Here’s help in remembering the teachers at Woodbridge
School when you were there. Listed every ten years. Starred
names are still at School. Here's 1950: 1970: 1990: 2000
1950
Eric Ayres. Headmaster. G.B.Riddell, Second
master. E.G.Johnson; R.J.Buisseret; D. Proctor-Robinson; W.B.Hart;
H.G.Lewis; P.Haines; A.C.Goodden; H.E.Appleyard; J.N.Stevens;
T.W.Dewar; A.Holmes; The Rev. R.G.Darley
Any memories of these staff you’d like to add please
send them to The Editors at Editors@oldwoodbridgians.org.uk
We would like to build up a collection of memories. I think
we are looking for cheerful and positive contributions and
not memories of Mr. X who only gave you 8/10 for that French
prep. Send those if it helps as I keep them all in Archives
anyway and it will make a marvellous History of the School
for future generations.
Also, over the next months I’ll put in the valedictions
of staff who have left and which appeared in the Woodbridgian
Magazines.
So click on the link below and read all about your favourite
member of staff.
We would need a whole website to chart the
role that the Saunders family has played in Woodbridge School
life. Ian and Eve Saunders have housemastered and matroned
Queens House, Tallents House and School House in a career
of over 20 years. This is unprecedented in the School’s
history. In addition they supplied the school with three fine
pupils, Tom, Ben and Ruth and Mr. Saunders has been Head of
Technology and now is teacher of mathematics.
I was more or less dragged into the house
by the extremely friendly Toby, the house hound, and a large
mug of tea was produced by Mrs. S. Bells rang for most of
the short time I conducted my interview, clearly showing the
sort of commitment involved in boarding. The patience of the
dynamic duo was remarkable I thought. Requests varied from
the odd plaster to mend a wound, appeals to go somewhere at
the week-end, boarders wanting money or tuck; I know not.
I started by asking Mr. S. how he began his
life in boarding. It was as an assistant tutor in Queens House.
When the incumbent Revd Burrows left he leapt above the unfortunate
tutor and took over the role. ‘Queens House was in a
sort of time warp,’ he recalls. ‘It could have
been still in the 1950s with prefect punishments, bath rotas,
evening house meetings, Bible readings and prayers, roll calls
with the boys answering sum!’ He went on to say
how hobbies were still important and old-fashioned board games
too. The boys enjoyed all the major sports and with a laugh
he recollects how, when Jamie Harper and James Griffiths arrived
back for the Summer term, they walked straight through the
house to the cricket nets and started practising! Health and
Safety regulations now prevent unsupervised play of this sort!
In that Summer Term two evenings of athletic trials took place,
which the boys enjoyed as much as Sports Day itself. The BarBQ
was another memory with lads sitting round the embers until
late in the evening. And there was the open snooker tournament
with Saunders v. Bettell in the final. Ah, happy days.
What about the CB radio craze? Those stalwart tutors too -
MAW and WEK.
But all good things had to pass and the girl
boarders needed more space. So it was off to Tallents House
for the Saunders clan. Little boys were declining; big girls
were growing; it’s as simple as that. Tallents had been
a girls’ house of course and there were more luxuries
there certainly. There was a sophisticated fire-alarm system
too with quite a few false alarms. And when James Davis took
a bath, the school footed a bill of thousands. (The story
is in the ‘Memories’ booklet. Ed.) In 1987
the famous gale blew down the Cedar of Lebanon and missed
Leighton Jenkins by inches. The boys gathered in the Common
Room as branches blew everywhere and flying glass threatened
danger. There was no electricity that week-end but games in
the Saunders’ lounge in front of a roaring fire. What
about the winter of snow - the year of the first Aussies it
was. School was cancelled but luckily all the boarders had
managed to return to the house at the start of the term! So
it was another programme of activities! These included path-clearing
for the residents of Moorfield Road - whether they wanted
it or not! Names cropped up - Rob Grant; John Guest; Barnaby
Harper; Chris Dorward; Steven Terry; Marcus Stapleton - these
were lads, and there may be more, who suffered the Saunders
for seven years. No, ‘suffered’ was the word Mr.
S used, not I !
Precisely because, the family were on the
move again - across to School House. This time with brand
new tutors, Stephen Cottrell and Paul Kesterton. There were
carpets and eventually curtains in an upgraded boarding facility;
work stations in the Common Room. And when Tallents House
closed just about a year later Abbey boarders and Tallents
boarders followed on and joined the house. It was the last
great era of traditional boarding, with School House mopping
up the sports prizes.
