Out of the Woods But Not Over the Hill

Out of the Woods but not Over the Hill Gervas e P hinn

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Firs t publis hed in Great B ritain in 2010 by Hodder & S toughton A n Hac hette UK c om pany Copyright (c ) Gervas e P hinn 2010 Illus trations (c ) J im K ay T he right of Gervas e P hinn to be identified as the A uthor of the W ork has been as s erted by him in ac c ordanc e with the Copyright, Des igns and P atents A c t 1988. A ll rights res erved. No part of this public ation m ay be reproduc ed, s tored in a retrieval s ys tem , or trans m itted, in any form or by any m eans without the prior written perm is s ion of the publis her, nor be otherwis e c irc ulated in any form of binding or c over other than that in whic h it is publis hed and without a s im ilar c ondition being im pos ed on the s ubs equent purc has er. A CIP c atalogue rec ord for this title is available from the B ritis h Library. E pub IS B N 9781848949294 B ook IS B N 9781444705386 Hodder & S toughton Ltd 338 E us ton Road London NW 1 3B H www.hodder.c o.uk

For my mother and father, P at and J immy P hinn, w ho enc ouraged me to aim for the moon.

Contents Introduc tion 'W hen I W as a Lad' 'Don't Y ou Have a P roper J ob?' 'T he Happies t Days of Y our Life' 'T he W onder Y ears ' 'I S hall Not T ell Y ou A gain! ' 'God's Own Country' 'T he S lippery S nake' 'A re Y ou A nybody?' 'It's a Funny Old W orld' A c knowledgem ents

Introduction

W hen m y s on Ric hard and his fianc ee were planning their wedding, they as ked m e if I would write a poem for this s pec ial oc c as ion; s om ething about love and fam ilies , a vers e whic h was both touc hing and m aybe a little s entim ental. T hey would then have it fram ed as a rem inder of the day they tied the knot. P ic ture the s c ene: the happy c ouple s itting in the c entre of the top table with the parents of the bride and groom , the two bes t m en (m y other s ons , Matthew and Dom inic ) and the three pretty brides m aids . Following the us ual s peec hes , I was c alled upon to s tand and dec laim m y poem , es pec ially written for the oc c as ion. A nd here it is : W hen I am Old! W hen I'm old and I'm wrinkly, I s hall not live alone In a pens ioner's flat or an old people's hom e, Or take an apartm ent on s om e dis tant s hore. I'll m ove in with m y s on and m y daughter-in-law. I'll return all the joy that m y s on gave to m e W hen he s at as a c hild on his dear father's knee. He will welc om e m e willingly into his hom e W hen I'm old and I'm wrinkly and all on m y own. I'll s pill c offee on the c arpet, leave m arks on the wall, I'll s tagger hom e drunk and be s ic k in the hall. I'll s ing really loudly and s lam every door, W hen I live with m y s on and m y daughter-in-law. I'll ris e from m y bed in the late afternoon, T hrow the s heets on the floor and m es s up m y room . I'll play ear-s plitting m us ic well into the night, Go down for a s nac k and leave on every light. I'll res t m y old feet on the new leather c hairs . I'll drape dirty underwear all down the s tairs , I'll talk to m y friends for hours on the phone W hen I live with m y s on in his lovely new hom e. I'll c om e in from the garden with m ud on m y s hoes , Flop on the s ettee for m y afternoon s nooze, E xpec t that m y tea will be ready by four W hen I live with m y s on and m y daughter-in-law. I'll leave all the dis hes piled up in the s ink A nd invite all m y nois y friends round for a drink, I'll grum ble and m um ble, I'll c om plain and I'll m oan W hen I'm old and I'm wrinkly and all on m y own. I'll watc h televis ion hour after hour, I'll not flus h the toilet or was h out the s hower. Oh, blis s , what a future for m e is in s tore W hen I m ove in with m y s on and m y daughter-in-law. A m onth after the wedding, m y s on and daughter-in-law m oved to B erm uda! Like m any other 'oldies ' who are approac hing their three s c ore years and ten, I am feeling m y age. You know you are growing old, they s ay, when everything ac hes and what does n't ac he does n't work, you s it in a roc king c hair and c an't m ake it work and you get wind playing c ards . You know you are growing old when you have m ore hair in your ears than on your head, a dripping tap c aus es an unc ontrollable urge and you look forward to a good night in. You help an old wom an ac ros s the road and dis c over it's your wife, s om eone c om plim ents you on your c roc odile s hoes and you tell them that you're in bare feet and your c hildren look m iddle-aged. W hen I was approac hed by a bald, bent and wrinkled individual who inform ed m e that I us ed to teac h him , and another tim e when a s m all c hild in an infant s c hool obs erved that, 'when I'm twenty-one, you'll probably be dead', I really did feel m y age. T he thing about growing old is that you bec om e inc reas ingly nos talgic , rem em bering 'the good old days ' and inflic ting your m em ories on the younger generation: W hen I was a lad, I walked to s c hool In pouring rain and freezing s leet, W ith s atc hel c ram m ed with heavy books , I trekked for m iles with ac hing feet . . . B ut I was happy! W hen I was a lad, I s hared a bed In a room with bare boards on the floor. No c entral heating, double glazing, W e didn't even have a door . . . B ut I was happy! W hen I was a lad I had no toys , Com puters , T V s and the like. Y ou were thought to m e a m illionaire If you owned a football or a bike . . . B ut I was happy! W hen I was a lad, food was s c arc e, I lic ked the pattern off the plate. W e never s aw an ic e-c ream c one, A bag of s weets or a c hoc olate c ake . . . B ut I was happy! W hen I was a lad, s c hool was s tric t, A nd teac hers hit you with a c ane J us t for s peaking out in c las s . I never opened m y m outh again . . . B ut I was happy! I rem em ber well that golden age, T he m em ories m ake m e feel quite s ad. W hy every day was a holiday, In the good old days , when I was a lad. More and m ore thes e days , I s eem to be harking bac k to this 'golden age' when bobbies walked the beat, people s tood up for the National A nthem in c inem as and 'gay' m eant happy. T here were no Chines e take-aways , fas t food outlets or s uperm arkets , and m ilk was delivered in glas s bottles . Cars had c hokes , MOTs hadn't been invented and there were no c om puters , s ound s ys tem s or m obile phones . T he televis ion, when it arrived in 1959, was hous ed in an ugly wooden c abinet, had an eight-inc h s c reen and s howed blac k and white program m es . T here were no s ex s c enes , bad language or gratuitous violenc e on the s c reen, and the ac tors kis s ed with their lips c los ed. W hen I was young, m y father handed his wage pac ket over to m y m other every Friday. He didn't have a c redit c ard, rarely went out without wearing his trilby hat and never s et foot on a golf c ours e. W e didn't go to an ic e rink or a bowling alley or travel abroad, and we never 'ate out'. T he fam ily would s it down around the table at teatim e. If we c hildren didn't c lean our plates , there was no des s ert and, when we had finis hed, we had to as k 'to be exc us ed'. I wore s hort trous ers until I was eleven, always had 's hort bac k and s ides ' at the barber's and walked to s c hool in s ens ible s hoes . Of c ours e, there are c ertain benefits to getting old: you rec eive a pens ion, a bus pas s , a s enior railc ard and a winter fuel allowanc e. You c an get into the c inem a half pric e and people help you with your heavy c as e. B ut the great advantage of being a 'wrinkly' is that you c an expres s your feelings and opinions freely and as forc efully as you like, for, as Dr David Olivier, an expert on ageing, c onc ludes : 'age c an bring people independenc e of thought. Older people are not afraid to be original.' For m y father's generation, being in your s ixties was c ons idered old and there was little m ore to look forward to than a leis urely walk to the pub, a gam e of dom inoes and then bac k hom e for a s nooze in your favourite arm c hair. A wom an in her s ixties s ettled for a quiet, uneventful life; s he dres s ed m odes tly, rec alled wis tfully her youthful good looks and res igned hers elf to looking after the hom e. Not any m ore. Today's oldies are not interes ted in growing old. T hey are m ore likely to s pend their c hildren's inheritanc e enjoying life rather than brooding about retirem ent and s lowing down. T hey m ay be 'out of the woods ' but they are c ertainly not 'over the hill'. Cons idering m ys elf jus t s uc h an 'oldie with attitude', I have c ollec ted together a s elec tion of m y own reflec tions - s oc ial c om m ent, autobiographic al anec dotes , des c riptions of the oddities of life, random obs ervations and idios ync ratic m us ings - in whic h I look bac k over the years . In this book you will find m e rattling on about c hildhood and s c hooldays , fam ily life and the world of work, the E nglis h language and, of c ours e, 'God's own c ountry', Yorks hire. My aim is prim arily to entertain and am us e. P erhaps , though, I m ight oc c as ionally m anage to s tim ulate an em otion and provoke a reac tion. In any event, I hope they give you s om e pleas ure.

'When I Was a Lad'

Grow ing Up

A S ingular S ort of Tow n

Rotherham , the town where I was born and in whic h I grew up and went to s c hool, has always had a bit of an im age problem . It is viewed in the popular m ind as a gloom y, depres s ing, indus trial plac e, full of dus t and dirt, of nois y s teelworks and ugly pitheads . Com edians m ake fun of the town with jokes like 'Rotherham does n't have a twin town - it has a s uic ide pac t with S c unthorpe' or 'Rotherham 's like B arns ley without the c arpets '. T he c elebrity c hef, J am ie Oliver, on his televis ion program m e about healthy eating, did the town no favours either and, on the s c reen, Rotherham lived up to its unattrac tive s tereotype. In educ ational c irc les , Rotherham is s een by s om e, who probably have never vis ited the town, as a deprived and im poveris hed part of Yorks hire, as unlike Harrogate as c halk is from c hees e. I rec all onc e a s peaker at a c onferenc e rem arking that teac hers s hould pay partic ular attention to the m os t ill-favoured and vulnerable c hildren. 'T he Gervas es of E ton will inevitably ac hieve, be s uc c es s ful and have the bes t of s upport and enc ouragem ent,' he told his audienc e, 'but it is the dis advantaged and underprivileged J as ons of Rotherham who are in m os t need of the teac hers ' attention.' I did point out to the s peaker later that I was c alled Gervas e and hailed from that partic ular town, and that not all c hildren there are 'ill-favoured and vulnerable'. Growing up in Rotherham in the 1950s , I c ertainly didn't feel in any way 'dis advantaged and underprivileged'. In fac t, I thought I was very luc ky. Rotherham is not as bad a plac e as it is s om etim es painted. In the 1950s , the town was bus tling and interes ting, with a real Yorks hire gritty c harac ter to it - s olid, unc om prom is ing, unos tentatious - a vibrant, friendly, hard-bitten part of 'God's own c ountry', and there was nowhere in E ngland where the inhabitants were warm er or m ore hos pitable. I grew up s urrounded by people with an unflagging generos ity, a s harp hum our and a s hrewd ins ight into hum an nature whic h I learnt to love. W hen I was young there were, of c ours e, the s m oky m ornings , im penetrable s m og and the unpleas ant odour whic h s om etim es em anated from the c anal, but a bus ride out of the c entre of the town, with its m agnific ent red s ands tone m edieval c hurc h and the rare Chapel-in-the B ridge, took m e in m inutes into open c ountrys ide. In the s c hool holidays and at weekends I would explore the area around the town, s etting off in the m orning on m y bike, with a bottle of pop and a s andwic h, and c yc le into the c ountry. One of the favourite des tinations on m y weekend jaunts was Conis borough Cas tle, the great white s tone Norm an fortres s s et high on a m ound between Rotherham and Donc as ter. A fter I had read S ir W alker S c ott's epic s tory Iv anhoe, I c yc led out one bright S aturday m orning to where the novel is s et. I rec all s itting on the perim eter wall, s taring up at the im pos ing edific e and im agining knights in glittering arm our, gallant Crus aders , das tardly villains , jous ting and s ieges , dark dungeons and great battles . A nother favourite s pot was Roc he A bbey. I would c yc le out to W ic kers ley, fam ous for the grinds tones us ed in the S heffield c utlery trade, through the m ining town of Maltby, eventually arriving at the c rum bling rem ains of the m agnific ent Cis terc ian abbey. It was s uc h a quiet, atm os pheric plac e and I would s it am ongs t the c rum bling s tones in the s heltered valley and im agine the abbey in its heyday. My m other, like m y pals ' parents , enc ouraged m e to 'get out from under m y feet' on S aturdays s o s he c ould do the c leaning and was hing. T here was no s itting ins ide watc hing the televis ion or playing on the c om puter. W e had to be out of the hous e and would not be expec ted bac k until it began to get dark. My parents never worried that I would be abduc ted or s et upon and, unlike s om e overly anxious parents today, never thought there was a paedophile hiding behind every bus h ready to pounc e. It s eem ed to m e a s afe, warm environm ent in whic h to grow up. I had the freedom to play out all day in the s treet or at the park, s om ething whic h is s adly denied to m any c hildren today. T hes e days s o m any parents s eem s o obs es s ively c onc erned with giving their c hildren long and happy c hildhoods , with keeping them s afe from harm and injury, in need of c ons tant protec tion, away from potential ris ks , that they underes tim ate their offs prings ' abilities and res ilienc e and deny them the great s ens e of freedom I had. T he c hildren of m y generation were happy as c ric kets , unhindered by adult res traint. A B oy Called Gerv as e

One has to adm it that m y parents had a s ens e of hum our c alling a c hild born in a redbric k s em i in Rotherham , Gervas e. In the 1950s when I was growing up, there were J im m ys and Terrys , Mic haels and Ronalds , Martins and K evins and one or two A lberts and Harolds but, to m y knowledge, no Gervas es . T he firs t Gervas e I c am e ac ros s was in Chauc er's Canterbury Tales - he was the blac ks m ith in the raunc hies t of the s tories . Now, of c ours e, c hildren are given the m os t unus ual, not to s ay bizarre, nam es . B rooklyn and Rom eo B ec kham , P eac hes Geldof and the other c hildren of the ric h and fam ous are not alone in their unus ual appellations . Over m y years as a s c hool ins pec tor, I c ollec ted quite a lis t. I have m et B arbie, K ris tofer, B uzz, Curs ton, Randy, Mykell, Charleen, K aylee, S c arlet, E gypt, Heyleigh, J ordana, A ztec , B las e (pronounc ed B laze), Gooey (s pelt Guy), a c hild whos e s urnam e was P ipe and firs t nam e Duane and a c hild c alled P ortia but s pelt P ors c he for, as the teac her explained to m e with a wry s m ile, the girl's father had always wanted a P ors c he c ar. I've c om e ac ros s Dem i, Dayle, S halott (pronounc ed Charlotte), P rec ious , Roxanne, T iggy, T rixie, Terri, Cheyenne, B illi-J o, Tam m y-Lou, P rinc es s , Dunc an B is c uit and E ileen Dover, a boy nam ed Gilly and a girl c alled B arney. In one s c hool there were two s ets of twins from the s am e fam ily, aged ten and eleven res pec tively, nam ed after great tragic heroines : Cleopatra and Cas s andra, Des dem ona and Dido. T hen there were the brother and s is ter, S am and E lla, whos e nam es , when s aid at s peed, s ounded like food pois oning. I have m et Hadrian W all (with a father c alled W alter W all), V ic toria P lum b, S unny Day, Holly W ood and J us tin Finnerty. I have never m et them , but was told by a teac her that s he had had the pleas ure of teac hing a T eres a Green, an A nnette Curtain and a P oppy Field. A head teac her told m e onc e that s he taught three s is ters c alled P aris S m out, V ienna S m out and S eville S m out, all, no doubt, c onc eived after three partic ularly m em orable trips abroad. 'It is jus t as well,' s he told m e, 'that her parents didn't go on a weekend break to B rus s els .' In one infant s c hool in B radford, I c am e ac ros s a large girl with a plum p fac e, frizzy hair in huge bunc hes and great wide eyes . 'W hat's your nam e?' I as ked the c hild. 'T equila,' s he replied. 'I'm nam ed after a drink.' 'T equila S unris e,' I m urm ured. 'No,' pouted the c hild. 'T equila B raithwaite.' P erhaps s he had a brother c alled B ac ardi in the J uniors . I was told by the head teac her of a Catholic s c hool that it was the prac tic e in the Churc h for c hildren to be nam ed after s aints , and he was at s c hool with a boy c alled Innoc ent, a nam e adopted by a num ber of popes . 'I s uppos e it m us t have been diffic ult having to live up to the nam e Innoc ent,' I obs erved. 'It c ertainly was ,' he replied, 'and s om ething of a c ros s to bear. His s ec ond nam e was B ys tander.' 'I c annot s ay that m odern parents are very well ac quainted with the B ible,' a vic ar onc e told m e. 'Gone are the fine biblic al nam es like Hannah and S im on. Ins tead, parents want their offs pring nam ed after pop s ingers , film s tars and footballers . I draw the line though when I get reques ts for J ezebel, S alom e and Delilah,' he bem oaned. 'It's very diffic ult explaining to the parents who thes e wom en were and what line of work they were in. One c hild very nearly went through life with the exotic nam e of Onac ardie. I as ked the parents at the c hris tening: "A nd what do you nam e this c hild?" T he m other replied loudly, "Onac ardie." I had jus t begun s prinkling the water over the baby's head and intoning: "I c hris ten this c hild Onac ardie," only to be quic kly interrupted by the irate m other. "No, no, vic ar! " s he his s ed. "On 'er c ardy. T he nam e's written on her c ardigan. W e want her to be c alled S iobhan." ' 'I have a pet theory about firs t nam es ,' another head teac her told m e. 'Over the m any years I have been in educ ation, I have c om e to the c onc lus ion that S hakes peare got it wrong when he s aid that "a ros e by any other nam e would s m ell as s weet". I learned very early on that boys c alled Ric hard tend to be wellbehaved, quiet c hildren who work hard, Matthews are very polite and thoughtful, Dom inic s are little c harm ers , Dam iens have far too m uc h to s ay for them s elves and K evins are ac c ident-prone. P enelopes tend to be lively and interes ted, J ennys tend to be s porty, T rac eys too big for their boots and E lizabeths little darlings .' 'A nd what about the boy c alled Gervas e?' I as ked. 'I have never taught one,' s he told m e. T hen s he thought for a m om ent. 'However did you m anage,' s he as ked, 'growing up in Rotherham , with a nam e like that?' Famous Forebears

