five in the morning and throw pebbles at the girls’ windows as an enticement to get them up. I am not certain how unerring their window selection was, for well before breakfast I had a phone call from the Headmistress.‘ Andrew, did you know your boys have been throwing stones at the windows?’ We decided something would need to be said but frankly we were both saw the amusement value. A good job the boys did not hear the joviality for they might have come to the conclusion that we were taking the matter a little too lightly. Nonetheless, they received a suitably serious, grim-faced dressing down and that was that. It was the brilliant, wise and much-missed Geoff Hewitson who, ages ago, had taught me, amongst so much else, that sometimes it was better to do nothing rather than something. When appropriate, it is an approach that can reap rich rewards; it is overreaction that can be the more damaging. How lucky was I to have Geoff as a House Tutor even when he was at the same time a busy Second Master.
Over three dozen years there have inevitably been changes; many have even been improvements. There are now getting on for 20 full-time female dons, which is without doubt a huge progression. The distribution of many more bursaries, all now based entirely on genuine need, has also been an important step forward, as have been vast enhancement in the houses. But whatever changes are implemented, the heart and spirit of Winchester remains unaltered: the pursuit of excellence, in the most beautiful setting imaginable and in the company of the most splendid of people, is as alive and recognisable today as it was over 600 years ago.
I did like it there. The Common Room was awfully unstuffy. And after a while we got paid regularly every month.
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