Unit 3, Part 4

I went to Bradford girls' grammar school. It was a disciplined place and I was a bit of a rebel.

My favourite teacher was Mrs Collen. She came to the school when I was about 13, and she was my English teacher until I was 18. The first impression we had of her was of a gorgeous, glamorous woman. She would bound into the classroom with her books under her arm. School was never a chore. Mrs Collen's personality helped -she was positive and cheerful, always smiling. She loved the subject she taught and communicated this enthusiasm clearly to us. This was what made us want to learn. She never sat behind the desk, like the others, but perched on the front, leaning forward and asking questions. She was totally wrapped up in what we were doing. Whenever we offered anything she would say "Good, good". This became her catchphrase. She encouraged us to read beyond the curriculum, to read anything that would inspire. She was pleased that we were reading from choice. Reading set texts can easily be a task rather than a joy. Literature was a joy to me.

I think it is difficult for our children to understand what they are working towards. They are working for themselves, for qualifications, without necessarily knowing what these signify. For us, personal excellence was a result of what we did, not the motivation.

I was already an avid reader, but it was Mrs Collen who gave my favourite pastime validity. I had wondered if I was wasting my time reading, but she made me realize literature was special.

My best teacher was called Mr Steadman-Jones and he was head of the English department at Holland Park comprehensive. I arrived at the school half the way through the year, and I was a kind of reject from other schools, a hopeless case. I came from a very academic family and was regarded as the black sheep. Then Mr. Steadman-Jones took me under his wing.

He decided that he was going to get me into Oxford, come what may. The fist thing was to get sure I had the basic matriculation requirements - so I had to do Latin. In the exam I stopped halfway through, crumpled up my paper and threw it into the bin. He took it out, smoothed it, and said: ”I’m going to hand this in.” Somehow or other I scraped a pass. What he did with this piece of paper I have no idea. There is no way I could have passed Latin. But I did.

He got me into the habit of reading analytically. It was great fun and I liked writing essays for him. I think I got into Oxford purely on the strength of an essay that I wrote on the subject. I got a scholarship that was astounding and meant I didn’t need the matriculation requirements after all.

He turned my life around. Up until then I hadn’t expected to go to university. I quite liked the idea of writing but without an academic root to it. Mr Staedman-Jones wouldn’t accept anything other than the best. He was pretty waspish. If you didn’t do your homework, nothing very bad would happen to you, but he would give you such a withering look. He didn’t like to play to the crowd or show off, he was reticent. But he was very warm, his warmth was in his enthusiasm.

I went to Lancashire’s All Saints Church of England primary school in Clayton-le-Moors, and then to Accrington grammar school. My favourite teacher was Mrs Birtwell, who taught maths. She was an extremely good teacher. She had a twinkle in her eye and you could talk to her outside the lesson. She was a word that is not much used in education these days — strict. There was no way the class could rock the boat. If we didn’t have our homework in on time we were in terrible trouble. I had an enjoyable time at school, even though half the time we were scared to death. Mrs Birtwell opened the door to maths for me. But when I came to take my GCSEs I got nothing. I think I took four and I failed five. It was my fault — I didn’t work. The school said I had let myself down; let the school down, and let my parents down. But most of all I had let myself down.

So I went out and emptied dustbins for a year. I was a slow learner — I must have been, because it took me eight months to realize I didn’t want to empty bins for the rest of my life. The headmaster of Accrington grammar was a wonderful man called Ben Johnson. I think he had been expelled from the SS for cruelty. After I had been on the bins for a year I went back to the school. This dictatorial man, who showed very little sentiment, saw in me a spark of ambition and ignited it again. I am eternally grateful to Ben Johnson for that. I went back into the same rigid environment and got my head down, and the second time I passed nine exams.

Schools in the Fifties were tremendous. They realized there is no such thing in life as a level playing field. Life was about competition, and school equipped us to compete.