T here's a televis ion program m e whic h inves tigates the fam ily his tory of c elebrities . It has revealed s om e am azing fac ts and fas c inating c harac ters . S om e of the forebears were ric h and illus trious , others dark and villainous , whic h s urpris ed, horrified and s om etim es m oved to tears their c elebrated des c endents . W hen I was young, reading adventure s tories and bles s ed with an over-developed im agination, I thought that I m ight one day dis c over I was des c ended from s om eone great and good and that I would inherit a grand fortune. A friend of m ine has been res earc hing his fam ily his tory and dis c overed that he had m any a dis tinguis hed anc es tor, inc luding the firs t profes s or of m athem atic s at Cam bridge Univers ity and friend of P rinc e A lbert, a num ber of em inent vic ars of Dent and pos s ibly General J ohn Lam bert of Calton Hall, K irkby Malham , arc hitec t of the Crom wellian P rotec torate. On a rec ent literary-them ed c ruis e, a fellow author and s peaker was Luc inda Dic kens -Hawks ley, the great, great, great granddaughter of Charles Dic kens and one who c ould rattle off a veritable plethora of fam ous forebears . T hen there was the young m an in a s c hool in Harrogate who told m e he had m uc h to live up to, being the direc t des c endant of S c ott of the A ntarc tic . My father-in-law has trac ed his fam ily bac k s everal generations and has found a num ber of illus trious anc es tors , inc luding the Methodis t preac her and theologian J os eph B entley, author of How to S leep on a W indy Night. I c an c ertainly vouc h for the verac ity of the title; the c ollec tion of s erm ons put m e to s leep in m inutes . I did onc e think I m ight be related to the great and the good when I rec eived a letter from a Mis s Marjorie Mangham -P hinn, in whic h s he c laim ed kins hip. Having res earc hed her own fam ily his tory, Mis s Mangham -P hinn had dis c overed that one of her m os t fam ous anc es tors was T hom as P hinn, an em inent V ic torian philanthropis t and worthy. S he m aintained that T rollope bas ed his c harac ter P hineas Finn, the dec ent, s trikingly hands om e young heartbreaker who c harm ed him s elf into polite s oc iety, on her dis tinguis hed anc es tor. T hom as P hinn, s he inform ed m e, was the Mem ber of P arliam ent for the elegant c ity of B ath from 1852 until 1855. S he had an idea we m ight be related s inc e P hinn is a m os t unus ual nam e. W hen I was as ked to s peak at the B ath Literary Fes tival, in the m agnific ent Guildhall, in 2005, I had the opportunity of m eeting m y s uppos ed anc es tor. His m arble bus t had a prom inent plac e in the entranc e of the Guildhall. S tyled as a Rom an s tates m an with luxuriant c urls , large hones t eyes and prom inent nos e, he did bear a s triking res em blanc e to m y brother, A lec . I was introduc ed to m y audienc e, on this oc c as ion, by the pres ent MP for B ath, Don Fos ter. Later, he very kindly res earc hed T hom as P hinn for m e in the arc hives of the Hous es of P arliam ent. T hom as P hinn. Hall - S tairc as e, Inner T em ple, London. 41 S t J am es 's S treet, London. B rook's and Reform . B orn at B ath 1814, the s on of T hom as P hinn of B ath, S urgeon, by Caroline, daughter of Ric hard B ignall, E s q. of B anbury. Unm arried. E duc ated at E ton and E xeter College, Oxford where he was 1s t c las s in Clas s ic s 1837. W as c alled to the bar at the Inner T em ple in 1840 and joined the W es tern Circ uit. T he im pres s ive entry in The W ho's W ho of B ritis h M embers of P arliament, V olume 1, 1832-1885 c ontinues to des c ribe the glittering, if rather c urtailed, politic al c areer of T hom as P hinn, QC, Liberal Mem ber of P arliam ent, S ec retary to the A dm iralty, who was fierc ely in favour of 'vote by ballot and the fulles t developm ent of free-trade princ iples '. It was he who voted for an inquiry into Maynooth, the Iris h s em inary from whic h s o m any m is s ionary pries ts c am e over the water to E ngland, s o I gues s he m us t have had s om e Iris h c onnec tions . T he entry in The Times , 1 Novem ber 1866, announc ed, with great regret, the s udden death of T hom as P hinn: He was yes terday apparently in his ac c us tom ed exc ellent health and s pirits , but on returning to his c ham bers in P all-m all about 7 o'c loc k he c om plained of a pain in the region of his heart, and after a few m inutes expired. Muc h as I would like to c laim the em inent T hom as P hinn as an anc es tor, and perhaps lay c laim to his fortune and that wonderful m arble bus t, m y s is ter Chris tine, guardian of the fam ily arc hive (a few s c ribbled letters , birth and death c ertific ates and a battered album of faded s epia photographs ), gave m e the low-down on our branc h of the P hinns . On the dis taff s ide of the fam ily, I am des c ended from the B rothers of P ortum na, County Galway, whos e notoriety was that they m ade c offins for the vic tim s of 'T he Great Iris h P otato Fam ine'. On m y father's s ide were the Mac donalds of S outh Uis t, who eked out a living on that bleak is land of great m elanc holic s tretc hes of heather-c overed m oors and bog land in the Outer Hebrides . T he heads tone of an anc es tor, one Ranald Mac donald, is s om ewhat am biguous in its dedic ation. P erhaps he had a reputation for untrus tworthines s or was a noted s heep-rus tler, for the ins c ription on his graves tone reads : Let all the world s ay what it c an, He lived and died an hones t m an. I felt it politic not to delve further into m y anc es try. A Father of the Old S c hool

'E duc ation, educ ation, educ ation.' T his was m y father's m antra well before Tony B lair m ade it his c larion c all. My father, a s teelworker for m os t of his life and with little form al educ ation, but with a s harp intelligenc e and lively s ens e of hum our, was ruthles s in his determ ination to provide for and protec t his fam ily. He rec ognis ed that the c entral fac tor in ac hieving any s ort of real advanc em ent in life was 'a good educ ation'. My father onc e told m e that he had pas s ed his s c holars hip exam ination to attend gram m ar s c hool, but his s tep-father felt it was bes t for him to leave s c hool. Like m any a youngs ter at that tim e, largely bec aus e of lac k of the nec es s ary m oney to pay for books , equipm ent and the uniform , he was denied the opportunity to c ontinue his s tudies . A t fourteen, when his m other died, he went to live on an unc le's farm , before joining the arm y on his s eventeenth birthday to bec om e a des patc h rider. A lthough he never s aid s o, I gues s m y father deeply regretted not having had the opportunity of a good 's c hooling', but he never s aw educ ation as a pos s ible route to better things for him s elf. He perhaps knew by the age of thirty, with a wife and young fam ily, that it was too late for him . He believed, as did m y m other, that the key to s uc c es s lay not in wealth but in educ ation. E duc ation opened doors and he was determ ined that his c hildren s hould take every opportunity to rec eive the bes t educ ation on offer. He had s een firs t hand, during his arm y s ervic e and latterly working in the s teelworks , what a gulf there exis ted in the world in opportunity, wealth and educ ation - how the offic ers and the m anagers were s et apart from others by dint of what he c alled 'their s c hooling'. Following m y father's death, when I broac hed the s ubjec t of his s c holars hip exam ination with m y m other, s he told m e that m y father was quite c ontent with his lot in life and never as pired to anything m ore. He loved his fam ily and provided for us , enjoyed the s im ple things in life but was unam bitious . I c annot believe that. I c annot believe that he was happy working in the s teel-works with all the nois e, heat, oil, dus t and dirt. A s a boy, on m y way to watc h S heffield United I rem em ber well the bum py bus rides from Rotherham to S heffield via A tterc liffe, pas t the dark and dirty plac e where he worked for thirty or m ore years . A s I looked down from the top dec k of the bus on that grim environm ent, as young as I was , I knew I wanted m ore out of life than this . My parents were of 'the old s c hool' when it c am e to educ ation. Unles s I was at death's door, I had to attend s c hool, do m y hom ework, lis ten to m y teac hers and do as they s aid, and if I were to get into any trouble at s c hool I would be in twic e as m uc h trouble at hom e. S om etim es I felt they s upported the s c hool a little too m uc h. I rec all onc e, when I was about ten, I was pres ented with m y s c hool dinner on a plas tic plate and wouldn't eat it. T here was a s lic e of pale c old m eat edged in fat, a dollop of c old m as hed potatoes and s lic ed c arrots s wim m ing in greas y gravy. None of the healthy fare s erved up in s c hools today and none of the c hoic es . I folded m y arm s and res olutely refus ed to pic k up m y knife and fork. I was m ade to rem ain in the c orner of the hall when it had been c leared after dinnertim e, with the plate on a table in front of m e. I was told I would not be allowed to go until it was eaten. I finally did as I was told and then went to the boys ' toilet and was prom ptly s ic k. W hen I relayed this dreadful injus tic e to m y parents at tea tim e, m y father, looking over his glas s es , m erely rem arked, 'P ut it down to experienc e, s on. Now eat your tea.' On the Road to Reading

T hinking over what gave m e the m os t pleas ure in m y c hildhood, I s hould plac e, firs t and forem os t, reading. My m other, a natural s toryteller, taught m e nurs ery rhym es and read from pic ture books . I knew all the old favourites - Chic k en Lic k en, The Gingerbread M an, The Giant Turnip , Rumpels tilts k in, The M agic P orridge P ot and m any m ore - before I s tarted s c hool. Mos t evenings , before I went to bed, s he would read aloud with m e s nuggled up next to her. I loved lis tening to the s tory, following the words on the page as s he read and feeling that s pec ial phys ic al c los enes s . S om etim es s he would c hange a word, take a bit out or add s om ething, and I c ould tell and told her s o. I m ight not be able to read thos e blac k m arks on the page but I knew the s tories s o well. Later, when the s tory was told and the light turned off, I would c los e m y eyes and dream of a world peopled with the m agic al c harac ters I had enc ountered in the book. My father too c aptured m y im agination with his s tories . He would bring bac k books from Rotherham Library to read, or buy a c ouple of old tattered vers ions of the c las s ic s from the m arket, taking out his finds from the brown paper c arrier bag where they had been hiding between the vegetables and fruit. Onc e, he arrived from the m arket with a large hard-bac ked tom e c alled K ing of the Fighting S c outs , whic h depic ted on the front c over a garis h illus tration of a s oldier on a rearing hors e, hac king his way through a horde of s avages . For s everal nights m y father read a c ouple of c hapters , only to arrive at the denouem ent to dis c over that the las t few pages of the book were m is s ing. Undeterred, he m ade the end up. My father took over from m y m other this nightly ritual of reading to m e when I was eight or nine. He would read a c hapter or two at a tim e, ending on a high note and thus whetting m y im agination for m ore. I would be keen for the next ins talm ent the following night and be up thos e s tairs in m y pyjam as , fac e was hed, teeth brus hed, ready and waiting. It was a really c lever way of m aking m e go to bed at night. B oys who have had this s ort of upbringing, where fathers tell them s tories , read to them and as s oc iate reading with great pleas ure and affec tion, learn to love books . A m agic al world is opened up to them . A Grandparent's P rerogativ e

T he relations hip between grandparents and their grandc hildren is rather different from that between parents and their c hildren. I know this to be true bec aus e I am told frequently enough by m y own grown-up c hildren that I am 'm uc h s ofter' with Harry and Megan, m y grandc hildren, than I ever was with them . Of c ours e I am . It's the grandparents ' prerogative. W e grannies and grandpas are m ore tolerant and patient; we are better lis teners , les s c ritic al and, dare I s ay it, m ore indulgent than we were with our own offs pring. My m other and father were loving, s upportive and dedic ated parents . I was never s lapped and rarely s houted at but they were firm and dec is ive in their treatm ent of their four c hildren, ins is ting on bes t behaviour, no ans wering bac k and good m anners . If we pers is ted in dem anding s om ething, m y m other's predic table retort would be: 'I want, does n't get.' My father's favourite expres s ion was : 'I've warned you onc e, I won't tell you again.' Growing up, I knew the param eters . One m orning, when the fam ily was on holiday in B lac kpool, I bought a s et of fals e teeth m ade out of pink and white roc k with pink s ugar gum s . I was about s ix or s even at the tim e. Muc h to m y father's irritation, I kept on c lac king the teeth like c as tanets as we walked along the prom . Finally I was warned that, s hould I pers is t in the annoying c lac king of the teeth, they would go in the s ea. W hen I c ontinued, the teeth were s natc hed from m y hand and thrown over the prom enade wall to dis appear into the oc ean. 'I did warn you,' s aid m y father c alm ly, and s trolled on. It was a good les s on to learn for a pros pec tive teac her: if you warn a c hild you will do s om ething, then do it.

W hen s he bec am e a grandm a, m y m other would often c om e around to our hous e for S unday lunc h. From her vantage point in the c om fortable c hair in the c orner of the lounge, s he would watc h m e attem pting to bring up m y c hildren. One S unday, I had oc c as ion to c has tis e m y s on Matthew, then aged s ix, for his untidy bedroom . S tabbing the air with a finger, I ordered him , 'Up thos e s tairs now, young m an, and tidy your room . Do you follow m y drift?' 'Y our father us ed that expres s ion,' m y m other interrupted. 'I don't s uppos e you knew what it m eant when you were a boy, and I don't s uppos e your Matthew knows what it m eans either.' 'T hank you, Mother,' I s aid, pom pous ly. I turned bac k to m y s on. 'Go on, up thos e s tairs and tidy your room or you'll go without your tea.' Matthew at firs t looked s uitably c ontrite. T hen a s m all s m ile appeared on his lips , then a grin, to be followed by giggles and finally guffaws . I ballooned with anger. T hen I c aught s ight of m y m other in the m irror. S he was s itting behind m e, pulling the m os t ridic ulous fac es and wiggling her fingers in front of her nos e. 'Mother! ' I s napped. 'I am trying to ins til s om e dis c ipline. Y ou are not helping m atters .' 'Oh, do be quiet,' s he s aid. 'Y ou're not talking to teac hers now.' 'Mother . . .' I began. 'Don't m other m e,' s he s aid. 'Y ou s ound like Hitler on a s oapbox. He's a lovely little lad is Matthew. T here are m ore im portant things in this world than an untidy room , you know. A nd, as I rem em ber, your bedroom was a tip when you were a boy.' My Iris h grandm other c ertainly had a s oft s pot for m e, the younges t of her grandc hildren. W hen I was as ked to s ubm it a piec e for the anthology Grandparents , edited by S arah B rown in s upport of the c harity P iggyB ankK ids , I wrote about this rem arkable wom an who had a profound influenc e on m y life. Grandm a Mullarkey took a partic ular interes t in m y reading and writing. One of m y m os t vivid early m em ories of m y grandm a was when s he read to m e from a s m all hard-bac ked pic ture book, about the s hrewd little boy who outwits the greedy tiger. I s oon knew the s tory of Little B lac k S ambo by heart. T his s im ple little s tory s tirred m y im agination. Little B lac k S ambo was the firs t blac k c hild I enc ountered in a book and I delighted in his s heer joy, c ourage and c levernes s . A s an older c hild I would take along with m e on m y vis its the book of the m om ent, and we would read quietly together. A t other tim es s he would read to m e from one of the large illus trated books s he kept on a s helf near her bed. One favourite was The S w is s Family Robins on with its garis h c oloured plates and big print. I loved the s tory, where all the m em bers of the s hipwrec ked fam ily worked happily together under the benign guidanc e of a father who was both s trong and wis e and who s ported bulging m us c les and a long c hes tnut beard. W hen m y grandm a read, I thrilled at the s ound of the words , the rhythm s and the rhym es , and would s it goggle-eyed at the power of her voic e and her extraordinary m em ory. S he knew pas s ages of vers e by heart and had a natural feel for m eas ure and s tres s . It was m y Grandm a Mullarkey who bought m e m y firs t dic tionary when I s tarted s ec ondary s c hool, and the treas ured portable Olivetti typewriter with the blac k and red ribbon. I would s it with it on m y lap feeling like 'a real writer'. Like m any of Iris h s toc k, m y grandm other pos s es s ed that Celtic c om bination of levity and s erious nes s . Laughter and tears were never far apart. S he was a keen and dis c erning reader, an avid letter writer and a fine s toryteller. S he delighted in telling am us ing anec dotes , em broidering the s tories with fac ial expres s ions and c om ic voic es . T here was the tim e, s he told m e, when the turkey arrived from her c ous ins in Ireland and had to be c ollec ted from Mas borough S tation on Chris tm as E ve. T he bird, rec ently killed, had been s tuffed in a c ardboard box, fully feathered and s till pos s es s ing its head and c laws . Chris tm as dinner didn't take plac e until m uc h later that evening and by then everyone had los t their appetites . T here was the s tory too of m y Unc le J im m y, her only s on, who, ins tead of going to Mas s on S unday, would s pend the tim e s wim m ing in the Rotherham Canal, until the fateful day when he was c aught red-handed by his father. A neighbour had s een young J im m y and inform ed upon him . Grandfather Mullarkey, uns een by his s on, c ollec ted the pile of c lothes left on the bank and waited until the m is c reant em erged from the s m elly water. J im m y didn't s eem all that c onc erned that his c lothes had gone and s et off hom e in his wet underpants before his father em erged from his hiding plac e and c onfronted him . Grandm a found the inc ident very funny and c huc kled at the m em ory. Her hus band, s he s aid, was not am us ed. I loved to lis ten to her tales and I had an inkling early on that s om e were jus t a little far-fetc hed. I rem em ber onc e s he told m e of when a fellow paris hioner went on a pilgrim age to Rom e with the Union of Catholic Mothers . In S t P eter's S quare, am ids t the throng, the wom an was exc ited to hear from her friend that His Holines s him s elf would s oon be m aking an appearanc e on his balc ony to give his bles s ing. A t that very m om ent, the P ope appeared. T he wom an was s aid to have rem arked to her c om panion: 'Oh, s peak of the devil.' Grandm a Mullarkey opened a door in m y early c hildhood and c hanged m y life for the better and, when s he died, s he left a great gap. W hen I was s ixteen, I ac c om panied m y m other to Donc as ter Gate hos pital where m y grandm other, aged 81, was dying of s tom ac h c anc er. S he told m e not to look s o m is erable. 'Rem em ber,' s he s aid, 'a s m ile will gain you ten years of life.' S he died the following day, c lutc hing her ros ary beads . P enny for the Guy