Then reports the
doughty housemaster, the governors announced the end of boarding.
The younger boys left but a small number of parents liked
what Woodbridge School had to offer and their determination
persuaded the governors to keep boarding alive for a while.
Numbers were declining. Tallents had closed; Queens closed.
There were sixth formers in the Sixth Form Centre with Mrs.
Pluke. Came the great decision - they would all go to the
wonderful world of Saunders and one of the first mixed boarding
houses in the country was opened. Later, experts would come
from many corners of our isles to learn lessons, to take back
to their schools.
One of the great aids
to creating a harmonious mixed house was the strong family
ambience helped by the large groupings of siblings in the
house - Dorwards, Babraffs, Cleland-Smiths, Penkmans, Stevens,
Duttons, Johnsons, Hudsons, Goodfellows and Jenkins and others.
Another announcement of closure was reversed by Stephen Cole
and so the long tradition of boarding was saved. The Sixth
Form House was closed only to be re-opened when Felixstowe
College demised. For a year Mr. Saunders was i/c the Sixth
Form Centre facility too.
A new phase in boarding commenced with the
advent of international boarders and they have brought a new
richness and interest to the whole school. They came from
Hong Kong, they came from Germany; there were Rooshians and
a number of scholars who joined us under the auspices of the
HMC Eastern and Central European Scheme; Moldovans and those
from the Baltic states. There were students from communist
China. Mr. Saunders appears suddenly to be talking in tongues
as he rattles off a dozen or more strange and foreign names
and your writer’s short-hand is just not up to the task
of putting them on paper. But for a while we chat amiably
about the way in which the house reflects the changing geo-political
world. Strange to talk of such things, surrounded as we are
by an awesome collection of early 20th century tobacco jars.
Yes, those symbols
of yesteryear and stability stand cheek by jowl with quite
large numbers of gifts brought to the Saunders from all corners
of the globe. What tangible memories to take into retirement.
‘Well hardly
retirement,’ corrects the housemaster, ‘I shall
continue to teach at Woodbridge School.’
I return to my probing and questioning line.
What board games do the present generation of boarders enjoy?
Mr. Saunders beams at the clear and obvious evidence of my
naiveté. He lists the joys of the modern boarder. Lap-top
computers linked to the www via mobile phones. Most boarders
have their own TVs, DVDs, play stations, digital cameras,
telephones that take photographs. Oh, so no one plays monopoly
then? Well we have a few great chess players. One is the Suffolk
champion. As we speak the sound of a piano playing sweetly
is heard. Thank goodness for some old-fashioned activities.
‘One of our Moldovan boarders was a concert pianist,’
murmurs the housemaster.
‘Mr. Saunders, has the old world gone
for ever?’ It is a bold question. He pauses, reaches
for and tightens the lid of a late Victorian tobacco jar,
and starts with Saturday morning school. It’s gone.
This involves responsibility for boarders for two full days.
In the old days, morning school, and afternoon games on a
Saturday swallowed up a great part of the week-end. Sunday
chapel is no more. That was often a useful social occasion
too, with coffee and refreshments for visitors. Sports domination
has gone and the trophy cupboard dismantled. Boarders now
play house matches for the day house teams.
Suddenly a shadow passes over the housemaster
and he recalls, quite out of context, the days when the boarders
had parents involved in military conflicts - the Falklands
War, At least one dad was a yomper. In the Gulf War
parents were at the front or in the air. These were worrying
times for the youngsters. The atmosphere in the house was
muted.
But we move on and I persuade Mr. Saunders
to reflect on that great unchanging institution, the Boarders
Christmas Supper. The sketches that were created; the songs
that were sung; the jokes that raised the roof or fell flat!
The teachers who were dragged on stage; those that were cruelly
impersonated, well not cruelly. Had he realised that he was
a natural performer and entertainer before he came here? Apparently,
these evenings had brought out the thespian in him and the
creative sketch and song-writer too. He produced a file of
sketches and songs and I said I hoped there was someone in
the school who would archive them for posterity. He was close
to singing a few and I was glad when Mrs. Saunders appeared
with more tea.
There can be no doubt that Mrs. S is a good
50% of the Saunders team but she had little time to answer
my questions as the bell rings and off she goes to deal with
another request. For over 20 years she has ministered to,
what? tens, dozens, scores? .... of boarders of all ages,
both sexes, different nationalities, a wide spread of temperaments,
but remember, all of them youngsters far away from their homes.