A s a youngs ter I looked forward to B onfire Night with great antic ipation. My friends and I would s c avenge for c om bus tible m aterial and gradually build the pyram id of wood and old c arpets , rags and c ardboard boxes , on the allotm ent at the bac k of m y hous e. W e would keep a watc hful eye on our c ons truc tion, for other boys were known to s teal what others had s pent weeks c ollec ting. T he evening before the big night, we would keep vigil until we were s um m oned indoors by our parents . My father agreed to bec om e a s entry when I had gone to bed. W e would m ake a Guy out of old c lothes , s tuff s c rewed up paper in the arm s and legs , and paint a fac e on a piec e of c ardboard. He would be wheeled through the s treets on a trolley m ade of pram wheels and two planks , and we would as k pas s ers -by: 'P enny for the Guy?' W ith the m oney we c ollec ted, we would buy fireworks . Rec ently, I read about the two young lads with their Guy who had been m oved on by the polic e for begging. It's a funny old world. In Oc tober, fireworks were for s ale at the news agents and c ould be freely bought by c hildren. I would buy a thin rec tangular box, on the front of whic h, in garis h reds and blues , was the c aption, 'Light up the S ky with S tandard Fireworks '. T his s m all c ollec tion would be added to over the c om ing weeks , up to the Fifth of Novem ber. T here would be Catherine wheels , bloc kbus ters , s quibs , jum ping jac ks , traffic lights , penny bangers , Rom an c andles , golden fountains , s ilver rain and roc kets in brightly c oloured c ardboard tubes , with a c one on the top and a thin wooden s tic k down the s ide. I rem em ber m y firs t B onfire Night vividly, and it was not a happy m em ory. I m us t have been s ix or s even at the tim e, and walked from hom e with m y father on a c old, c lear night, with the air s m elling of woods m oke. W e arrived at Herringthorpe P laying Fields in Rotherham to find c rowds of people gathered around the great wigwam -s haped s tac k of wood. My father s at m e high on his s houlders , and I watc hed the danc ing flam es and the red s parks s pitting in the air. It was m agic al. Fireworks banged and roc kets lit up the blac k s ky, s howering bright c olours , and the fire was lit. My fac e burned with the heat. A nd then I s aw him the figure s itting on the top of the bonfire. He was forlorn and m is s hapen, and dres s ed in old c lothes with a floppy hat perc hed on his head. I s c ream ed and s c ream ed. 'T here's a m an on top! ' I c ried. 'A m an in the fire! ' E veryone around m e laughed. 'It's jus t a Guy,' m y father told m e. 'He's m ade of rags and c ardboard. He's not real.' B ut I was s ad and s c ared to s ee thos e c linging fingers of fire s c orc h the s tuffed body, c rac king the arm s and s wallowing up that wide-eyed pitiful fac e. To this day, I s till feel uneas y at the s ight of a hum an form , albeit a dum m y, plac ed on the top of a burning bonfire. I am not agains t B onfire Night; it is an enjoyable oc c as ion partic ularly for c hildren, though I gues s that the light-hearted fes tivities have little c onnec tion in m os t people's m inds to the fanatic al m en who plotted the downfall of the Governm ent in 1605. It is jus t that I do not like to s ee that burning figure on the top. You m ight gues s then that I am not that keen on the fam ous B onfire Night c elebrations in Lewes in E as t S us s ex, where figures of the infam ous - or jus t the fam ous - are s et alight eac h year. In 1994, effigies inc luded Margaret T hatc her, J ohn Major on a dinos aur, taken from the film J uras s ic P ark, and the Hom e S ec retary, Mic hael Howard, in the week of the unpopular Crim inal J us tic e B ill, as well as a Guy Fawkes . On one bonfire, an effigy of the P ope is burnt annually. I have an ally in a good friend of m ine, who is a form er s c holar of S t P eter's S c hool, York, the alma mater of the m os t notorious of the powder treas on c ons pirators - Guy Fawkes him s elf. T he s c hool, he tells m e, retains the long tradition of interes t in, and even has a c ertain affec tion for, their bes t-known form er pupil, who was onc e tac tfully des c ribed by a head boy at a s c hool s peec h day as 'not exac tly a role m odel'. I gues s m y old his tory m as ter, T heodore Firth, s hared this fondnes s for his fellow Y orks hirem an. I found m y old his tory book the other day and have to s ay that Guy Fawkes does n't s ound, from the notes I took from the blac kboard, like the villain m os t people think he was . Guy Fawkes was , without ques tion, a c ourageous , c haris m atic , if m is guided, m an, of im pres s ive appearanc e. S lender, m us c ular and hands om e, with long red hair, a full m ous tac he and a bus hy beard, he was a dis tinguis hed s oldier and a good-hum oured c om panion. He was als o well read, intelligent and interes ted in dis c us s ion and debate. A fanatic he m ay have been, but he was exc eptionally brave and c apable of am azing s tam ina and enduranc e. He died a horrible death, whic h he fac ed bravely, after terrible torture on the rac k. S o, next B onfire Night I s hall pop a penny or two for the Guy in the tin the little boy holds out when I pas s him in the s treet (that is if he is not m oved on by the polic e), I s hall enjoy the s pec tac le of the fireworks and the s parklers , the over-c ooked s aus ages and the s tic ky bonfire toffee, but I s hall turn away when the figure on the top of the bonfire is c ons um ed by the flam es . B ully for Y ou

No c hildhood, it is s aid, is entirely happy. A ll c hildren at s om e tim e in their young lives experienc e dis appointm ent, failure, los s and hurt, and s om e have truly m is erable and s om etim es tragic upbringings . B ooks hop s helves , under the heading 'T ragic Life S tories ', are s tac ked with the heart-rending autobiographies of unbelievably unhappy c hildhoods - nightm are fam ilies , loveles s hom es , brutal parents - all des c ribed in vivid detail; of c hildren beaten and s tarved, rejec ted and abus ed, bullied and tortured. S uc h ac c ounts , where the authors des c ribe how they have overc om e the huge dis advantages of m is erable upbringings , have bec om e ins tant bes t-s ellers , and the reading public appears to love them . P erhaps in doing s o, the readers ' own lives s eem les s wretc hed and m ore bearable. P erhaps they are heartened by thes e s ad s tories of c hildren who have a s hining s pirit to s urvive, c ope and forgive. For m e, s uc h m em oirs are painful to read, for m ine was a very happy c hildhood. I did not s uffer from great poverty as a c hild, nor was I born into an affluent and privileged hom e. I was not s m ac ked or told I was an unwanted c hild. I was not bullied by m y brothers or told by m y parents I was a dis appointm ent to them . I felt loved and c heris hed. T here was a s hort tim e in m y young life, however, when I was des perately unhappy - the tim e I was bullied. A c ouple of years ago, I m et the bully again. He approac hed m e after I had s poken at a form al bus ines s dinner in S heffield. I had s potted him earlier, with a group of other m en s itting direc tly in front of the top table. It was the laugh I rec ognis ed firs t, and it brought bac k unpleas ant m em ories . A s a lad, I rem em ber this tall, fat, m oon-fac ed boy with lank blac k hair and a perm anent s c owl, who developed an obs es s ive dis like of m e. In prim ary s c hool, I was a biddable, eas y-going c hild. I enjoyed the les s ons and readily volunteered ans wers and did as I was told. I was s m all for m y age, not good at s ports and of average intelligenc e s o, I gues s , I was vulnerable and the ideal vic tim for the bully. I little thought that m y behaviour would antagonis e the large m oon-fac ed boy, who was frequently outs ide the head teac her's room for m is behaving. He would delight in m is pronounc ing m y nam e, m uc h to the am us em ent of his two s idekic ks . 'Gervars e! Gervars e! ' he would s hout, and m inc e down the c orridor. He and his two fellow bullies would s top m e going to the toilet, tip everything out of m y s atc hel and s pit at m e when m y bac k was turned. I had a dreadful two m onths until I m oved to s ec ondary s c hool and thankfully never s aw him again - until, that is , I attended the dinner. He hadn't c hanged m uc h, exc ept that he was now alm os t entirely bald. 'I was jus t telling thos e at m y table we were at s c hool together,' he s aid to m e as he approac hed. He was s m iling inanely. 'Y es , I know,' I replied. 'Really,' s aid the pres ident of the as s oc iation, who was s itting on m y right at the top table. 'A n old s c hool friend?' 'Hardly,' I s aid. 'He bullied m e.' 'I . . . I . . . don't rem em ber that,' blus tered the bully. 'W ell, of c ours e you wouldn't,' I s aid, looking him s traight in the eye. 'B ullies forget but the bullied never do. Y ou were vic ious , c ruel and you m ade m y life a m is ery for two m onths and I have no wis h to s peak to you.' My heart was thum ping in m y c hes t. He s tared at m e a m om ent, s huffled with em barras s m ent and opened his m outh about to s peak, but he thought better of it. He then s trode away angrily. Bully He s houts and s wears and s m okes and s pits , P um m els , pinc hes , pokes and nips . He likes to kic k, he likes to punc h, Call you nam es and s teal your lunc h. B ut, have you ever wondered why He likes to m ake another c ry? W hat m akes a c hild turn out like you? Y ou s ee at hom e he's bullied too. His father beats him , blac k and blue. Hav ing a Laugh

One afternoon, jus t before Chris tm as when I was ten, m y father took m e to s ee the pantom im e at the Leeds City V arieties . W e c aught the train from Mas borough S tation and walked through the c ity, c rowded with s hoppers . It was one of the few very s pec ial oc c as ions when it was jus t m e and m y father, no brothers or s is ter. T he City Varieties is the oldes t extant m us ic hall in the c ountry; an intim ate, c olourful and atm os pheric little theatre, hidden between two arc ades . A ll the greats of variety theatre have perform ed here: Charlie Chaplin and Houdini, Tom m y Cooper and Hylda B aker, Marie Lloyd and Les Daws on and, of c ours e, the legendary K en Dodd, who takes s om e pers uading to leave the s tage onc e he's s tarted. I appeared there m ys elf in 2006, in m y one-m an s how. B efore m y perform anc e I s tood on the em pty s tage looking down at the em pty s talls and rec alled a s m all boy s itting on a plus h red velvet s eat with his father, his eyes (as we s ay in Yorks hire) 'like c hapel hat pegs ', entering a m agic al world of the pantom im e. It was at Leeds City Varieties that I firs t s aw the great S andy P owell, who hailed from m y hom e town of Rotherham , and when I heard his fam ous c atc hphras e: 'Can you hear m e, Mother?' For a few weeks afterwards , I would im itate this c atc hphras e at hom e, m uc h to the irritation of m y fam ily, until m y father put his foot down and s aid: 'T hat'll be enough! ' S andy P owell's c om edy was c lever, c lean, inoffens ive and hilarious ly funny. P art of his ac t was when he appeared on s tage dres s ed in a s oldier's s c arlet tunic , pill-box hat as kew on his head, and holding a partic ularly ugly dum m y, whic h was dres s ed identic ally. He was a hopeles s ventriloquis t and his dum m y would often fall apart in his hands . His ac t was interrupted by a pos h-s ounding m em ber of the audienc e, in real life his wife, K ay. 'T ell m e s onny,' he as ked the dum m y in a deep throaty voic e, 'where do you live and where were you born?' 'I vas s born in V olc hergrankon,' replied the dum m y. 'W here was he born?' as ked the wom an. 'W olverham pton. Oh, I wis h I'd have s aid Leeds . I'm glad it was n't Czec hos lovakia.' My firs t s ortie onto the s tage was when I was thirteen and, at a s c hool c onc ert, I perform ed a s ong, an old Yorks hire vers e, whic h S andy P owell m ade fam ous . I was ac c om panied on the piano by Mr Gravill, the m us ic m as ter. A t Chris tm as , I ins is t on s inging this ditty at fam ily gatherings , m uc h to m y c hildren's em barras s m ent. W hen I was a right young lad My father s aid to m e: 'S eem s to m e tha's growin' up, Now what's tha goin' to be? It all depends upon thys elf, It's only up to thee, I won't s ay m uc h to thee ageean, B ut tek a tip from m e. 'E ar all, s ee all, s ay nowt, A te all, s up all, pay nowt, It's a long tim e, rem em ber, From J anuary to Dec em ber, S o 'ear all, s ee all, s ay nowt, A te all, s up all, pay nowt, A nd if ever thy does s um m at for nowt, A lways do it for thees elf.' W hen I watc h the pres ent-day c om edians on the televis ion, and hear their ac erbic , c utting-edge and s uppos edly entertaining hum our, us ually peppered with expletives , how I wis h a S andy P owell would m ake a return. 'T he golden age of B ritis h c om edy has pas s ed,' s aid J ohn Clees e. How right he is . I was attending a gala c harity func tion the other week. T he 's tar' of the evening was one of thes e 'c utting-edge, alternative' c om edians , who was 'guaranteed to m ake us roll in the ais les '. W ell, I s tayed firm ly in m y s eat until I c ould s tand no m ore and departed for the toilets . T he m aterial was , to m y m ind, unins pired, vulgar and relied for its dubious hum our on poking fun at others who were in s om e way different. Of c ours e, there was the us ual s tring of inane and predic table Iris h jokes . One of the highlights of m y holiday in B lac kpool when I was a c hild was an evening at the pier s how. I looked forward m os t to the appearanc e on s tage of real c om edians , and I laughed until m y s ides ac hed at the very bes t of the c rop. Nearly all the s tars at B lac kpool c am e from the m us ic hall tradition: big hearted A rthur A s key ('Hello P laym ates '), Tom m y Cooper ('Not like this , like that'), Ric hard Murdoc h, A l Read ('Right Monkey'), J im m y J am es and E li, Dic kie Henders on, Freddie Frinton, B eryl Reid, A rthur Haynes , J oan W hitfield, Norm an E vans , P rofes s or J im m y E dwards and Chic k Murray ('I'm taking the dog to the vet to have it put down.' 'Is it m ad?' 'It's no too pleas ed.'). T here was Frankie Howerd, who m anaged to have people doubled up with laughter and he s aid nothing, but jus t s pluttered and 'Ooed' and 'A ahhd', jettis oning any s c ript he m ight have had and departing on s om e wild fantas y of his own. My favourite was the great Hylda B aker, with her gorm les s and s ilent s tooge, Cynthia. T his s m all wom an (four foot, eleven inc hes ) c harac teris ed the fas t-talking gos s ip and her c atc hphras es ('S he knows , you know,' '"B e s oon," I s aid,' and 'You big girl's blous e') bec am e hous ehold phras es . It is reputed that when s he appeared at the S tephen J os eph T heatre in S c arborough, Noel Coward obs erved after the perform anc e he had 'endured' that, 'I would happily wring that wom an's nec k - if I c ould find it.' In her m oth-eaten fox fur, ill-fitting c hec ked jac ket, large handbag over the arm , and m is s hapen hat, s he had the audienc e rolling in the ais les with her fac ial c ontortions and m angling of the E nglis h language. 'I don't think you've had the pleas ure of m e,' s he told the audienc e as s he c am e on s tage, wriggling her s m all fram e as if s he had c hronic worm s . 'I c an s ay this without fear of c ontrac eption,' s he would c ontinue. 'I went to the doc tor and he was s tanding there, his horos c ope around his nec k. He s aid I'd got the body of a wom an twic e m y age. "Get away," I s aid, "you flatterer, you." I was s o exc ited I nearly had a c oronary trom bonis t and fell pros titute on the floor.' T hen s he would look up at her s ilent friend. 'Ooo,' s he would m outh, 'Have you been with a fella? Have yooo? Have yooo been with a fella?' Cynthia would s tare into the m iddle dis tanc e with a blank expres s ion. 'S he knows , you know,' Hylda told the audienc e. 'Oh yes , s he knows , you know.' S im ple, innoc ent, c lean, inoffens ive, s illy m aterial, but hilarious ly funny. Hylda B aker was a direc t des c endant of Mis tres s Quic kly and Mrs Malaprop and the prec urs or of Connie, the c harac ter who appears throughout m y Dales books . S he was one of thos e people who m angled and m urdered the language with m alapropis m s and non s equiturs to great c om ic effec t. S he c ould m inc e words like a m inc er m inc es m eat. A ged ten, I waited in the rain on the pier after a s how to get Hylda B aker's autograph. S he arrived at the s tage door. 'Have you been s tanding there in the rain, you little tinker, you?' s he s aid as s he s c ribbled her nam e ac ros s the program m e whic h I s till have to this day. I was enthralled when I attended a brilliant perform anc e by the c harac ter ac tres s , J ean Fergus on. In her one-wom an s how s he was unc anny in rec reating the c om ic genius of Hylda B aker, c apturing the voic e and m anneris m s , the body wiggling, the fac ial c ontortions and handbag adjus tm ents . S adly, Hylda B aker s pent the las t years of her life in a nurs ing hom e for retired variety perform ers and died alone in Horton Hos pital in 1986, aged 81. Only eleven people attended her funeral. T his great c om edian has been largely forgotten, but not by one of her greates t fans who, as a c hild, rem em bers waiting in the rain outs ide the s tage door on a wet S aturday evening in B lac kpool for an autograph. S tage S truc k

On a rec ent S aturday vis it to m y hom e town of Rotherham , I m et Mis s Greenwood, m y form er infant teac her, in A ll S aints ' S quare. S he is now over 80 years old, but s till pos s es s es the s hining eyes and the gentle s m ile of the great teac her s he was . I loved Mis s Greenwood and thos e early years at s c hool. I m oulded little c lay m odels , dug in the s and pit, played in the water tray, c ounted with little c oloured beads , s ang the nurs ery rhym es , danc ed with bare feet in the hall, m ade m odels with toilet rolls and c ardboard boxes , s plas hed pos ter paint on large s heets of grey s ugar paper, c hanted poem s , lis tened to s tories and learnt to read. A nd how I loved thos e s tories s he read in the reading c orner. T hat S aturday I took Mis s Greenwood for afternoon tea, and we rem inis c ed. 'A nd do you rem em ber when you wet yours elf, Gervas e?' s he as ked with a twinkle in her eyes . 'Of c ours e I do. How c ould I ever forget?' T he tim e will rem ain ingrained in m y m em ory. T he c urtains had opened on the Chris tm as Nativity play and there I had s tood, s ix years old, s tiff as a lam ppos t. I was the palm tree, enc as ed in brown c repe paper with two big bunc hes of papier mac he c oc onuts dangling from m y nec k, and a c lum p of bright green

c ardboard leaves in eac h hand and arranged like a c rown on m y head. My m other had knitted m e a pale green woollen balac lava, through whic h m y little fac e appeared. I had s tared at all the fac es in the audienc e and wriggled nervous ly. T hen s om eone had laughed and it had s tarted others off laughing too. It was the firs t oc c as ion anyone had laughed at m e and I had felt s o alone and ups et. I had looked for m y parents and, s eeing them in the s ec ond row, I had foc us ed on them . T hey, of c ours e, were not laughing. I had begun to c ry and then, frozen under the bright lights and frightened, I had wet m ys elf. It had s eeped through the brown c repe paper leaving a large dark s tain in the front. T he audienc e had laughed louder. I had been devas tated. On the way hom e, m y fac e wet with tears , m y father had held m y s m all hand between his great fat fingers and he had told m e that I had been the bes t palm tree he had ever s een. My m other had told m e that I was the s tar of the s how. I knew full well at the tim e that they had not been telling m e the truth, but it had been s o good to be told. I felt s o s ec ure and s o loved. 'A nd do you rem em ber, Mis s Greenwood,' I as ked her, 'what you s aid to m e when I c am e off the s tage?' 'I don't,' s he s aid. 'Rem ind m e.' 'W ell, I gues s s om e teac hers would have s tabbed the air angrily with a finger and told that little boy what a s illy c hild he was , and dem anded to know why he hadn't gone to the toilet before going on s tage.' 'A nd what did I s ay?' s he as ked. 'Y ou put your arm around m e and you s aid, "Don't worry, love, I us ed to wet m y knic kers when I was your age." ' T here was a s hort s ilenc e. T hen a s m all s m ile c am e to m y form er teac her's lips . 'W ell Gervas e,' s he s aid, c huc kling, 'it's funny how things c om e full c irc le.'

The Good Teac her

T he c hild is initiated into what K afta c alled 'T he Lie': 'E duc ation is but two things : firs t the parrying of the ignorant c hildren's im petuous as s ault on the truth, and, s ec ond, the gentle, im perc eptible, s tep-by-s tep initiation of the hum iliated c hildren into the Lie.' S c hool, for him , was not a happy tim e. Indeed, m any writers , des c ribing their s c hooldays , dwell on their unhappines s at the hands of bullies and the c ruelty at the hands of teac hers . T hey s peak of board rubbers thrown ac ros s the c las s room , trous er bottom s s m oking after a vic ious c aning, s arc as tic , inc om petent and s om etim es s adis tic teac hers . A ndy S m ith is a c as e in point. He undertook s om e building work at m y hous e rec ently and I found him to be one of the m os t entertaining, im aginative and s kilful people I have ever m et. His s c hooling c an at bes t be des c ribed as 'indifferent'. He was c learly a boy with a talent but one whic h was not rec ognis ed or enc ouraged by his teac hers . On one oc c as ion, after s pending m any weeks m aking a c hair in the woodwork room , c arefully fitting the joints , s anding and varnis hing, the teac her, angry with him about s om ething trivial, and in a m ighty fury, s m as hed the c hair to piec es before the boy's eyes . A ndy was heart-broken. It was s om ething he has never forgotten. He did, however, have the s atis fac tion of getting his revenge. He bided his tim e until he had the opportunity, s om e weeks later, of being alone and unobs erved in the woodwork room . Carefully, he s awed two legs off the teac her's prized table, the one he us ed to dem ons trate his own c rafts m ans hip. B alanc ing the table top on the legs , young A ndy s c urried away. T he following day, the teac her entered the room and threw a pile of books and his c as e onto the table, whic h im m ediately c ollaps ed before him . He had an idea, of c ours e, who the c ulprit was , but he had no proof s o was helples s to take any ac tion. S adly, s c hooldays for A ndy and m any m ore c hildren were not 'the bes t years of their lives '. W ell, m y s c hooldays were. I was very fortunate to have, on the whole, dedic ated and hard-working teac hers with an enthus ias m for learning and pos s es s ing a des ire to help their s tudents apprec iate and explore the s ubjec ts they taught m ore profoundly. I was never c aned or s lippered, c alled an idiot or m ade to write out lines . W hen I rec all m y s c hooldays , there were s everal teac hers who s tood out as exc eptional prac titioners . K en P ike, who later went on to bec om e a dis tinguis hed head teac her, taught m e for m y 'O' levels in E nglis h Language and E nglis h Literature. He was an ins pirational teac her who infec ted m e with a love of language and an apprec iation of poetry and pros e. He s poke with wonderful c onvic tion and developed in m e a pas s ion for literature. A s a s c hool ins pec tor, I often thought that if the m aterial is appropriate to the age and m aturity of the s tudents , if the teac her m anages to interes t and c hallenge the s tudents , and if they pos s es s s om e s ens itivity, unders tanding and have a s ens e of hum our, then there would be far fewer dis c ipline problem s in s c hools . It is often when the les s ons are dull, and the teac her lac klus tre, that poor dis c ipline em erges . Mr P ike had a great s ens e of hum our. It is of ines tim able im portanc e that teac hers do have a s ens e of hum our - indeed, a s ens e of fun. A lan S c hofield taught m e Geography for 'O' level. He was a s ens itive, tolerant m an, always willing to lis ten, but not a s oft touc h. He was never too preoc c upied to talk inform ally to the pupils at break tim es , or too im patient to go over an explanation again if we were uns ure. His c las s room , dec orated with great c oloured m aps , pos ters , news paper c uttings , pos tc ards and photographs was kept neat and tidy. W e would line up outs ide in s ilenc e, file in, s tand behind our des ks , wis h him a 'Good m orning, s ir,' and then be told to s it. T rained as a prim ary teac her, I gues s he never pos s es s ed the letters after his nam e, but he was a natural teac her who enjoyed teac hing, handled dis s enting voic es with hum our and always m ade us feel valued. T hos e of us who have been teac hers know only too well how daunting it c an be to s tand in front of a group of large, volatile adoles c ents not ac c us tom ed to s itting s till and lis tening, and attem pt to engage their attention and get them to do as they are told. It is im portant to appear s trong and fearles s , even if it is an ac t. Many years later, Mr S c hofield, then in his eighties , c am e to hear m e when I appeared on s tage at the S trode T heatre in S treet. I s at in the bar after m y perform anc e with his wife and fam ily, and we rem inis c ed. E ventually, the m anager of the theatre had to as k us to leave. B efore he left, I held m y form er teac her in m y arm s and ac knowledged him as the great teac her he was . I wanted to repay that fondnes s and res pec t that he had s howered on m e. S adly, A lan S c hofield died the following year. S om e would s ay that there is no room in educ ation for the ec c entric teac her. I would dis agree. Mr Firth ('T heo') taught m e his tory at 'O' level and was one of thos e individuals who are out of the ordinary, idios ync ratic and do not always follow the various direc tives , but he had a profound im pac t upon m e in m y s c hooldays ; he brought his tory to life for m e. E c c entric s , in m y experienc e, are les s inhibited, m ore im aginative and often m ore c hildlike in their approac h to life than we 'ordinary' folk, and they do not c are what other people think of them . A s I walked into the playground on m y firs t day at s ec ondary s c hool, there, s tanding like a great E as tern s tatue in the m iddle of the yard, was this barrel-bodied, balding m an with little fluffy outc rops around his ears . He was wearing old blac k plim s olls and, ins tead of a belt, he had a piec e of s tring fas tened around the top of his baggy c orduroy trous ers . He looked like a c harac ter from Dic kens . T his was the m uc h-feared Mr T heodore Firth. In m y experienc e, s uc h non-c onform is t teac hers as Mr Firth frequently have a greater im pac t than the m ore c onventional teac hers and are often rem em bered years later, when the 'ordinary' teac hers have been long forgotten. Mr Firth was s tric t but he was s c rupulous ly fair, totally c om m itted but rather unpredic table and, provided you worked hard and were well behaved, he pos ed no problem . He ins is ted on every pupil's undivided attention, neat and ac c urate writing, and work c om pleted on tim e. In ans wer to his ques tions , he expec ted the right hand of the pupil to be rais ed s traight as a die and for the pupil to ans wer c learly and c onfidently. Like all great teac hers , Mr Firth believed that all c hildren m attered, whatever bac kground or ability, and he built up his pupils ' s elf-es teem and expec tation. He was a bit of a s howm an, with unflinc hing opinions about the events of his tory, and above all a perform er, always m as ter of his audienc e and in c om m and of the s tage. A J oy ful Learning

I was m as s ively fortunate in m y s c hooling to have, for 'A ' levels , two outs tanding teac hers : Mis s Mary W ainwright and J A lan Taylor. Muc h of what I hold dear was firs t s hown to m e by teac hers s uc h as thes e - s ens itive, s upportive, patient and good-hum oured - they ins pired m e, enc ouraged m e, took an interes t in m e and c onvinc ed m e that, des pite m y hum ble bac kground and m y average abilities , I c ould ac hieve anything. I was in T hom as Hardy c ountry rec ently, s peaking at an educ ation c onferenc e and s taying overnight at T he Cas terbridge Hotel on the High S treet in Dorc hes ter. In the evening, I wandered around this delightful Dors et town, with its greys tone c hurc hes and m us eum s , and c am e upon the s tatue of its greates t writer. I s tared up at the im pos ing figure and rem em bered fondly Mis s W ainwright, who introduc ed m e to the world of T hom as Hardy. E nglis h Literature 'A ' level was not offered in the boys ' high s c hool in Rotherham s o I, along with s everal other large gangly adoles c ents , s tudied the s ubjec t in the adjac ent Oakwood Girls ' High. Mis s Mary W ainwright, head of the E nglis h departm ent, was a dim inutive, s oftly s poken wom an dres s ed in a pris tine white blous e with lac e c ollar, whic h was buttoned up at the nec k with s m all pearl buttons . S he was s wathed in a long, pleated tweed s kirt, dark brown s toc kings and s m all leather brogues . T he delic ate em broidered handkerc hief that s he s ec reted up her s leeve would be oc c as ionally pluc ked out to dab the c orners of her m outh. S ave for the large c am eo brooc h plac ed at her throat, s he wore no jewellery and there was no ves tige of m ake-up. S he lined up her new s tudents , a m otley group of s potty, lanky boys , and peered up at us . 'I've never taught boys ,' s he s aid, and then, after a long paus e and with a twinkle in her dark eyes , s he added, 'but I've heard of them .' A s s oon as Mis s W ainwright opened the s et text, The M ay or of Cas terbridge, and s tarted to read, I was in a world I c am e to love. Oc c as ionally s he would s top, m ake a c om m ent, and s m ile with a c urious wis tfulnes s , as if there was s om ething s he rec alled fondly from a dis tant pas t. T he firs t es s ay I handed in to Mis s W ainwright c onc erned our initial im pres s ions of Henc hard, the m ain c harac ter in the novel, and I s pent long hours in the c entral library in town, writing, rewriting and referring to various referenc e books . W hen the es s ays were handed bac k m y heart leapt. Following a long and detailed as s es s m ent of m y effort, written at the bottom of the page in s m all neat handwriting, I had been awarded a B +. Mis s W ainwright took m e as ide after the les s on. 'T hat was extrem ely prom is ing,' s he told m e, s m iling. 'It's a very good s tart. I am s ure you will do well.' From then onwards , I gained in c onfidenc e, c ontributed in the les s ons and ac hieved good m arks . W hat inc redible good fortune it was for m e to have had this rem arkable wom an for m y teac her. Mis s W ainwright, a wom an of great learning and infinite patienc e, was pas s ionate about her s ubjec t and had the ability to bring the works of any writer to life. T hes e days , teac hers are having to adjus t to yet m ore additions to the c urric ulum and, with s uc h c hanges , will c om e the attendant paperwork. T here will be new guidelines and planning doc um ents , detailed polic ies and c eas eles s evaluations with whic h teac hers will have to deal. S adly, m ore teac hers will leave the profes s ion, weary with the c ons tant c hanges , the s nows torm of paperwork and the inc reas ing pres s ures . I pray that one day the Governm ent will unders tand that educ ation is not about proc es s and paperwork but about the quality of the teac hing. A t the very c entre of the proc es s of educ ation are the teac hers like Mis s W ainwright, who infec t their c harges with a love of learning; enthus ias tic , c om m itted, good-hum oured people, who enjoy the c om pany of the young and give them the bes t they c an give. In writing about the highly s uc c es s ful teac her who c om m ands the greates t res pec t and affec tion from his or her pupils , E dward T hring, the V ic torian s c holar, educ ationalis t and form er headm as ter at Uppingham S c hool, des c ribes better than I the s ort of teac hers I was privileged to have: T he teac her m akes the taught do the work and oc c upies him s elf in s howing them how to do it and taking c are that they do it. His work is to direc t, s ugges t, ques tion, ens pirit; he adapts him s elf in every pos s ible way to the individual m inds , never res ting until he had m ade them m as ter of the s kill required and s een them bec om e c apable of working on their own ac c ount. Teac hing takes any s hape whats oever, is fragm entary c hanging as the diffic ulties of the pupils m inds c hange and dis regards all prec is e plan, provided that a c los e, laborious and exac t exerc is e of m ind is the res ult. T he teac her m akes the pupils work and s tands and falls by what they do. Creatures Great and S mall

W hen I was s ix, m y father arrived hom e with a kitten. It was a s c rawny little s c rap of a c reature of indeterm inate c olour, with great glas s y eyes and half an ear. He had dis c overed the c at in the finis hing s hop at the s teelworks where he worked. Chris tine, m y s is ter, was given the job of looking after it, a tas k s he s oon abandoned after s he was s c ratc hed when trying to s troke it. W his key, as the c at was to be c alled, was the firs t of m any pets whic h we adopted. He grew alarm ingly over the weeks , into a s leek, jade-eyed feline, the s trange-s haped ear giving him a raffis h look. Rather than s howing any gratitude for being res c ued from c ertain death, this feral c reature s c ratc hed and bit and dis liked being s troked. If he was approac hed, his bac k would arc h and he s pat and his s ed. Many was the tim e he padded into the kitc hen with a bird or a m ous e in his jaws and, try as we m ight, he would not releas e his vic tim . He enjoyed playing with his prey until the final c oup de grac e. A t night, he would c law at the bac k door until let out and not return until the next m orning, when he would whine for his breakfas t. During the night, when he was on his am orous adventures , we knew it was W his key who m ade the terrible nois e in the garden to attrac t any pas s ing fem ale. W hen the c at s harpened his c laws on the bac k of the c hair, m y father exc laim ed, 'T hat c at has to go! ' B ut of c ours e it didn't, and it c ontinued to be tolerated and indulged and approac hed with c aution. T hen, one day, W his key never returned. W e found a dead rat on the doors tep. P erhaps it was his farewell pres ent. If he c ould have left a m es s age it would no doubt have been: 'T his life is a bit too tam e for m e s o I m us t be off. In this heart of m ine, you s ee, there burns the s pirit of a s avage blood.' A fter our experienc e with W his key it m ight be thought that m y parents would be dis inc lined to adopt another c reature, but they did. W hen m y brother A lec arrived hom e one day with a liver and white puppy, with doleful eyes and floppy ears , they m erely took it in their s tride, telling him that Dan, (the nam e given to the dog) was his res pons ibility. Neighbours had dogs - little s nappy terriers , fat s lobbering Labradors , fears om e A ls atians and fris ky m ongrels - but Dan was different. He grew to be an elegant, gentle-natured c reature, a pure-bred Germ an pointer. T here were no threatening rum bles or s harp yapping, no growls or s how of s harp teeth. He was s uc h an am iable beas t that we all grew to love him . A t the park, few dogs c ould keep up with him . He would bound off into the dis tanc e but return im m ediately at the c all of his nam e. He would s nuffle in bus hes and then, on s c enting gam e, he would freeze. His tail would s hoot up, his nos e dip to the floor and he would rais e one paw and 'point'. Onc e, on a trip to B ridlington in m y s is ter's V W B eetle c ar, we s topped in a lay-by for Dan to s tretc h his legs . T he m an in the c ar parked behind enquired what breed he was . 'He's a Germ an P ointer,' I told him . 'A nd you're in the V olks wagen?' 'Y es .' 'B loody patriotic , aren't you?' he s aid. W hen I bought Lizzie, m y daughter of s even, a ham s ter, m y father gave her a little lec ture on how to look after it, and warned her to m ake s ure its c age was s ec ure 'for thes e little rodents ', he s aid, 'are expert es c apologis ts '. He rem inded m e of the tim e when I was Lizzie's age and I volunteered to look after the ham s ter from s c hool during the half-term break. It was a fat, pale brown, affec tionate little c reature c alled Os c ar, but, one m orning, I found his c age em pty. He had s om ehow m anaged to es c ape. A ll day we s earc hed the hous e, but to no avail. W hen A lec thought he heard a s c ratc hing under the floorboards , m y father reluc tantly pulled up a c orner of c arpet, levered up one of the planks and s hone a torc h into the darknes s , but there was no s ign of the ham s ter. A ll week we s earc hed and, as the holiday c am e to an end, I bec am e dis traught. W hat would I s ay to Mis s Greenwood, m y teac her? I would never be trus ted to look after one of the s c hool's pets ever again. A nd how would I fac e the other c hildren? On the S aturday before the s tart of s c hool, m y father arrived hom e with another ham s ter but it was s m aller, thinner and a different c olour. 'B ut it's different! ' I c ried. 'E veryone will know.' 'It was the only one in the s hop,' m y father told m e, and then added, reas s uringly, 'A nd anyway, the c hildren will have forgotten what it looked like.' I was not c onvinc ed. T he following Monday m orning, I s at at m y des k, glanc ing over at the c age in the c orner. T he new ham s ter had not em erged from its warm little den, but it c hos e playtim e to m ake an appearanc e. W hen the c hildren gathered around the c age and peered through the bars they were puzzled. 'Mis s ! ' they c ried, 'Os c ar looks different.' Mis s Greenwood's eyes m et m ine. I m us t have looked c los e to tears . 'Y ou know, s om etim es c hildren,' s he s aid, 'ham s ters do c hange c olour with the s eas ons , and los e weight as well.' 'A nd s hrink?' as ked Margaret J ohns on. 'A nd s hrink,' repeated the teac her. Of c ours e, I knew that s he knew and I c ould have kis s ed her. T he new ham s ter las ted a week. One of the c hildren fed a piec e of orange peel though the bars of the c age whic h finis hed the poor c reature off. A s a c hild, I learnt a few of life's les s ons from thes e dealings with anim als . Firs t, one s hould not expec t that a kindnes s will nec es s arily be rec iproc ated or even apprec iated. S ec ond, one s hould never judge by appearanc es . T hird, it is s om etim es kinder to tell a lie, than to tell the truth and get s om eone into trouble. Finally, it is not a good idea to eat orange peel. Opening Doors

T here was a m etaphor about life that m y form er headm as ter, Mr T W 'T affy' W illiam s , was fond of us ing. A t the leavers ' as s em bly, at S outh Grove S ec ondary Modern S c hool for B oys , he as ked us to think for a m om ent before we left the s c hool for the las t tim e. 'W hoever you are and whatever you do,' he s aid, 'as you walk down that c orridor and out into the wide world, I want you to paus e for a m om ent and rem em ber one thing: life is like that c orridor, lined with m any different doors . S om e few will be bolted and barred to you and, however hard you pus h and pull, s trike and s hout, they will rem ain forever c los ed. S om e will be wide open and you c an walk through with little effort and no hindranc e. S om e will be ajar and, with a little exertion and c urios ity, you will be able to s ee what lies behind. Mos t doors , however, will be c los ed, but they will be s eldom loc ked. T hes e are the doors of opportunity, boys . T he doors of opportunity. It is up to you whic h of thos e c los ed doors you c hoos e to try and to dis c over what is behind, waiting for you -' he paus ed for effec t - 'and whic h to pas s on by.' I gues s , for m any of the pupils in the s c hool hall that heady J uly m orning, the headm as ter's m etaphor was los t upon them , but for m e, an am bitious , rather s tudious , idealis tic s ixteen-year-old, thos e words have rem ained a vivid m em ory. T he c los ed doors in m y own life have been rarely, if ever, loc ked, and I have been im m ens ely fortunate that I have had c aring, s upportive, enc ouraging people all along the way who have helped m e through them . T hroughout m y life, I have been enc ouraged to open doors by m y parents , m y grandm other and m y teac hers , but m any a tim e they have opened them for m e and urged m e through, building up m y c onfidenc e to do s o. My grandm other's dic tum was that life is s hort, and to m ake the m os t of it. S he enc ouraged m e to believe that every opportunity whic h c om es m y way s hould be taken; I s hould read books , take an interes t in people and events , not be afraid of as king ques tions and expres s ing opinions . A favourite expres s ion of hers was : 'Never be afraid of c hanc ing your arm .' T hen s he would add: 'A nd don't take life too s erious ly - after all, nobody c om es out of it alive.' A Father's ABC of Life A lways rem em ber m y s on to: Ac t in a m atter that you would wis h to be treated, Be c ons iderate . . . Choos e your friends with c are,

Don't take yours elf too s erious ly, E njoy all that life offers you, Follow your dream s , Guard agains t bitternes s and envy, Harm no one, Ignore the c ynic , Jog a little eac h day, Keep c alm in a c ris is , Laugh a lot, Make the bes t of what you have got, Never m is s an opportunity of s aying 'T hank Y ou', Open your heart to thos e you love, P ay no attention to grum blers , Ques tion c ertainties , Res pec t the feelings of others , S tay true to your princ iples , Take a few m eas ured ris ks , Us e your talents wis ely, V alue your fam ily, W ork hard, X -pec t a lot of yours elf - but not too m uc h, Y earn not for ric hes , Zes t for living s hould be your aim in this world.

'Don't You Have a Proper Job?'