Their clothes, their hygiene, their health,
their worries and anxieties. I make a personal note to investigate
whether there are national awards for matrons. Eve Saunders
must be in line for one.
What will you miss most? It was not an easy
question and impossible to sum up in words that don’t
sound maudlin or trite. Ian Saunders recognises in a way that
only a boarding housemaster can, I presume, the uniquely special
role that he and Mrs. S have played in the formative years
of so many young people. It has been a privilege, he concludes.
This interview first appeared in the Old
Woodbridgians Magazine
Where do we start? JRM served for thirty years at Woodbridge
School - and never seem to age! He was Head of Chemistry and
the Supremo of Science, Director of Studies and from Jan 2003
to Jan 2004 was Acting Deputy Headmaster when Michael Streat
was serving his time in Botany Bay. John Mileham was a great
cricketer and rugby player, coaching a variety of teams and
reffing the latter game in School and at Woodbridge RUFC.
Cricket? No one scored runs off his bowling. Honest. JRM captained
Lowestoft Town and Deben Valley.
Breaking down his various roles at Woodbridge School is not
easy but we must remember that as Director of Studies JRM
was a magician of the highest order. For 16 years he constructed
the teaching timetable, satisfying the needs of those staff
whose individual demands could be pretty extreme and those
pupils whose choice of subjects equally bizarre!
He has enjoyed teaching immensely, getting youngsters interested
in science, the fundamental theories. ‘Everything is
chemistry,’ claims John. ‘Even happiness?’
quips a pupil. Time for a lesson on chemistry of the brain!
Apparently his claim is true.
Can you remember those first days? The dark old labs and
the range of chemicals conjured visions of Crippen’s
workshop; masses of cyanide and arsenic. They were removed
but in the years that followed there was plenty of time for
explosions and mishaps. The over enthusiasm of a certain Duncan
and Tigger, making nitro benzene showed the immediate benefit
of wearing goggles. Simon D. scattered sulphuric acid in a
fourth form lesson. One experiment where the finished product,
isocyanide, MUST NOT be poured down the sink, was poured down
the sink and the resulting smell brought about the abandonment
of all classes in the science block that afternoon! Thanks
there to Nick P. Now, risk assessment removes a lot of the
fun!
Asked to name names, which is unfair, John mentions Stephen
Ades and Chris Hawkes from earlier days and the remarkable
Markland family in recent times. But they stand merely as
representatives of generations of fine chemists, many of whom
have made their mark in serious science.
But it’s all dumbed down now, isn’t it, JRM?
Exams are simpler admits the great man but the skills element
at GCSE is worthy of praise. There are so many structured
questions, even at A-level. Students only have to write a
few lines these days. Mind you, the multiple choice questions
are extremely tricky. Independent learning is squeezed in
the wonderful world of modules where the students are prepared
for an exam almost every three months. The staff have had
to become more ‘didactic’, as a result. Coursework?
‘A good idea, gone sour.’ Lack of space forbids
a serious discussion of these key issues. Another big change
has been the increase of bureaucracy, the advance of paper.
This is education and not just Woodbridge School.
Of course, JRM did not miss the teaching when he was elevated
to the ranks of Director of Studies. He still taught 28 lessons
a week. That timetable you wrote; did you get anxious? It’s
got to work, says JRM, or everybody goes home on the first
day. No one ever did! Do you enjoy a role in senior management.
Yes, it’s important and rewarding to have a say in how
the school operates. There’s a downside too, of course
- one has to take responsibility for when things go wrong!
More names please - staff this time. JRM admits he’s
been lucky with his chemists. He started with KJC, already
a legend. Then there was Tindy, massive and excellent long-service
there; for a while the delightful Miss Rafferty; Chris Pluke,
another fine chemist with high standards; now it’s Tindy
II; Alison Tyndale-Biscoe, er, Mrs Hillman, the new HoD. Suddenly
he throws names about, non-chemists - just colleagues, a catalogue
of teachers, past and present. These he will miss, ‘it’s
a ready-made set of friends and social life’.
Being Deputy-Head. Did that make a difference? It was an
enjoyable year but life did not change radically. What will
you miss the most? Corney but true - the teaching, the pupils
some of whom become life-long friends. The colleagues, of
course. But, admits John, it is time to go.