W ork ing Life

Into the W orld of W ork

My firs t interview for a job was a s im ple and inform al affair. My girlfriend's father had a friend who was m anager of a large bread fac tory on Greas borough S treet, on the outs kirts of Rotherham . I was looking for a job jus t after the s ixth form and during the weeks before departing for c ollege s o, on his rec om m endation, I pres ented m ys elf one Monday m orning at the fac tory. T he m anager, a lugubrious -fac ed individual with thic k, blac k-fram ed glas s es , reac hed out and pic ked up a penc il whic h was lying on the des k, and twirled it between his fingers . 'W ork hard, be punc tual, do as you are told, was h your hands and don't s teal the bread, and you'll be fine.' A nd that was it. Chuc k, the forem an, a bald-headed, rotund little m an with a s tom ac h as s olid and round as a football, tight in his white overall, looked m e up and down. 'A nother bloody s tudent,' he m outhed. 'I hope you las t longer than the las t one. He nearly fell in the bloody dough and was baked with the bread.' He held up a hand. T wo of the fingers were m is s ing. 'A nd be bloody c areful if you're on the s lic ers ,' he s aid. I learnt a great deal about life, work and hum an nature in that bread fac tory. I learnt about getting up before it was light and c atc hing the early bus , enduring the hot dry and nois y atm os phere of a fac tory, about boredom and m onotony and wearines s and s heer hard work. I als o learnt to be wary of m y fellow workers . Chuc k, aided and abetted by s om e old hands , took delight in playing tric ks on the s tudents . I gues s it was bec aus e a life baking bread, after the initial fas c ination, bec am e inc redibly tedious and predic table, and thes e c lever rus es lightened the m onotony. B ut there m ay have been m ore to it than that. It m ay have been born out of res entm ent - the fac t that thes e bright young things would earn a bit of poc ket m oney over the holidays and then s wan off to univers ity and end up with fat s alaries and c om pany c ars . It they ever did return to the bread fac tory it would be as pen-pus hing m anagers and c om pany ac c ountants , engineers or direc tors . T hey needed bringing down a peg or two, s howing everyone they were not that c lever. T he perpetrators m us t have thought their antic s were hilarious . Mos t of them were harm les s , s uc h as hiding es s ential tools and equipm ent, rem oving the toilet paper from the lavatory or putting s alt ins tead of s ugar in the s tudents ' tea. S om e went too far though. One s tudent dis c overed a dead rat underneath his s andwic hes in his s nap box and s pent m os t of the s hift retc hing in the lavatory. A nother had his bike loaded onto a van with the bread and had to walk all the way hom e. One poor lad, a pale-fac ed boy with a wis py beard and large glas s y eyes , who is now probably an em inent doc tor or a univers ity profes s or, s pent the whole of the m orning with a tea towel wrapped around his head after following the forem an's ins truc tion not to enter the fac tory without c overing all fac ial hair. He only dis c arded the c loth when the m anager, on his daily walk around the fac tory, as ked him if he had a s ore tooth. I was not im m une from the tric ks . My firs t job was to wheel the bread from the fac tory to the vans , for loading. T he loaves would be s tac ked on s liding m etal s helves , on a tall trolley with heavy rubber wheels . A t the very bottom was a loc king devic e, triggered by a pus h of the foot. Of c ours e, Chuc k never m entioned the loc k and, on m y firs t trip down the long ram p, obs erved by the forem an with his arm s folded over his c hes t, the trolley gathered s peed, then c areered out of c ontrol, c ollided with a van and s pilt its load. I was panic -s tric ken and began frantic ally pic king up the bread. 'B loody m arvellous , that! ' s houted Chuc k, drawing everyone's attention to m y dis tres s and em barras s m ent. 'B loody s tudents don't know their ars es from their elbows . A ll that bloody learnin' and he c an't pus h a bloody trolley wi'out dropping all t'bread. Com es out of tha wages that, tha knaas .' On the next oc c as ion I was let loos e with the trolley, Chuc k s idled over, s urreptitious ly ac tivated the loc king devic e with a s ec retive flic k of his foot and then s auntered off, with the words : 'A nd watc h what tha're doin' this tim e.' I s pent the next five m inutes pus hing and pulling to get the trolley m oving. One of the s tudents who had worked at the fac tory the previous year, warned m e to never, under any c irc um s tanc es , go down to where the c onfec tionery was prepared by the wom en, under the s upervis ion of an A m azon of a forewom an c alled Dora. If I did, it was likely that I would have dis c arded c akes and pas tries s tuffed down m y overalls or, even wors e, be s quirted all over with whipped c ream . One m orning, Chuc k s idled up. 'Go down the c onfec tionery and as k Dora for a triple, s c rew-top, flange extrac tor,' he ins truc ted m e. I s et off but s pent the next five m inutes hiding in a c ubic le in the lavatory. I then returned. 'Dora told m e to tell you that s he needs a note from you,' I inform ed Chuc k s erious ly. 'S he s aid that the las t triple, s c rew-top, flange extrac tor s he s ent up here has gone m is s ing.' 'Clever bugger,' m outhed Chuc k, am bling off down the fac tory. 'I rec kon from t'firs t tim e I c lapped eyes on thee, tha'd end up a bloody teac her. T oo c lever by 'alf.' It was never m y am bition to bec om e a teac her. It was another c ontac t who put m e in line for the job as a trainee ac c ountant. Mrs Gill, m y m other's bes t friend, was Com pany S ec retary at T hom as W ilde and S on, in S heffield, and s he arranged for m e to have an interview with a s enior partner at Hart, Mos s and Copley, Chartered A c c ountants . I had pres ented m ys elf at the plus h offic es on Moorgate S treet, in a new s uit, white s hirt, s c hool tie, hair s hort and s lic ked bac k and highly polis hed blac k s hoes , and s at before one of the s enior partners . He appeared every inc h what I im agined an ac c ountant would look like in his dark pin-s tripe s uit and wais tc oat and with a pair of half-m oon s pec tac les perc hed on the end of his nos e. Having s atis fied him s elf that I had the nec es s ary qualific ations , he s at bac k on his c hair and as ked m e a few general ques tions before leaning over his des k. 'W ell, young m an,' he s aid, after a long paus e. 'Go ahead. S ell yours elf.' I m us t have ac quitted m ys elf reas onably well bec aus e he nodded approvingly after eac h ans wer. 'Can you c an s tart in S eptem ber?' he as ked. 'Y es , s ir.' 'W elc om e to Hart, Mos s and Copley,' he s aid, s m iling. I never did train as an ac c ountant. T hree days after the interview, I rec eived a letter inviting m e to attend Rotherham E duc ation Offic e to s ee Mr B loom er, the Direc tor of E duc ation. I had never m et Mr B loom er, but knew him to be a very im portant m an, in c harge of all the s c hools in the town. I reported to the rec eption des k at the E duc ation Offic e, on the appointed day and at the appointed tim e, and waited in the outer offic e. I c ouldn't unders tand why he would wis h to s ee m e. A fter a s hort wait, I was s hown into Mr B loom er's offic e. I entered a large, dark-panelled room . Great glas s -fronted bookc as es full of leatherbound tom es lined one wall and fram ed pic tures and prints , no doubt drawn and painted by the town's c hildren and s tudents , were dis played on the other. T he Direc tor of E duc ation had been c ontac ted by m y headm as ter, Mr W illiam s . 'Y our headm as ter,' s aid Mr B loom er, 'has had a word with m e, and he is of the opinion that you ought to s tay on and do your 'A ' levels . He thinks you would m ake a very good teac her.' 'Y es , s ir,' I replied, not really knowing what to s ay. A t the tim e, I didn't think it was partic ularly unus ual for the Direc tor of E duc ation to take a pers onal interes t in jus t one s tudent, to s um m on him to his offic e and give him the benefit of his advic e, but now I know that it was . I took the advic e, s tayed on for 'A ' levels , and then trained to be a teac her. Fun and Games

W hen training in the profes s ion, I went on teac hing prac tic e to S t A ugus tine's Rom an Catholic S ec ondary Modern S c hool, in Hudders field. B eing young and reas onably fit, I was given two les s ons of gam es to teac h eac h week. T he head of the P E and Gam es departm ent, a large, am iable S c ot I s hall c all Gus , told m e to buy a trac ks uit and football boots and report to the boys ' c hanging room s the following week. I duly did as I was told. Forty-five large, gangly adoles c ents were waiting outs ide the c hanging room s when I arrived. Gus , attired in an old trac ks uit heavily dec orated with various c olourful athletic badges , was s tanding at the head of the queue, jangling a huge bunc h of keys . 'Right lads ,' he s houted, 'get c hanged quic kly and quietly, quic kly and quietly.' I ac c om panied him into a s m all teac her's offic e, where I was pres ented with a whis tle. He poked his head around the door. 'K eep it down, lads , keep it down! ' he s houted, and the hubbub im m ediately s ubs ided. Out on the fields , he told m e he would lead the pac k on a jog around the perim eter and that I s hould follow up the rear. Having all 'lim bered up', Gus ordered: 'Get the poles ! ' W as this s om e s ort of arc ane ritual in whic h the boys attac ked their P olis h peers ? Four boys appeared, with large white poles , and were ins truc ted by the teac her to s tic k them in the gras s , s pac ed out evenly for s kills prac tic e. 'B alls ! ' s houted Gus , and four m ore boys appeared with the footballs . T he pupils dribbled and wove for ten m inutes before being told to form four team s . 'I'll referee one m atc h, Mr P hinn,' s aid Gus , 'and you the other.' During the gam e, whic h I refereed, des pite m y giving various dubious rulings , none of the boys ques tioned m y dec is ions . A t the end of the les s on, the boys s howered, c hanged and lined up quietly to be dis m is s ed. I joined Gus later that lunc htim e. 'T hat was a really good les s on this m orning,' I told him . 'A ye.' 'Y ou know I have an idea I m ight c hange from E nglis h and teac h Gam es .' 'Oh, aye?' 'I m ean,' I c ontinued, 'it's s o m uc h eas ier, is n't it?' 'Is it?' 'Y ou don't have all the preparation to do, the hom ework to s et and the exam inations to m ark.' 'B it of a doddle really,' obs erved m y c olleague. T he following week, before the les s on, Gus approac hed m e in the s taff room . 'Y ou'll be all right on your own for ten m inutes this m orning, won't you?' he s aid. 'Get the lads s tarted. It's jus t that I have s om ething to take c are of.' My heart s ank down into m y s hoes . 'On m y own?' I repeated. 'A ye. T he lads know the routine.' I arrived at the c hanging room s , m y heart thum ping in m y c hes t. I jangled the keys . 'Right lads ,' I s aid, lowering m y voic e a c ouple of oc taves , 'get c hanged quic kly and quietly, quic kly and quietly.' I dis appeared into the teac her's offic e, em erging a m om ent later with m y whis tle around m y nec k. 'K eep it down, lads , keep it down,' I told the boys , and the hubbub im m ediately s ubs ided. Out on the field, we jogged around the perim eter, with no problem s whats oever. 'Get the poles ! ' I ordered, and four boys dis appeared to get the white poles . I pointed to a piec e of gras s a dis tanc e from the football pitc hes . 'S tic k the poles in over there,' I told them . 'T here, s ir?' ques tioned a bear of a boy with a round red fac e, legs like tree trunks and hands like s pades . Here we go, I thought - a c onfrontation. K eep c alm . Look c onfident. Don't s how your fear. 'Y es , over there! ' I rais ed m y voic e. 'A re you s ure, s ir?' he as ked. 'Y es , I am s ure! Do as you are told and be quic k about it! ' T he boy s hrugged and did as he was told. W hen Gus arrived, the boys were dribbling and weaving around the poles . He s urveyed the s c ene. 'T hat, Mr P hinn,' he s aid, 'is m as terful.' I ballooned with pride. 'Mas terful.' T hen, after a deep in-drawing of breath, he added, 'T hey've s tuc k the poles in the m iddle of the bloody c ric ket s quare! ' The Nun's S tory

I vis ited the B ar Convent in York rec ently. S ituated jus t outs ide the c ity walls at Mic klegate B ar, the original 17th c entury hous e was purc has ed by Franc is B edingfield in 1686 and was replac ed in the 18th c entury by the s pec tac ular Georgian building now lis ted as Grade 1 by E nglis h Heritage. T he building rem ains the hom e of the York Com m unity of the Congregation of J es us and is open daily for interes t, educ ation and enjoym ent. T his is one of the c ounty's hidden gem s and hous es the m os t fas c inating c ollec tion of artefac ts , paintings , religious relic s and his toric al doc um ents , a s tunning Maw tiled floor, a W inter Garden, a pries t hole and a s uperb and beautifully pres erved neo-c las s ic al Chapel, hidden from view. T he m us eum tells the s tory of how the s is ters of the Com m unity lived and worked in s ec rec y during the reign of E lizabeth I, to pres erve their way of life in a tim e of terrible pers ec ution and lac k of rec ognition of the value of educ ation for girls and wom en and the c ontribution they c ould m ake to s oc iety. I had vis ited the B ar Convent before, in rather different c irc um s tanc es . It was a good forty years ago, when I was training to be a teac her. My flatm ate was on teac hing prac tic e at the c onvent, whic h then hous ed a girls ' s c hool, and he was intending to ac c om pany the teac hers and s tudents to S tratford-UponA von to s ee a produc tion of K ing Lear, but he was ill. S is ter Margaret Mary s ugges ted I m ight like to take his plac e. A fter a c ouple of hours on the c oac h to S tratford, I bec am e inc reas ingly unc om fortable. I had drunk a few c ups of c offee that m orning and now wanted to go to the toilet. I kept c ros s ing and unc ros s ing m y legs to try and eas e the pain in m y c om plaining bladder. 'A ll you all right, Mr P hinn?' as ked the nun s itting next to m e. I pulled a pained expres s ion. 'I'm fine,' I lied. T he dis c om fort got wors e and wors e. I jus t had to go to the lavatory or I would burs t. 'I s uppos e we'll be s topping for lunc h s oon,' I s aid c as ually to m y c om panion. 'Oh no,' s he replied. 'W e s han't be s topping now until we get to S tratford.' T he pain in m y bladder was bec om ing unbearable. I jus t had to go to the lavatory. T hen I thought of the m os t horrendous s c enario: m e, s tanding by the s ide of the road, doing what I had to do, with thirty girls and four nuns s taring out of the c oac h window in am azem ent. T he em barras s m ent, the indignity, the s ham e! No, I would have to think of s om ething. I eas ed m ys elf down the ais le of the c oac h to s peak to the driver. 'I have to go to the toilet,' I whis pered in his ear. 'T oilet! ' he exc laim ed loudly. 'I have to go,' I s aid. 'I'm des perate.' T here was a pathetic pleading in m y voic e. 'P leas e.' 'W ell, I'll tell you what I c an do. I'll get off and go via Coventry. T here's a c ar park and toilets in t'c athedral prec inc ts .'

'Oh, thank you, thank you,' I s aid. 'B ut you'll have to c lear it with the teac hers bac k there.' I tiptoed down the ais le and returned to m y s eat. 'I was jus t talking to the driver, S is ter,' I s aid c as ually, 'and he s ays we are in very good tim e. I think it m ight be a good idea to break our journey at Coventry and s ee the wonderful c athedral.' 'W hat an exc ellent idea,' s he s aid. I s aid a s ilent prayer of thanks . Ten m inutes later, the longes t ten m inutes of m y life, we pulled into the c ar park by the c athedral. I nearly c ried when I s aw the GE NT S s ign. A s s oon as the c oac h c am e to a halt, I leapt down the s teps and s hot off, like a m an purs ued by a c harging rhinoc eros . To m y dis m ay, I heard the nun's voic e behind m e. 'Follow Mr P hinn, girls . Follow Mr P hinn. He's heading for the c athedral.' I turned and to m y horror s aw thirty girls running ac ros s the c ar park in m y direc tion. That W ill Teac h Y ou!

I was pres enting the c ertific ates to newly qualified teac hers . E ac h new m em ber of the teac hing profes s ion attending was ac c om panied by their m entor, an experienc ed and s enior m em ber of s taff, who had m onitored progres s and advis ed them during their firs t induc tion year. It was good to hear that they had rec eived s uc h s upport and enc ouragem ent. A t a c onferenc e, s om e weeks earlier, I had learnt that there was a haem orrhaging of teac hers ; after s pending only a few years in the job, as m any as one in s even newly qualified teac hers dec ided to leave and do s om ething els e. T he m ountains of paperwork they had to deal with, the c ons tant c hanges , new governm ent initiatives , dis ruptive c hildren and awkward parents were all c ited as c aus es for them to leave the profes s ion, but one other reas on was that s om e felt they rec eived little help and s upport from c olleagues . T here was the young wom an who s ought the advic e of her head of departm ent after a partic ularly diffic ult les s on with a group of dis ruptive pupils . 'W ell, they were all right when I taught them las t year,' he told her haughtily. A nother m entioned the head teac her who, c om m enting on the dis play that s he had s pent hours m ounting on the wall down the c orridor, s aid that s he had us ed too m any s taples . T hen there was the prim ary teac her who s hared an am us ing anec dote with her older c olleague in the s taff room , only to be told that s he was too enthus ias tic and that s he would s oon learn that teac hing was n't a bed of ros es . T he c ynic c ontinued to tell her that s he wouldn't teac h if s he had the c hanc e again, and c ertainly wouldn't enc ourage any of her own c hildren to bec om e teac hers . 'Good teac hers ,' s aid B is hop S am uel W ilberforc e, 'take on the m os t im portant role in s oc iety for they c hange lives ', and S enec a, who pos s ibly had the m os t c hallenging job of all as the tutor of Nero, s aid that 'part of m y joy in learning is that it puts m e in a pos ition to teac h and nothing is of any value to m e unles s I have s om eone to s hare it with.' I was fortunate, growing up, to have the very bes t teac hers : the great m ajority were keen, enthus ias tic and dedic ated, and pos s es s ed of a s ens e of hum our, indeed, a s ens e of fun. I was als o im m ens ely fortunate, in m y firs t year as a teac her in a large c om prehens ive in Rotherham (it was c alled 'the probationary year' in thos e days ), to work for a vis ionary and c om pas s ionate head teac her, Dennis Morgan, and a deputy head teac her, Roy Happs , both of whom gave s uc h valuable advic e, s upport and enc ouragem ent, and who never m is s ed an opportunity to s how rec ognition for what I did. One of Mr Morgan's m axim s was that teac hers new to the profes s ion s hould have the option to fail and power to s uc c eed. I have to adm it that in m y firs t year, I failed a fair bit. I was rem inded of one of m y faux pas rec ently by a form er pupil of m ine. I, a green probationary teac her, took a group of s tudents to the s wim m ing baths for the weekly les s on. In thos e days , it was obligatory for girls and boys with long hair to wear bathing c aps . One s m all, nervous little girl, having forgotten her c ap, was told off by the s wim m ing teac her and told to s it on the s ide. Next to her s at another girl, who was laughing at the dis tres s ed c hild. 'A nd what do you find s o funny?' I as ked. 'Nothing s ir,' s he replied. 'I don't think it's very nic e to laugh at s om ebody els e,' I told her. 'A nyway, why aren't you in the water?' 'Y ou know, s ir,' s he s aid. 'No, I don't know,' I replied. 'I'm not ps yc hic .' 'Y ou know, s ir,' s he repeated. 'No, I do not know! ' I s napped. 'W hy are you not in the water with the others ?' 'T im e of the m onth, s ir,' s he s aid. 'Oh,' I s aid, c olouring up. T hen I us ed the teac her's s toc k-in-trade res pons e. 'W ell, don't do it again,' I s aid, walking quic kly away. S ilenc e in the Library