J.T.S.Hewitt, a boarder at School
House, recalls the history master, and probably the longest-serving
teacher in Woodbridge School's history who taught from 1880-1921,
Vincent Redstone. J.T.S.Hewitt's memories appeared in
the very readable volume Two Horse Power. He also remembered
'Daddy' Shaw who would 'come into our classroom with a swirl
of his gown and put his mortar board down on his desk with
a great flourish. Then, without saying a word, he would look
at us as though he had never seen us before and wished he
didn't have to see us then.'
'Billy' Redstone caught me one afternoon - masters were often
slow at coming into classrooms after their lunch and we often
played about a bit; after all there wasn't much else we could
do. On this occasion I was balancing myself upside down between
two desks when a hush fell on the class. I lowered myself
down and sat with my head facing an open book - I dared not
look up. There was a silence and it seemed ages before he
spoke. Then he said,
'You know when lessons are supposed to start, boy?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Did you expect me to be late?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Am I generally late then?'
By this time the atmosphere was about to go bang. I was past
trying to think clearly and answered once more,
'Yes, Sir.'
Nothing in the room moved.
'Oh, in that case, write me out twenty times the following.'
He paused. I thought, 'twenty times or twenty lines. It can't
be lines ...only twenty....', but my mind was quickly adjusted
by his next words. Not only did I remember it but it's stuck
in my mind all these years.
'Springtime has gone and fled
Bucking rams and
skipping lambs,
Have lost their
dams,
And Hewitt's lost his head.'
'Bring them to me after the next class in two days time.'
'Yes, Sir.'
The threatened storm had gone, no lightning, no thunder.
I then knew why it was only twenty times. I did my best to
comply and duly handed in some lines at the right time. He
took them without looking at them, tore them through the middle
and dropped them into the waste paper basket. The class had
nearly disappeared when he said,
'Were you surprised to get off so lightly?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'I'll tell you why - because you told me the truth. Now you
may go without saying what would appear to be your sole vocabulary.'
I was a former pupil of Gilbert Riddell, wrote D.W.Miller,
some years ago. In those years he taught me maths. But more
than that, in those days after the horrors of the First World
war, he, a highly intelligent, sensitive man, threw his energy
into the OTC. Not for him the uncertainty of doubt, disloyalty
and disbelief. You will perhaps excuse me if I tell you a
memory of the past. 1925/26 perhaps. We, the School Certificate
class, were in classroom 5 - on the North Eastern Corner of
the main building. Riddell was late and for no good reason
a riot broke out. It was a senseless bout of what they now
call vandalism and it happened then. Books were thrown, chalk
was thrown, books were torn up and put into the fire. Desks
were turned up. It was half fun, half bad spirit. GBR walked
in and the silence that fell on the room was tangible. He
did not raise his voice. He had no need to. He took a few
names and dismissed the class. No nonsense. Some were beaten.
HE knew who had originated the trouble because he was a real
master of the situation.
A.P.Waller writes about the delights of Housemastering School
House.
Coming into a school to run a boarding house was a special
adventure requiring a good line in bluff, aided by not a little
experience. My aim was to encourage a greater family atmosphere
and a respect for each individual’s right to develop
his talents and enjoy his life in the house.
When I arrived in 1983 I was blessed
with a new house tutor, Iain Gwyther. He brought to our team,
youth, enthusiasm and much good humour, firmness and fairness.
I also enjoyed the quiet wit of Paul Dumbrill with his ability
to put things in perspective. I must also mention the enigmatic,
even idiosyncratic Roy Brammall. Had I known that he did his
dormitory duties on a bicycle I might have been worried, but
hardly surprised! His unpredictability kept many a School
House lad on his toes and his generosity and energy knew no
bounds.
For me, the members of the house were
what made it, not the building and I have countless memories
of individuals and situations which I regard as private and
not for publication! But were you there for roast turkey in
the boarding house in December 1983? And was that the same
night the sketches got out of hand? Did you see Goldilocks
and those delightful three bears? Were you in the swimming
pool after an end-of-term party when Fred V-R rules us out
of order? Did you ever have half the fun I did in School House?
Did you too have mixed feelings when the time came to move
on?
Headmaster, Stephen
Cole remembers his ‘baptism of fire’
‘To set the place alight’ could
be the ambition of any new headmaster. On taking up my appointment
on January 1st 1994, my first, very first, letter was from
Woodbridge Police requesting me to contact them about the
fire in the pavilion. Passing the 1st XI square I observed
a broken window and a few smouldering cigarette ends. I mentally
noted that in my new county there might be a tendency towards
exaggeration. But on Toller’s Field the vandals had
done the proper job, flattening the pavilion and converting
to ashes a fine collection of mahogany furniture that the
then head of PE had been secreting there.
Whether he knew this, or it was just the
excesses of a very good new year’s eve party, the Chaplain
observing the display from his porch in Haughgate Close, had
invited his fellow guests to come and view the firework display.
The Common Room came to three buffet suppers
in the first week. For twelve hours, three times four, all
passed peacefully. On the last night a group stayed on to
chat .... we did not smell the smoke until the flames were
two feet high on the dining room table - the candles having
ignited the table decorations. Whilst CCF officers ran around
the house in a manner reminiscent of Corporal Jones from Dad’s
Army, the Chaplain - a worrying constant in these two
events - went for the damp tea towel and quickly doused the
flames.
Ruth Saunders, 1990 - 1999, remembers
her days at Woodbridge School and the difficulty of having
a dad who was a teacher there.
I came to live at Woodbridge School
at the tender age of 18 months and grew up there, living at
Queens House, Tallents House and School House. My housemaster
father and matron mum served in all boarding houses, adapting
to the changing pattern of boarding at the school.
Selecting one memory to record for all time is therefore
rather difficult. All my early memories are linked to the
school - brothers Tom and Ben also attended and who can forget
the fun we all had with those two great house hounds, Titus
and Toby? I would like to forget the time Toby dashed into
the scrum of a 1st XV match and tried to get the ball, everything
captured on video! There were also serious and dramatic moments.
In 1987 the great Cedar of Lebanon blew down in the famous
storm, smashing against Tallents and missing Leighton Jenkins
by inches. The clear-up operation was immense. There was that
terrible January when we were all snowed-in.
All children of staff have to face up to the fearful embarrassments
caused by parental behaviour. One of my worst moments was
sitting in the Dome among my third form friends trying to
hide a face becoming increasingly beetroot red, as dad, taking
the assembly tried to rap....
Life is real good ..... For those who try
And so you should ....... should, should, should.
That is good, hey ...... It’s encouragement.
Give some today ..... Enk k k couragement.
Try it.
The looks of pure sympathy from my chums will remain with
me forever. Not only did I have to listen to the rap, I had
to put up with my classmates, led, I think, by Izzy Summers,
encouraging him to do a repeat performance in my CDT lesson
with him, later that morning. Fortunately, he did not oblige!
History should record that my worst ever report grade in a
long school career was in third form CDT! So much for favouritism!
Desmond Proctor-Robinson - Valediction published in The Woodbridgian
on his retirement
Desmond Proctor
Robinson came to Woodbridge School after The Second World
War and stayed for 33 years, as teacher of English, Head of
the English Department, Housemaster of Marryott House and
School House. He was involved in drama for many years, coached
tennis and much more.
If one had to nominate a Woodbridge Schoolmaster
of the Twentieth Century there can be no doubt that the winner
would be Desmond Proctor-Robinson, PR as he was more affectionately
known. Great schoolmasters there have been and these include
Vincent Redstone, G.B.Riddell, Ken Charrot and David Hull
but PR holds sway. The following is the tribute written to
him in ‘The Woodbridgian’, 1977-8. The author
of these words is unknown. If you know please contact
the Editor.
How can one hope to summarise, in a few hundred
words, a career that has spanned the most eventful thirty
years of the School’s history and has throughout that
time been one of the greatest influences on its development
and the development of all who have passed through it?
Certainly not by setting out a curriculum vitae, interesting
- and sometimes surprising - as that might be.
The truth is that one cannot; one can do
no more that attempt to capture the spirit of that career
in the hope that such will revive in the mind of every reader
his own picture and memories.
It has invariably been a source of some puzzlement
amongst junior members of staff that a colleague whose views
on many matters are hopelessly outdated, who can at times
be infuriatingly impervious to reason (particularly when one
is seeking permission to go to a party given by a day-boy
or watch a late-show on television) and who is not in the
least concerned about making himself unpopular when the need
arises, can possibly be held in such affection by so many
boys and old boys, even those for whom the school has done
few favours.
Some staff have left the School years later
still wondering; yet there are few of PR’s family who
would regard this as a conundrum at all. Indeed it is perhaps
one of PR’s great misfortunes (though he would probably
not regard it as such) that he has normally been understood
far more completely by his pupils than by his colleagues.