I have always been a pas s ionate s upporter of s c hool libraries . I s uppos e, as a form er P res ident of the S c hool Library A s s oc iation, I would be expec ted to s ay as m uc h. W hen I was ins pec ting s ec ondary s c hools , the firs t port of c all was always the s c hool library. I always hoped that I would find a c heerful, optim is tic , bright fac ility, s toc ked with glos s y paperbac ks , c ontem porary and c las s ic novels , poetry and pic ture books , up-to-date non-fic tion m aterial, quality hardbac k referenc e books and dic tionaries , and m agazines and journals that appealed to the young and helped them in their learning. I als o hoped to s ee the tables fully oc c upied by quiet and dedic ated s tudents . S adly, this was not always the c as e. In one old, es tablis hed gram m ar s c hool, I was s hown into a bare, c old, featureles s room with a few anc ient tom es and dog-eared textbooks s c attered along the high wooden bookc as es . T he atm os phere c arried a warm , pervas ive s m ell of dus t, and the grey walls did not help. T his was the s uppos ed c entral learning res ourc e, the foundation of the c urric ulum and the plac e of ac adem ic s tudy, reading and res earc h. T he books on the s helves bore witnes s to the fac t that there had not been a full audit or c lear-out of the old and inappropriate m aterial for s om e tim e. T here were books entitled W ireles s S tudies for B eginners , Life in the B elgian Congo, Harmles s S c ientific E x periments for Girls and Our K ing: George V I. A s a young teac her, I was given c harge of the s c hool library. Mr Morgan, the head teac her of the s ec ondary s c hool where I taught, s topped m e in the c orridor at the c onc lus ion of m y probationary year and as ked m e if I 'wanted the s c hool library'. T here would be an allowanc e to go with it. Of c ours e, in thos e bygone days in educ ation, any teac her who was warm and breathing after his or her firs t year expec ted to be given a s c ale s alary point. I readily agreed to bec om e 'teac her in c harge of the s c hool library' and, after a week's c ours e, and fully equipped with new ideas and lots of enthus ias m , I s et about trans form ing the plac e. I prevailed upon the head teac her to inves t in new tables , eas y c hairs and attrac tive wooden s helving. I c overed the em pty walls with c olourful paintings and prints , and arranged pot plants on the windows ills . Not for m e the s taff room at breaks and lunc htim es ; I m anned the library, s urveying m y dom ain from the s m all offic e with great pride and m aking s ure anyone entering this hallowed plac e did s o s ilently, and that they returned any borrowed books to the pres c ribed s helves . I c has ed up overdue books with the zeal of Torquem ada and is s ued direc tives banning any s tudent who had infringed the rules , whic h were dis played prom inently on the door. T hen Her Majes ty's Ins pec tor arrived. Mr Dic kins on c om plim ented m e on the s tate of the library. P artic ularly im pres s ive, he s aid, were the unblem is hed c arpet, pris tine polis hed tables , im m ac ulately tidy s helves and the fac t that there were very few books for whic h I c ould not ac c ount. 'T his is ,' he told m e, 'without doubt the m os t attrac tive s c hool library I have vis ited in a long tim e - s o c lean, c om fortable and ordered.' I s welled with pride. 'T here is jus t one s m all thing,' he c ontinued, 'whic h you m ay feel s om ewhat trivial but I feel I do need to as k.' I looked at him expec tantly. 'Y es , of c ours e.' 'W here are the s tudents ?' he enquired, s m iling. B ridge Ov er Troubled W aters

I do feel s orry watc hing the poor c ontes tants fac ing the s our-fac ed, s neering A nne Robins on on The W eak es t Link . Is it any s urpris e that they fluff the ans wers ? A nne Robins on: 'In E nglis h literary relations hips , Mary W olls tonec raft Godwin, who wrote Frank ens tein, m arried the poet, P erc y who?' Contes tant: 'T hrower.' A nne Robins on: 'T he film s tarring Fred A s taire and Ginger Rogers was c alled Fly ing Dow n to . . . W here?' Contes tant: 'Halifax.' A nne Robins on: 'W hat "X " is the fear of foreigners ?' Contes tant: 'T he X -Fac tor.' I would hate to be up there in the glare of the lights , fac ing that virago with thous ands watc hing m e. I hate quizzes . W hen the fam ily gather around the table on Chris tm as Day for the ritual gam e of T rivial P urs uit, I s kulk away to m y s tudy. I hear them downs tairs , dis c us s ing the ques tions and ans wers , and I am pleas ed to be away from it all. My avers ion to quizzes s tem s from when I was a teac her and I repres ented m y s c hool hous e at the annual 'Inter-Hous e Quiz'. Four hous em as ters s at on the s tage, in front of the entire s c hool, to ans wer a s eries of general knowledge ques tions put to us by the Head of the Lower S c hool. T he 'Inter-Hous e Quiz' afforded the quizm as ter the perfec t opportunity to get his revenge for a tric k I had played upon him . S om e weeks earlier, I had am us ed m ys elf with what I thought was a harm les s prank. E ac h Friday lunc htim e, the Head of the Lower S c hool and three m ale c olleagues would ens c onc e them s elves in the c orner of the s taff room to play bridge. T he four teac hers took the gam e extrem ely s erious ly and would dis c us s in detail, at various tim es during the following week, the s trategies and outc om es . T hes e pos t-m ortem s were extrem ely tedious to have to lis ten to, s o, when the fire alarm s ounded one Friday lunc htim e and we all had to vac ate the s c hool, I rem ained behind in the em pty s taff room with jus t enough tim e for m e to s wap a few of the c ards around. W hen the gam e was res um ed, the argum ents that aros e very nearly ended in violenc e, s o I had the good grac e to own up to what I had done. T he four players were not bes t pleas ed. T he Head of the Lower S c hool bided his tim e until he c ould get his own bac k. T hat tim e was when the 'Inter-Hous e Quiz' took plac e. I s at under the bright lights on the s tage, in front of the entire s c hool, ready and c onfident to field the ques tions . 'Ques tion one, for the firs t hous em as ter,' s aid the quizm as ter, 'is : "W hat is the national flower or plant of E ngland?" ' 'T he ros e,' c am e the ans wer. T here was thunderous applaus e from thos e pupils in his hous e. 'Ques tion one for the s ec ond hous em as ter,' s aid the quizm as ter, 'is : "W hat is the national flower or plant of S c otland?" ' 'T he this tle,' c am e the ans wer. T his was followed by wild c lapping from the pupils in his hous e. 'Ques tion one for the third hous em as ter,' s aid the quizm as ter, 'is : "W hat is the national flower or plant of W ales ?" ' 'T he leek.' A gain, there was a lively res pons e from thos e in his hous e. T hen it c am e to m y turn. I had the word 's ham roc k' on the tip of m y tongue. 'Ques tion one for the fourth hous em as ter,' s aid the quizm as ter, a s trange little s m ile playing on his lips , 'is : "W hat is the national flower or plant of S outh A fric a?" ' 'W hat?' I s pluttered. 'A ns wer the ques tion, Mr P hinn,' the Head of the Lower S c hool told m e. 'I've not the s lightes t idea,' I replied. 'It's the Giant or K ing P rotea,' s aid the quizm as ter before adding, 'I thought everyone knew that.' T here followed further hum iliation as all the ques tions direc ted at the other c ontes tants were pitifully eas y and m ine inc redibly hard. Ques tion one for the firs t hous em as ter: 'W ho wrote Treas ure Is land?' Ques tion one for the s ec ond hous em as ter: 'W ho wrote Oliv er Tw is t?' Ques tion one for the third hous em as ter: 'W ho wrote M ac beth?' Ques tion one for the fourth hous em as ter: 'W ho direc ted the film A B ridge Too Far?' Next day, I was teac hing the very bottom form in the fifth year. A s I approac hed one of m y pupils he tut-tutted, and rem arked, 'I s ee now, s ir, why you teac h us .' 'W hy is that, J ohn?' I as ked. 'W hy, you're as thic k as we are, aren't you?' the boy replied. A B ird of a Feather

W e have a brac e of pheas ants in our garden. T hey appeared las t week and have c om m andeered the bird table, where they pec k away, oblivious to everybody and everything, before pottering between the flowerbeds . T hey dis appear at night but return the next day for breakfas t, watc hed hungrily by a tree full of blac kbirds and s tarlings . E ac h tim e I s ee a pheas ant, I think of the 'inc ident' when I was in m y firs t week as a s c hool ins pec tor in North Yorks hire. It was a glorious drive from S ettle to York. T he s un was s hining and c loud s hadows c has ed ac ros s the undulating green of the Dales . A m agpie s trutted along a s ilvered white s tone wall and a pigeon flapped ac ros s the road, jus t in front of the c ar. A fox appeared, s tepping delic ately ac ros s the road ahead of m e, his brus h down and s nout up, unafraid, unc onc erned. In the fields , the s heep grazed lazily; lam bs would s tart to arrive in a m onth or s o. T his , s urely, was the bes t of s eas ons . S uddenly, a large hen pheas ant s hot s traight out in front of the c ar, and I heard a thud as it hit the bum per. I quic kly pulled over and jum ped from the vehic le to s ee its prone body in the m iddle of the road, eyes c los ed and legs s tic king s kywards . A ll around m e was s ilent and s till. Not a pers on to be s een. I pic ked up the bird, popped it in the boot of m y c ar and thought of the wonderful roas t gam e I would be having for m y S unday lunc h. A t 4.30 that afternoon, I arrived at the York Teac hers ' Centre, where I was to direc t a c reative c ours e for teac hers . I opened the boot of the c ar to take the books and equipm ent into the Centre - only to find everything a c om plete jum ble. In the very m iddle of the m es s c rouc hed the pheas ant I had run over, and had as s um ed was dead. It was , to m y am azem ent, very m uc h alive and kic king. T he teac hers began arriving for the c ours e jus t in tim e to s ee s om ething s quawking and pec king and fluttering its wings m adly. I had s tunned the c reature, not killed it; now fully rec overed, it was not at all pleas ed to have been inc arc erated in the c ram ped dark boot of a c ar for a c ouple of hours , bum ping along, m ile after m ile. 'S hoo! ' I c ried, trying to enc ourage the bird to leave the boot, but every tim e m y hand c am e within pec king range, it lunged at m e. 'S hoo! S hoo! ' I exc laim ed again. T hen, turning, I realis ed I had attrac ted a c rowd of interes ted teac hers , who s tood in a half c irc le, watc hing proc eedings . 'Is it a vis ual aid?' as ked one teac her, m is c hievous ly. 'No, it is not! ' I s napped. 'A re we going to write bird poem s ,' as ked another teac her, c huc kling, 'from firs t-hand experienc e?' 'No, we are not! ' c am e m y angry reply. 'Y ou'd have been better off with a s tuffed one,' ventured another.

'W ell, I don't want it in the Centre,' s aid the c aretaker, who had arrived on the s c ene, jangling his keys and s haking his head. 'I'm not c leaning up after that.' 'It's not going in the Centre,' I s aid, getting as flus tered as the bird. It m ade another loud, plaintive s quawk, and beat its wings and thras hed its tail. E ventually, the bird flapped forward and took off, landing on the enc los ing wall. T hen, with tail proudly s tuc k up in the air, it s trutted off towards Y ork Mins ter. Needles s to s ay, the c reative wrting c ours e was a lively affair. The S c hool Ins pec tor Calls

A t the firs t s ec ondary s c hool I vis ited after bec om ing a s c hool ins pec tor with OFS T E D, I m et B ianc a in the library before the s tart of s c hool. S he was fifteen, a tall, m oros e-looking girl with lank hair and a long, pale, unhealthy-looking fac e, and was dres s ed in an exc eptionally tight blous e, very s hort s kirt and huge platform s hoes . S he looked very different from the s tudents on the front of the glos s y folder whic h I held in m y hand. 'S o whatc ha gunna be doin', then?' s he as ked, in a weary, apathetic tone of voic e, whic h s he had c learly c ultivated over the years for us e when talking to adults in authority. 'I am going to be joining you for all today's les s ons ,' I explained. 'E h?' 'I s aid, I am going to be joining you for all today's les s ons . I s hall obs erve the teac hing and als o be talking to the s tudents .' 'W ha' for?' 'B ec aus e that's m y job.' 'W ho are you, then?' 'I'm a s c hool ins pec tor.' 'A what?' 'A s c hool ins pec tor,' I repeated. 'A nd you jus t watc h teac hers ?' 'T hat's right.' 'A nd s it in c las s room s an' that?' 'Y es .' 'Don't you have a proper job then?' Following the ins pec tion, I m et with the governing body in the s c hool library, to give m y report. T he s erious -fac ed group s at before m e, all eyes trained in m y direc tion. T he c hair of governors , a florid-fac ed m an with huge ginger eyebrows whic h c urved into ques tion m arks , eyed m e s us pic ious ly with pale watery eyes . 'W e're 'ere for the report from the s c hool ins pec tor,' he announc ed. 'T his is Mr Flynn from OFFS E T .' 'Off what?' enquired a plain-fac ed little wom an with a purs ed m outh and s m all blac k darting eyes . 'No, no, that's the water, Doris . Mr Flynn's from OFFS E T .' 'OFS T E D,' I c orrec ted him , 'and it's Mr P hinn.' 'OFS T E D?' he repeated. 'Is that what it is ?' 'OFFS E T is , as I rem em ber, a m ac hine whic h prints paper,' I s aid, s m iling. 'Oh,' s aid the c hair of governors , addres s ing his c olleagues . 'W ell, you get s o c onfus ed thes e days don't you, with "off this " and "off that"? A nyhow, Mr Flynn's here to tell how we've done in the ins pec tion.' He turned his attention, and his eyebrows , bac k to m e. 'A nd I s hould s ay, Mr Flynn, that we like things plain in Y orks hire, s traight to the point. W e don't put ins pec tors and the like on pedes tals , for, as m y s ainted m other us ed to s ay, "they nobbut wants dus tin".' 'P hinn,' I s aid. 'It's Mr P hinn.' 'T his is all very c onfus ing,' rem arked the plain-fac ed little wom an with a purs ed m outh. 'W e've not even got to the report yet and we're having differenc es . W e'll be here all night at this rate. Can we m ake a s tart?' 'W ell, I don't want to be too long,' s aid a c heerful-looking c leric . 'I do have another m eeting in a c ouple of hours .' 'I'm s ure it won't take that long,' s aid another governor, before glowering in m y direc tion. 'W ill it?' 'A ye,' s aid the c hair of governors , his huge eyebrows twitc hing, 'let's get on. How's our little s c hool done then?' T he governing body leaned forward, c raned their nec ks and fixed m e with s tares whic h would c urdle m ilk. I plac ed the thic k OFS T E D handbook in front of m e with the various additional updates , guidanc e booklets , ques tionnaires and s c hool doc um ents , before arranging piles of various lis ts , s tatis tic s and s um m aries to pas s around. W hen I looked up, I fac ed a s ea of fac es s taring at the m ountain of paper in dis belief. 'W ell, before I begin I would like to talk a little about the c ontext of the ins pec tion . . .' I was c ut s hort. 'I think I was right fus t tim e with OFFS E T , Mr Flynn,' announc ed the c hair of governors . 'T alk about c hurning out paper. I rec kon when you do your ins pec tions , a fores t falls .' E ating w ith the Infants

I onc e vis ited an infant s c hool in a deprived area of the town, with a very elegant educ ation offic er. I c om m ented on the long, pale, pink s c arf s he wore. 'A c tually,' s he s aid, 'it's a pas hm ina.' 'I thought that was a breed of dog,' I s aid m is c hievous ly. S he gave a s light s m ile. B eing s om eone who is interes ted in words , I did a little res earc h at hom e that evening, and dis c overed that 'pas hm ina' is a P ers ian word m eaning 'c as hm ere'. P as hm inas now des c ribe thos e c olourful s ilk s hawls whic h, for m any years , have been draped elegantly over the s houlders of the ric hes t wom en in the E as t. Now they have bec om e very popular throughout the world, although I c an't s ay as I have s een m any wom en walking through Donc as ter town c entre with pas hm inas around their s houlders . W hen I was young, m y grandm a had a c oloured s hawl but, rather than elegantly draping it over her s houlders , s he knotted it tightly around her nec k like a football s c arf. My c olleague and I were as ked by the head teac her if we would c are to s tay for lunc h, to whic h we agreed. W e thought perhaps that we were to join her for a s um ptuous repas t in her room , but we were s hown into the s c hool hall, where we were eac h given a green m elam ine tray and as ked to join the queue of infants . T he dinner ladies were over-generous with the portions and piled high our trays with whole hands of fis h fingers and m ountains of baked beans and c hips . W e were both given s izeable bowls of s trawberry yoghurt and s m all plas tic tum blers of water. I very m uc h enjoyed watc hing m y c olleague's dis c om fiture as s he s at on a long wooden benc h des igned for s m all c hildren, s andwic hed between two rather m es s y little infant eaters who c hattered without paus ing, liberally s pitting out food. S he m anaged to forc e down half a fis h finger and two c hips before plac ing her knife and fork together. 'A re you 'avin' them fis h fingers ?' as ked the little girl on her right. 'No, dear, I'm not,' replied m y c olleague. 'Can I have 'em ?' 'P leas e do.' 'A re you 'avin' yer c hips ?' as ked another c hild. 'No, dear.' 'Can I 'ave them ?' 'Y es , you m ay.' 'A re you 'avin' your beans ?' as ked a third c hild. 'No,' replied m y c olleague. 'Can I 'ave 'em ?' 'P leas e do.' T he fis h fingers , c hips and beans were quic kly c om m andeered. A s m all girl s itting direc tly oppos ite m y c olleague as ked s hyly, 'Could I have your yoghurt, Mis s ?' 'Of c ours e, dear,' c am e the reply. 'W ell,' s aid m y c olleague, 'if you will exc us e m e, I need to fres hen up.' S he turned to the c hild who had jus t s c ooped out of the bowl a great s poonful of pink yoghurt. 'Could you tell m e, dear, where the s taff toilets are?' 'Over there,' replied the c hild, waving the s poon in front of her and, in the proc es s , s pattering s trawberry yoghurt in all direc tions . My c olleague bore the brunt of the s winging s poon and the front of her jac ket rec eived the lion's s hare of the s tic ky s ubs tanc e. S he ros e s olem nly from the benc h with s urpris ing equanim ity, s tared for a m om ent at the thin pink line whic h ran ac ros s her pale c ream s uit, with m atc hing ac c es s ories , and took a deep breath. 'T hank you, dear,' s he s aid, with a s our s m ile. 'T hank you s o very m uc h.' T hen, wrapping the pas hm ina around her to c over the offending s tain, s he departed for the toilets . S om e weeks later, I m et m y c olleague in a c orridor at the E duc ation Offic e. S he was beautifully dres s ed, this tim e with a gos s am er-like s hawl around her s houlders . I c ould not help but s m ile at the m em ory of our s c hool vis it. 'A nother pas hm ina?' I c om m ented. 'A c tually,' s he told m e, c oolly, 'it's a s hatoos h.' I didn't s ay anything. The V ic ar's S tory

W hen the s c hool leaving age was rais ed in the 1970s , and the youngs ters who had looked forward to s tarting work at fifteen now had to s tay on for an extra year, there was a deal of anger and res entm ent. T hey had had quite enough of s c hool and wanted to get out into the world. In an effort to m ake the c urric ulum of the ROS LA (rais ing of s c hool leaving age) group in the s c hool I was teac hing in at the tim e that bit m ore interes ting and relevant, I invited a range of people into s c hool to s peak about their lives and work. T he pupils were involved in the s elec tion but were s om ewhat am bitious in their c hoic es of pop s tars , fas hion des igners , film direc tors , footballers and televis ion pers onalities , none of whom replied to their letters of invitation. Over the year, there were vis its from , am ong others , a m em ber of parliam ent, a ME P, a doc tor, a woodc arver, a wom an polic e offic er, a s oldier, a firefighter, a farm er, an environm entalis t and a vic ar. T he vic ar was the leas t popular when I s ugges ted him but, following his vis it, he em erged as the m os t entertaining and the m os t m em orable. He rec ounted the s tory of a farm er who was s o large that a s pec ial c offin was m ade for him and the gravediggers paid extra bec aus e of the s ize of the hole they had to dig. T he c offin was lowered into its final res ting plac e, and the words of interm ent intoned, before the undertaker his s ed: 'It will have to c om e up, vic ar. I've dropped m y glas s es down the hole and they're on top of the c offin.' T he c offin was heaved half way up, and then lowered again as the pall bearers failed to lift it. T here were s everal m ore uns uc c es s ful attem pts and only after m ore help was enlis ted was the c offin finally rais ed s uffic iently high enough for the glas s es to be retrieved. A t the funeral tea, the widow approac hed the vic ar. 'I thought nothing to that,' s he s aid, tight-lipped. 'My hus band was up and down like a ruddy yo-yo.' In a prim ary s c hool as s em bly I attended, a young c urate related the parable of the P rodigal S on. He des c ribed how the younger s on had s quandered all his father's m oney and then had returned hom e penniles s , as ham ed and repentant, with his head held low. He told them how the father, with great happines s in his heart and tears of joy in his eyes , had run to m eet his s on, and how he had put his fines t robe around his s houlders , s ent his s ervant for his bes t s andals and ordered the fatted c alf to be killed for a s plendid feas t to c elebrate his s on's hom ec om ing. W hen the elder s on heard the s ound of the m us ic and laughter and the news that his brother had returned, he was not pleas ed, and would not enter the hous e. 'I have worked like a s lave all thes e years for you, yet you have never even offered m e as m uc h as a goat for a feas t with m y friends . Now m y good-for-nothing brother, who has s pent all your m oney, turns up and you kill the fatted c alf for him .' 'Now, c hildren,' s aid the c urate, 'who do you think was the happies t of all?' T here was a fores t of hands . He pic ked a s m all girl in the front row. 'T he father! ' s he c ried. 'T hat's right, and who do you think was the s addes t and m os t dis appointed about the s on's return?' B efore he c ould pic k anyone, a boy at the bac k s houted out, 'W ell, I rec kon t'fatted c alf c an't 'ave been too 'appy.' The Good Little Reader

I dis c overed E s ther, aged s ix, in the reading c orner at the infant s c hool. Her teac her had des c ribed the little girl as a gifted c hild, with a reading age well above her ac tual age. 'Quite the bes t little reader I have ever c om e ac ros s ,' s he had inform ed m e. I have heard m any a c hild des c ribed thus , only to dis c over that the boy or girl in ques tion is bright, but rarely gifted. 'Hello,' I s aid to E s ther. T he c hild looked up and exam ined m e as one m ight view a s trange objec t in a m us eum c as e. 'A re you the s c hool ins pec tor?' s he as ked. 'I am ,' I replied, s m iling. 'Mrs S m ith s aid you would probably want to have a word with m e.' 'Y our teac her tells m e you are a very good reader,' I s aid. 'I am ,' s he replied. 'W ould you like to read to m e?' 'I don't m ind,' s he s aid. 'I like reading. I have lots and lots of books at hom e. I have m y own library in m y bedroom .' 'I'm s ure you have,' I s aid, 'and I bet you have a bedtim e s tory every night, as well.' 'I do. Daddy and Mum m y take it in turns . I have a c uddle and a bedtim e s tory every night. Daddy s ays s tories are very good for c hildren.' 'Y our daddy's right,' I told her. 'Daddies always are,' s he told m e, pertly. 'S hall I get m y reading book?' 'No,' I s aid, 'perhaps you would read one of m ine.' I c arry around with m e in m y briefc as e various doc um ents and books : s tandardis ed reading tes ts , non-verbal as s es s m ent s heets , word rec ognition lis ts and als o a few books of varying diffic ulty to tes t c hildren's reading ability. T he reading s c hem e books , with whic h the c hildren learn to read, have fam iliar c harac ters and s ettings , and repeated words and phras es to give c hildren c onfidenc e and s ec urity, but the good reader is able to be c onfronted with an unknown text and read and unders tand it. I pres ented little E s ther with a book s uitable for a s even-year-old. 'T his looks too eas y,' s he told m e, exam ining the c over and flic king through the pages . 'E as y?' I repeated. 'I'll be very s urpris ed if you m anage to read it.' T he c hild gave m e the kind of m elanc holy s m ile a Mother S uperior m ight bes tow upon an erring novic e. 'May I have a harder book, pleas e?' 'OK ,' I s aid, reac hing into m y briefc as e, 'let's try another one.' I s elec ted a book s uitable for a nine-year-old. 'Now, if you find this a bit hard, don't worry. It's a book for older c hildren.' S he s tared at the c over for a m om ent. 'S hall I s tart from the beginning?' s he as ked. 'Y es pleas e.' 'From the very beginning?' 'From the very beginning,' I repeated. T he c hild tilted her head, s tared at the large blac k s tam ped box at the very top of the c over page and then read: 'P roperty of the W es t Riding of Y orks hire County Counc il, E duc ation Departm ent, Libraries , A rc hives and Res ourc es .' I s hook m y head and s m iled. S peec h Day

I rec eived a letter from the new head teac her of a gram m ar s c hool, as king m e if I would be willing to s peak and pres ent prizes and c ertific ates at the s c hool's awards evening the following Dec em ber. A t a tim e when c hildren get s uc h a bad pres s , it is im portant to know and to rec ognis e that there are m any young people from c aring and s upportive hom es , who are taught by dedic ated and enthus ias tic teac hers . It is always a pleas ure to be part of s uc h an event whic h c elebrates the ac hievem ents and the talents of the young. I have attended s om e m em orable s peec h days over the years . Rather than jus t s haking hands with the rec ipient of eac h award, I do like to have a few words , partic ularly with thos e who have done exc eptionally well or have pers evered and ac hieved agains t the odds . A t a girls ' high s c hool, one young wom an gained a rem arkable five top grades at 'A ' level. I c ongratulated her and as ked to whic h univers ity s he was going. S he was a c hatty and artic ulate young wom an, and our c onvers ation c ontinued. T he headm is tres s , a form idable and s triking-looking wom an, in a m os t c olourful ac adem ic gown, indic ated dis c reetly with a s m all nod of her head and a knowing look that I s hould m ove on. Mis c hievous ly, I c ontinued c hatting to the s tudent, m uc h to the am us em ent of the audienc e. Later the c hairm an of governors rem arked, tongue in c heek, that it was the firs t tim e in the his tory of the s c hool that a s peaker had ignored the headm is tres s on her own s tage. A t one s peec h day, the c hairm an of governors inform ed the as s em bled parents and s tudents that, over the previous year, the s c hool had experienc ed its s hare of problem s , not leas t the s om ewhat c ritic al s c hool ins pec tors ' report. 'W e are,' he inform ed the audienc e, 'on the edge of a prec ipic e but, with the appointm ent of the new head teac her, we are now m oving forward with c onfidenc e.' One rather pom pous headm as ter inform ed the parents at s peec h day that he was like the c aptain of a s hip, s tanding proudly on the bridge, s c anning the horizon, heading for the land of opportunity and the harbour of s uc c es s . 'S om etim es ,' he s aid, 'we are buffeted by the s torm y gus ts of educ ational c hange. S om etim es we are c arried off c ours e by the c old c urrents of governm ent polic y. S om etim es we fac e the hurric anes and gales of s c hool ins pec tion. S om etim es a heavy downpour of yet m ore doc um ents from the Minis try of E duc ation inundates us . S om etim es we are bec alm ed by the s hortage of the nec es s ary res ourc es . Yet we always keep a s teady c ours e, with a firm hand on the tiller, for the land of opportunity and the harbour of s uc c es s .' T he headm as ter paus ed to s weep his hand before him . 'You know well, s tudents ,' he s aid, 'the nam e of this , our s hip, a nam e that s tands for his tory, for tradition and for the highes t pos s ible s tandards . W hat is the nam e of this , our s hip, I as k?' T he headm as ter's eyes c am e to res t on a s m all boy in the front row who s tared up from behind thic k-lens ed glas s es . 'Y es , you, boy,' the headm as ter c om m anded. 'T ell us the nam e of this s hip of ours .' 'Is it the Titanic , s ir?' enquired the boy. T he m os t m em orable s peec h day took plac e in a large inner-c ity c om prehens ive s c hool. T he Lady Mayor was the gues t of honour and was c harged with pres enting the prizes and giving a s hort addres s . S he was a large jolly wom an in a tight-fitting, powder blue s uit, her m agnific ent golden c hain draped around her am ple bos om . A s s he bent to pic k up a s ilver c up, s he broke wind extrem ely loudly. T he young people and teac hing s taff tried valiantly to s uppres s their m irth. T he Lady Mayor s m iled widely, approac hed the m ic rophone and announc ed, 'Hark at m e,' and then joined in with the uproarious laughter. The M us ic ian

I was onc e dragooned into ins pec ting m us ic in a s ec ondary s c hool. T he lead ins pec tor, an HMI (Her Majes ty's Ins pec tor) with a s c ienc e bac kground, as ked m e if I would take on the tas k, explaining that our m us ic s pec ialis t c olleague was ill and c ould not join us , and there was no one els e on the team s uffic iently c onfident or c apable enough to ins pec t the m us ic departm ent. 'Neither am I,' I told him . 'B ut you play the piano.' 'Y es , but -' 'A nd you have direc ted m us ic als in s c hools .' 'Y es , but -' 'A nd have perform ed yours elf in c om ic operas .' 'I know, but -' 'A nd enjoy c las s ic al m us ic .' 'T hat does not m ean -' 'T he thing is , Gervas e,' he explained, 'I did tell the head teac her that there was no m us ic s pec ialis t on the team , and s he s aid the head of departm ent would be very dis appointed that no one would be obs erving his les s ons . It is his las t term and he s o wanted to be ins pec ted before he retired.' W ell, that is a rarity, I thought - a teac her ac tually wis hing to be ins pec ted. T he lead ins pec tor c ontinued: 'Clearly, the head of m us ic is a very able m an, a very popular and c om m itted teac her and the s tudents perform really well in the exam inations . He's been in the s c hool all his profes s ional life. T he head teac her feels that his is one of the bes t departm ents in the s c hool and it would be a pity if s om e m ention was not m ade in the final report. A nd, of c ours e, it would be good for the head of m us ic to retire with a c onfirm ation from OFS T E D of his exc ellent teac hing - to leave on a high, s o to s peak.' Reluc tantly, I agreed and, having s tudied the s ec tion on m us ic in the Framew ork for Ins pec tion, the following m orning I obs erved the firs t m us ic les s on of the week. T he c las s room was bright, orderly and well equipped, the s tudents were attentive and knowledgeable, and the teac hing was exc ellent. I had no res ervations in as s es s ing the les s on as one of the very bes t. 'I am s o pleas ed I got s om eone who knew what he was talking about,' the head of m us ic told m e later in the s taff room . 'You hear all thes e s tories of s c hool ins pec tors with little or no idea of the s ubjec ts they are ins pec ting.' I s m iled weakly. 'W ere you at the Royal College of Mus ic , by the way?' he as ked. 'T hat's where I s tudied.' I s hook m y head. I felt it politic not to inform him that m y expertis e in his s ubjec t was gleaned from a Grade 3 pianoforte exam ination and from the fac t that I c ould play any tune in the key of D. I als o knew four c hords on the ukulele and, at a pinc h, c ould play 'W hen I'm Cleaning W indows '. T he team of ins pec tors attended the head of m us ic 's final c onc ert, a rous ing and an em otional affair. P rior to the perform anc e, we were detained by the head teac her until the s c hool hall was full with parents , s taff and s tudents , and the ins trum entalis ts had as s em bled on s tage. T hen, as we were led by her down the c entral ais le to the front, to s it on the front row, the band s truc k up with 'Colonel B ogie'. T he head of the m us ic departm ent glanc ed in m y direc tion and s m iled. I have an idea the m arc h was in the key of D. B ehind the S taff Room Door

T he head teac her as ked m e to wait in the s taff room . 'I need to s ee a parent,' s he explained, 'but I will be with you direc tly.' I was at the large inner-c ity prim ary s c hool to c ollec t various doc um ents to read over the weekend, prior to m y ins pec ting the s c hool the following week. T he s taff room was unc om fortably warm and c luttered, the walls full of various dog-eared c harts , pos ters and guidelines . Unwas hed c roc kery filled a bowl in the c orner s ink, above whic h his s ed and bubbled an old geys er. T here was an as s ortm ent of s habby hard-bac ked c hairs arranged around a c offee table, the top of whic h was hidden beneath an untidy pile of exerc is e books , m agazines and folders . A larger table, free of c lutter, oc c upied a s pac e near the window. My firs t im pres s ions were not good ones . I s at in a threadbare arm c hair. T he bell s ounded for m orning break. T he firs t pers on to enter the room was a tall thin wom an with a pale m elanc holy beaked fac e. Her prim white blous e was buttoned up to the nec k and s he wore a grey penc il s kirt from whic h protruded s keletal legs . T hic k white hair was twis ted up untidily on her head and s peared with what looked like wooden m eat s kewers . S he s tared at m e for a m om ent before s peaking. 'W ould you m ind m oving?' s he s aid. 'Y ou're s itting in m y c hair.' 'T here are m any c hairs ,' I replied pleas antly. S he bris tled. 'I am aware of that,' s he s aid, drawing in her breath, 'but that is m y c hair. I always s it in it.' 'I s ee,' I s aid. 'I have been a teac her in the s c hool for twenty years ,' s he told m e, 'and I always s it in that c hair.' W hen I rem ained where I was , s he fixed m e with a pierc ing s tare. 'S o will you m ove?' s he s aid, petulantly. I s lowly got to m y feet and s at in the adjac ent c hair. 'A nd don't s et your books up on that table,' s he c ontinued, s itting down. 'W e have our c offee on there.' 'A nd who do you im agine I am ?' I as ked. 'Y ou're the book rep, aren't you?' 'No,' I replied. 'I'm the s c hool ins pec tor who will be obs erving les s ons next week.' If s he was s urpris ed s he didn't s how it, and s he s huffled in her s eat. 'W ell, I as s um e you know what s ort of c hildren we have in this s c hool?' 'I've read a little about them ,' I told her. 'W e have quite a num ber of c ounc il-es tate c hildren and travellers in our c atc hm ent area, and all the s oc ial problem s they bring with them .' 'I beg your pardon?' 'Counc il-es tate c hildren and travellers ,' s he repeated. 'Y ou know what they c an be like.' 'Do I?' I as ked. S he s ighed. 'Have you taught thes e s ort of c hildren?' s he as ked, truc ulently. 'I have,' I told her. 'A nd they are like any other group of c hildren, aren't they? T hey c an be delightful, good-hum oured and well behaved and s om etim es c an be diffic ult and c hallenging.' 'Y ou will find ours fall into the latter c ategory,' s he s aid. Her tone was peevis h. 'W e have a great m any problem s with the es tate c hildren and travellers . T he s tandards of reading and num ber work are poor and their ac hievem ents very low. I hope you are not expec ting a great deal of them .' 'I am of the opinion that is exac tly what teac hers s hould do,' I s aid. 'W hat?' s he as ked, tight-lipped. 'E xpec t a great deal of the c hildren they teac h,' I told her, 'however dis advantaged and dem anding they m ight be.' S he allowed hers elf a s m all s m ile. It was not a pleas ant s m ile. 'Really,' s he s aid and ros e from her c hair, like a queen from her throne, to m ake hers elf a c up of c offee. Had I had the power, I would have taken the wom an and her c hair and left her in the playground. No c hildren, however ill-favoured, dam aged or badly behaved, s hould be written off by a teac her. Children are too prec ious to be tarnis hed by s uc h s our em pty c ritic s who expec t little of their c harges and tarnis h them with a rus ty c ynic is m . A s B is hop W illiam T em ple wrote: Until educ ation has done far m ore work than it has had an opportunity of doing, you c annot have s oc iety organis ed on the bas is of jus tic e . . . A re you going to treat a m an as what he is , or as what he m ight be? Morality requires , I think, that you s hould treat him as what he m ight be, as what he has it in him to bec om e . . . T hat is the whole work of educ ation. Give him the full developm ent of his powers ; and there will no longer be that c onflic t between the c laim of the m an as he is and the c laim of the m an as he m ight bec om e. The P oint of E duc ation

One of m y favourite quotes about the very purpos es of educ ation is c ontained in a letter whic h Haim Ginott, when he was princ ipal in an A m eric an high s c hool, s ent to every new teac her to help him or her unders tand the s c hool's ethos : Dear Teac her I am the v ic tim of a c onc entration c amp. M y ey es hav e s een w hat no man s hould w itnes s : gas c hambers built by learned engineers ; c hildren pois oned by educ ated phy s ic ians ; infants k illed by trained nurs es ; w omen and babies s hot and burned by high s c hool graduates . S o I am s us pic ious of educ ation. M y reques t is this : help y our s tudents to bec ome humane. Y our efforts mus t nev er produc e learned mons ters , s k illed ps y c hopaths , educ ated E ic hmanns . Reading, w riting and mathematic s are important only if they s erv e to mak e our c hildren more humane. A t a tim e when the Governm ent s eem s obs es s ed with league tables and targets , S AT res ults and ris k as s es s m ents , OFS T E D ins pec tions and c eas eles s teac her evaluation, and intent on c overing s c hools with a s nows torm of paperwork, it is good to know that s om e s c hools go beyond the s tatutory c urric ulum , involve the pupils in exc iting and innovative projec ts and endeavour to do what Ginott exhorts - to help young people to bec om e m ore c om pas s ionate and c aring. I was as ked to launc h the s plendid book E nding the S lav e Trade w ith W illiam W ilberforc e of Hull at the Hull S treet Life Mus eum . S upported throughout by the writer and lec turer J ohn Haden, the c hildren at S t Nic holas P rim ary S c hool res earc hed, wrote and illus trated their own ac c ounts of the s lave trade, and narrated the s tory of the life and work of the c ity's m os t fam ous s on. In undertaking s uc h a projec t, they gained a real ins ight into the dreadful trade and learnt about the part W ilberforc e played in bringing it to an end. T hey als o learnt that s lavery is s till big bus ines s around the world (there are m ore s laves today than were s eized from A fric a in four c enturies of the trans -A tlantic trade) and that s lavery does not jus t exis t in far-off plac es like B razil, where c hildren are s old into s ervitude, but that there is people-traffic king in this c ountry. A t the launc h, teac hers , parents , educ ation offic ers and invited gues ts lis tened in s ilenc e as the c hildren s ang a s elec tion of traditional s lave s ongs and lam ents . T hey heard about the horrors of this s ham eful trade and of the c ourage, dedic ation and pers is tenc e of W illiam W ilberforc e, who s pent his life working for its abolition. It was an im m ens ely powerful and m oving experienc e.

'The Happiest Days of Your Life'

S c hoolday s

'George, Don't Do That!'