Why is it then, that PR is so respected,
so loved, by so many? The short answer is that those who show
affection and respect for others receive it in return. He
has always shown equal affection for all his boys and he respects
them all; and this is not the grudging respect that an adult
will sometimes extend to a maturing child, but genuine and
deeply felt.
He is also able to instil self-respect and
confidence into those who have none. Several years ago I was
present whilst he talked to a timid little boy whom he had
just appointed head of Junior Common Room above many more
obvious candidates for the office. That small boy grew visibly
in stature during the twenty minutes he was there and left
the room quite convinced of his ability to do the job and
do it well. PR, you see, could make something of everyone,
even - especially perhaps - those in whom others could see
only bad. To use his own words, 'You can’t make a silk
purse out of a sow’s ear but you can make a jolly good
tobacco pouch.'
PR's concern for all who pass his way manifests
itself in so many ways. When he asks whether grandpa
has recovered from his gout he is not being nosy, but genuinely
concerned for the welfare of the family, whom he regards as
friends in the same way that his boys are his friends.
Many have, in times of personal adversity, had good cause
to discover the depth of that friendship. And what member
of Marryott could possibly forget the penny he received every
birthday from PR? An old sock would have served
exactly the same purpose, of course, it showed that PR cared,
and it was always nice to know that someone cared. Everyone
was treated equally, there were no favourites in PR’s
eyes, nor was there any place for double standards.
All knew exactly where they stood in their dealings with him;
that might mean ‘no’ to a weekend with the family
or to a visit to the cinema - but they had security and knew
exactly where the limits of permissible behaviour lay.
Where those limits were exceeded he would
often give the wrong-doer the benefit of the doubt - to good,
and no doubt anticipated effect. Witness for example the case
of the text book with no brown paper cover.
'Is that book covered with clear plastic,
Alasdair?' said PR to the boy.
'Yes, Sir,' replied the boy.
Turning to the class, PR said: 'You see,
one should always ask a question in the right way.'
Of course, the book was not covered and of course, PR knew
it wasn't, but it was by the next morning.
The point is that PR above all else trusted
his boys totally. It was real trust too, and as a result it
wasn't often abused. How much he actually knew about but chose
not to remark upon remains a mystery - did he, for example,
know how to get into Marryott or School House after lights
out? The fact remains that on the occasions when that trust
was openly abused, PR's reaction would invariably be one not
of anger but of surprise and genuine disappointment and the
shame invoked in the wrong-doer by those expressions of disappointment
was often sufficient punishment in itself.
What else? Well, it’s no secret,
of course, that PR has never been lost for an answer.
'I knew he'd catch a cold, sitting watching
cricket all day in the hot sun with nothing on,' he once said
of an absentee sixth former.
'But he was sitting in the shade.'
'Even worse.'
He can be maddeningly illogical too, and
totally impervious to reason. Once adopted, a view can be
modified only by a subtle and somewhat tortuous process which
involves agreeing at each stage of the process with what he
says. ....'with just one little qualification, PR. Try
it someday and you'll see what I mean and ask him at the same
time to given an impersonation of the Shetland pony he had
as a child - I have honestly never seen anything quite so
funny before or since.
Shortcomings? Yes, of course; in particular,
perhaps, his unwillingness - inability even - to accept changes
in attitudes, standards and even taste. 'This wouldn't have
happened at Cheltenham,' is a comment few will not have heard
before. Paradoxically, however, it is PR's refusal to be influenced
by such changes that has been his greatest asset and his boys'
greatest source of salvation. For in a world of changing
values there is nothing a child in the course of growing up
needs more than security and a firm standard by which to live.
PR's greatest contribution has been to provide that security
and set those standards. 'Do as I say, not as I do,' has no
place in his approach. He has been able to breed people
of dignity and integrity precisely because he is a man of
dignity and integrity who demands even higher standards of
himself than he expects from others. They are standards that
will never change: the standards of courtesy, consideration
- and charm.
When I last visited PR in School House I
had to wait a few moments for his lesson to end. A boy passed
me in the corridor as I waited. He paused for a moment, then
turned round and said, 'Can I help you at all. Are you looking
for someone?' That says more about PR than words ever could.
He has, quite simply, taught those who have been lucky enough
to come under his spell to be gentlemen; in his own words,
to be a little happier, a little better, a little kinder than
when they came. For that we must all be indebted to
him.
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