On a vis it to the Donc as ter Civic T heatre, m y wife Chris tine and I los t ours elves in a wonderfully nos talgic evening filled with a gentle hum our we s o m uc h enjoy. Caroline Fields , from the B B C Radio 2 program m e, Friday Night is M us ic Night, delighted her audienc e with s ketc hes and s ongs written and onc e perform ed by the inim itable J oyc e Grenfell. T here was the brilliantly written 'A T errible W orrier' and the hilarious 'Old Girls ' Reunion', but the s how-s topper for m e was the unforgettable 'Nurs ery S c hool S ketc hes ', delivered s uperbly by Caroline. J oyc e Grenfell's perfec tly obs erved nurs ery s c hool teac her keeps a s im m ering c ontrol over her tem per when trying to deal with the rec alc itrant infants . A s the c hildren's behaviour deteriorates , the teac her's tone bec om es jollier and fals er, or, as J oyc e hers elf writes : 'the bright, bluffingly c alm , c heerful enc ouraging m anner bec om es inc reas ingly des perate.' T hos e of us who have s pent a lifetim e in the c om pany of c hildren know only too well how s he feels , fac ed with the little S hirleens and Chardonnays , the Georges and S idneys of the world. J oyc e Grenfell loved what s he c alled 'young c hildren's obs ervations , dis c overies and individualities ', and was fas c inated by the way that 'young c hildren c an invariably s urpris e, c onfound and delight'. I have m et m any an anarc hic infant like S idney and Chardonnay on m y vis its to s c hools . One ros y-fac ed little boy, c alled Duane, c ertainly s urpris ed and c onfounded the teac her at S tory T im e, but 'delight' is not the word that im m ediately s prang to m ind. 'T his m orning's s tory, c hildren,' began an infant teac her, 'is the s tory of ''T he T hree Little P igs ''.' 'I've 'eard it,' s aid Duane, exploring his nos tril with an index finger. 'Really, Duane, that's nic e,' s aid the teac her, in true J oyc e Grenfell fas hion. 'It's all abaat this wolf what gobbles up all thes e s tupid pigs .' 'J us t lis ten, Duane,' s aid the teac her, s m iling wanly. 'Little pig, little pig,' began the infant, in the voic e of T om m y Cooper, 'let m e in or I'll 'uff and I'll puff an' I'll blow yer 'ous e in.' 'Duane,' interrupted the teac her, 'I'm telling the s tory.' 'B ut I've 'eard it.' T he s m ile on the teac her's fac e was fixed. 'W ell, now you are going to hear it again.' 'B urr I know wor 'appens ,' the c hild told her. 'S o you s aid,' obs erved the teac her, s otto v oc e. S he c ontinued with the age-old s tory of the foolis h pigs that built their hous es of s traw and s tic ks and were then gobbled up by the wolf. 'T hen the B ig B ad W olf c am e to the hous e of bric ks . He c rept down the little path on his bris tly grey legs and c am e to the door and s c ratc hed on it with his long s harp c laws . "Little pig," he growled, "little pig, let m e in, or by the hair on m y c hinny, c hin c hin, I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your hous e in." ' ''E dunt gerrin,' volunteered Duane. 'T hank you, Duane,' s aid the teac her trying to s tay c alm . ''E tries gerrin in t'winder burr 'e c an't gerrin.' 'Duane,' s aid the teac her s harply. ''E gus on t'roof,' s aid the c hild. 'DUA NE ! Lis ten to the s tory! ' s napped the teac her. 'B urr I know wor 'appens ,' the c hild told her again. 'If you are a really good boy,' the teac her told him , 'you c an tell us all what happens , but you m us t be quiet until near the end. T he wolf c lim bed on the roof . . .' s he c ontinued. 'I s aid that,' added Duane. T he teac her dec ided to ignore the interruption. 'He looked down the c him ney into the s ooty darknes s . "Little pig, little pig," he growled, "I am c om ing down the c him ney to gobble you up." ' T he teac her paus ed. 'Now, Duane, what would you do if a wolf c am e down your c him ney?' 'I'd s hit m ys elf,' replied the infant. A Life in Rhy mes

I had another long letter from Liam rec ently. Liam , aged thirteen, is a s tudent at a c ollege for the blind, and he wrote in B raille (with a trans lation) that he is really enjoying life there and doing well in his s tudies . He s ent m e his firs t publis hed c ollec tion of poem s , M y Life in Rhy mes , an ins pirational anthology whic h m akes the reader s m ile, think and s om etim es feel a little s ad. It was two years ago that I rec eived his firs t letter with s om e of his exc ellent poem s . T he poem s were heartfelt and s inc ere and ins pired by his experienc es of living with blindnes s and deafnes s . In that firs t letter, he wrote: 'I am not enjoying s c hool bec aus e I am being s eparated in m os t of the les s ons . My favourite s ubjec t is s c ienc e but it's im pos s ible for m e to learn. T he experim ents aren't ac c es s ible for m e where you have to us e s ight to determ ine s o m uc h and handle dangerous equipm ent. T he teac hers us e ges tures and pic tures and s igns on the whiteboard and I c annot s ee thes e s o learn little. I am exc luded from c ric ket and rounders - health and s afety is s ues they s ay. A t break and lunc htim es all I do is walk around the playground with a s upport as s is tant. I have not had a friend s inc e I s tarted m ains tream s c hool.' Liam as ked m e if I c ould help realis e his am bition to attend New College. A long with his determ ined parents , Liz and Dean, his doc tor, his ps yc hologis t and m any other s upporters , I wrote with m y bac king and, eventually, Liam was s uc c es s ful. I knew that Liam would be happy and would thrive at New College bec aus e I had ins pec ted the es tablis hm ent s om e years before. I had vis ited New College with a team of HMI, and the OFS T E D report we produc ed was exc ellent. T wenty years ago, blind s tudents would no doubt would have been m aking lam ps hades and weaving bas kets . Now they ac hieve as well, and often better, than their s ighted peers , as a form er Hom e S ec retary and S ec retary of S tate for E duc ation from Y orks hire will vouc h. I rem em ber m eeting Ruth. S he, like Liam , had been des perately unhappy during her tim e in a m ains tream girls ' high s c hool. A c lever, enthus ias tic and good-hum oured young wom an, s he had experienc ed a c atalogue of indifferenc e and unkindnes s from s om e of the other s tudents . Chairs were deliberately plac ed in front of her s o s he would s tum ble into them , her greeting of 'Good m orning' when s he entered the c las s room would be greeted by s ilenc e and few helped her as s he went around the s c hool. Ruth had no friends and led a lonely, unhappy life. S om e of her teac hers were s ym pathetic and the deputy head teac her frequently as ked how s he was getting along, but others were blatantly unfeeling and were irritable and lac ked unders tanding. S om eone s ugges ted that Ruth really s hould not bother going on the Geography field trip bec aus e, s he was told, 'you won't be able to s ee anything'. W hen her c las s m ates were as ked by the form tutor what were the m os t irritating things about being in the s c hool one girl rem arked, 'the blind girl with her white s tic k'. A t the c ollege for the blind, Ruth had flouris hed, and was s tudying for four 'A ' levels and hoping to s tudy E nglis h at Cam bridge. Her work was of a quite exc eptional s tandard, as this poem , whic h I publis hed in a c ollec tion, reveals : I s ee with m y ears . I hear the leaves in the tall trees , whis pering in the night. I hear the s ea, dark and deep, and the s plas h of the dolphin's leap. I hear the flam es c rac kling and the window fram es rattling in the wind. I s ee with m y ears . I s ee with m y nos e. I s m ell the blos s om s pearly-grey and hay new m own. I s m ell the ploughed earth, c ows in the byre, the s m oky fire. I s m ell Grandpa's pipe, Gran's lavender room and Mum 's faint perfum e. I s ee with m y nos e. I s ee with m y m outh. I tas te the s trong blac k c offee and the thic k brown toffee between m y teeth. I tas te the yellow of the lem on, the green of the m elon and the red of the tom ato. I tas te the orange of the c arrot, the purple of the plum , the gold of the s un on m y fac e. I s ee with m y m outh. I s ee with m y hands . I feel the s harp edges , s lippery floors , s m ooth ledges . I feel lem onade in c old c anis ters , hard wooden banis ters . I feel hands to hold, arm s on s houlders , fac es to touc h. I s ee with m y hands . On Report

My m other was a hoarder, and I am s o glad s he was . A fter her death, I dis c overed a treas ure c hes t of letters , pos tc ards , s wim m ing m edals , badges and, to m y delight, m y s c hool reports . I gues s I s hare with m any others the c om m on experienc e of finding (with s om ething of a s hoc k) that m y s c hool reports were by no m eans exc eptional, but pretty lac klus tre. My leaving report from B room V alley J uniors had the pithy and s om ewhat am biguous c om m ent from J Les lie Morgan, the headm as ter: 'Gervas e is a little trier.' S c hool reports of the pas t m ake m uc h m ore interes ting reading than pres ent day exam ples . Modern s c hool reports are often produc ed from a s tandard 'S tatem ent B ank', with key words and phras es helpfully provided for the frazzled teac her, who has to c om plete a c om prehens ive booklet on eac h pupil's attainm ent, progres s , c onduc t, c ontribution to s c hool ac tivities and s ignific ant ac hievem ents , and fill in a whole grid of predic ted grades . S uc h earnes t and res trained doc um ents are anodyne c om pared with thos e written in the pas t. P erhaps it is a good thing that the funny, ac erbic and s om etim es brutal judgem ents have gone, but they were m uc h m ore entertaining. In this litigious age, no teac her would dare write in s uc h an unprepos s es s ing and s ardonic m anner as David Owen's m as ter at B radfield College, who des c ribed the future politic al grandee as 'a s c ruffy urc hin', or J ohn Lennon's teac her at Quarry B ank S c hool in Liverpool, who predic ted that one of the world's m os t talented c om pos ers is 'c ertainly on the road to failure . . . hopeles s . . . rather a c lown in c las s '. E ric Morec am be's teac her at Lanc as ter Road J unior S c hool forec as t that the future great c om edian 'will never get anywhere in life', and J illy Cooper's teac her at Goldophin S c hool in S alis bury res orted to s arc as m , s om ething whic h was often favoured by the teac hers of the pas t, when s he wrote that 'J illy s ets hers elf an extrem ely low s tandard whic h s he has failed to m aintain'. S om e teac hers predic ted their pupils ' future s uc c es s es with great ac c urac y; others got it s tartlingly wrong. W ins ton Churc hill's teac her at S t George's , A s c ot, as s erted that the boy 'has no am bition' and the headm as ter of W es tm ins ter, where P eter Us tinov s pent his s c hooldays , rem arked of his pupil: 'He s hows great originality, whic h m us t be c urbed at all c os ts .' P rinc es s Diana's teac her at W es t Heath S c hool rec om m ended that, 's he m us t try to be les s em otional in her dealings with others ', and J udi Denc h's teac her at T he Mount S c hool in Y ork obs erved that s he 'would be a very good pupil if s he lived in this world'. Rec ently, when I s poke at the B radford Gram m ar S c hool Old B radfordians ' Dinner, the pres ident's wife s aid s he well rem em bered the final, wonderfully ters e c om m ent on her s c hool report: 'S ally m us t bes tir hers elf.' A n ins pec tor c olleague rec alls his report for m athem atic s : 'E xam res ult 4 per c ent. E ffortles s ly ac hieved.' I was told the s tory of the hous em as ter at a Yorks hire public s c hool who s truggled to find s om ething pos itive to s ay about a new boy on his end of term report. He wis hed to reas s ure the parents but felt he had to be hones t in his as s es s m ent of his pupil, and it was proving very diffic ult. T he boy had m ade no progres s in any of his s ubjec ts , took no part in s ports , lac ked any m us ic al ability and rarely c ontributed in c las s . T he m edic al that all pupils underwent after the firs t term revealed that the boy, rather than s hooting up in height like m any of his adoles c ent peers , had in fac t s hrunk by an inc h. T his helped the hous em as ter out of his dilem m a and he c ould truthfully report that: 'Rupert appears to be s ettling down well.' A n E nc ounter

Now that I have got m y bus pas s , and wis h to be a bit m ore environm entally friendly, I have dec ided to m ake greater us e of public trans port. T he bus from the village where I live into Donc as ter is c om fortable, s m oke free and regular, and, after nine o'c loc k, I c an travel free of c harge. Las t m arket day, I took the bus into town and was wandering around Market P lac e when a loud voic e s topped m e in m y trac ks . 'Hey up, Mes ter P hinn! ' It was a young m an behind a large fruit and vegetable s tall. He s aw the look of inc om prehens ion on m y fac e, s o rem inded m e. 'It's m e - J as on. T ha' us e' to teac h m e.' 'A h yes , J as on,' I s aid, rec ognis ing in the large bearded fac e the boy I us ed to try to teac h E nglis h. 'I were no s c holar, were I Mes ter P hinn? Left s c hool wi'out a c ertific ate in owt.' 'Y ou were a good lad, J as on,' I s aid, rem em bering the good-hum oured and friendly ex-pupil who c aus ed m e no bother. 'Com e over 'ere, Mes ter P hinn, and I'll s ort you out wi' s om e fruit.' He then proc eeded to fill brown paper bags with apples and oranges , pears and plum s . T hen he held up a banana and laughed. 'Does tha rem em ber t'inc ident wi' t'banana?' I s m iled at the m em ory. J as on's Frenc h teac her had a bowl of plas tic fruit on her des k. S he would hold up an apple and as k, ' Qu'es t-c e que c 'es t?', and s tudents were s uppos ed to s hout bac k, 'C'es t une pomme'. T hen s he'd pic k up a pear and as k, 'Qu'es t-c e que c 'es t?', and they would s hout bac k, 'C'es t une poire'. Onc e, s he had a plas tic banana in her hand. 'Qu'es t-c e que c 'es t?' s he as ked, but c aught s ight of J as on talking at the bac k of the c las s room and let fly with the vis ual aid. T he banana arc ed through the air like a m is s ile and hit the boy s traight between the eyes . It then ric oc heted off his forehead and flew bac k to her like a boom erang. T he teac her put up her hand and c aught it. A ll the c las s jum ped to its feet and gave her a s tanding ovation. J as on was , of c ours e, s ent to m e, but, having related the s tory of the banana, m us t have s een by m y expres s ion and the s tifling of a s m ile how am us ed I was . 'S o you're a greengroc er then, J as on?' I as ked now. 'A ye, in a m anner o' s peakin'. I've s ix m arket s talls . "High Clas s Fruit and V egetables ". S tarted wi' one s tall in t'outdoor m arket and built up ovver t'las t few years . I 'ave twenty folk workin' for m e now.' 'Y ou've done really well.' I s aid. 'I'm really pleas ed for you.' A t this point, drops of rain began to fall.

'It's goin' to c huc k it down in a m inute, by t'looks on it,' J as on s aid, s taring at the grey s ky. 'A re you in yer c ar, Mes ter P hinn, or c an I give you a lift?' 'I c am e into town by bus ,' I told him , 'It's very kind of you to offer m e a lift but . . .' 'Nay, not a bit of it, Mes ter P hinn,' he interrupted. 'I'm knoc kin' off for t'day any road. I c an go that way 'om e.' I m ade m y way to a s m all white van with his nam e printed in bold letters on the s ide, but J as on c alled m e bac k. 'Nay, nay, Mes ter P hinn, I'm not in t'van.' He opened the door of a brilliant white, s hining s ports c ar with tinted windows . My as tonis hm ent m us t have s hown. 'I c an s ee that tha' thinking, "W hat's a gret big bloke like 'im doin' driving a piddling little c ar like that?" W ell, I'll tell thee. W ife's got t'Merc today, s o I've got 'ers . Com e on, Mes ter P hinn, before tha' gets s oakin' wet.' The M an in the B ox

W hen I was a lad (I c an hear m y c hildren winc ing), m y s c hool s eem ed to be populated by ec c entric s . T here was 'S notty' W ils on, the teac her who us ed to wipe his nos e on the s leeve of his gown, having taken a generous pinc h of s nuff, and one nic knam ed Dr Death, whos e white s kin s tretc hed ac ros s his bony fac e to give it the appearanc e of a s kull, a deeply frightening teac her who talked in whis pers . T here was 'Cliff' Davis , the c hain-s m oking head of P E , who put the fear of God into everyone, and 'S m iler' S im c ox, who leered at you over s teel-fram ed s pec tac les with a grin as wide as a frog's . T he great ec c entric s eem s to have dis appeared from educ ation. None of thes e weird and wonderful teac hers would s urvive OFS T E D, whic h, of c ours e, has ens ured a c onform ity and uniform ity in everything. A nd yet thes e c olourful c harac ters m ade for an interes ting, if not entirely unc hallenging, life in s c hool. T here are s till one or two about, however. P erhaps the m os t m em orable was the prim ary teac her with the wild, woolly hair and perm anently s tartled expres s ion, who em ployed a m os t original way of enc ouraging c hildren to read. A t the end of a 's ound' les s on, with 's atis fac tory planning' and 'c lear objec tives ', the teac her as ked his Y ear 6 c harges to join him on the c arpet in the c orner of the c las s room for S tory T im e. He then proc eeded to plac e a large c ardboard box, whic h had been adapted to res em ble a televis ion s et, on his head.

T here was a c ut-away s quare (the s c reen) and various felt blobs (the knobs ). 'T urn m e on,' he s aid pleas antly. A large, am iable-looking boy c am e to the front and m ade a c lic king s ound as he 'turned him on'. 'Hello c hildren,' began the teac her, in the voic e of the J ac k anory s toryteller. 'W elc om e to the world of s tory. My s tory today is about the c hild who c ould not c ry. 'Onc e, m any m any years ago . . .' W e all s at c om pletely trans fixed. W hen the s tory ended, the large, am iable-looking boy headed for the front and 'turned him off'. 'Y ou s ee, Mr P hinn,' explained the teac her later, with a wide, innoc ent expres s ion, 'c hildren thes e days live in a televis ion c ulture. T he average eleven-year-old watc hes thirty hours of televis ion a week. I find that if I pretend to be a televis ion s et, c hildren lis ten better.' I s m iled, wondering jus t what to s ay. 'B efore I give you the feedbac k on the les s on, Mr S m ith,' I began, 'perhaps you m ight rem ove the box.' Ris k y B us ines s

'W hy are you all wearing goggles ?' I as ked a boy, during playtim e at a prim ary s c hool. 'W e have to wear them ,' he replied. 'If we don't, we m ight get a bit of c onker in our eye.' 'W e've s c rapped the s ac k rac e this year,' explained the head teac her in another s c hool. 'A c hild fell over las t year and hurt him s elf.' 'W e dec ided not to go to the c as tle,' a teac her told m e. 'W e did a ris k as s es s m ent and we felt there were too m any potential dangers .' 'I never let m y c hild c yc le to s c hool,' s aid a parent to m e. 'It's far too dangerous on the roads .' 'I drop m y daughter off at s c hool on m y way to work and c ollec t her every day,' another parent inform ed m e. 'Y ou have to be s o c areful thes e days with all thes e s trange people about.' Over-anxious adults who wrap c hildren in c otton wool are doing the young no favours . I know the world is a very different plac e to the one in whic h I grew up but, if c hildren are to develop a degree of independenc e and c onfidenc e and bec om e equipped to c ope effec tively in an adult world, then they m us t be given s om e freedom and allowed to take a few ris ks . A s a c hild, I had a freedom denied to m any c hildren thes e days . I us ed to c lim b trees , walk on walls , paddle in s tream s , m ake dam s and dens , s ledge, play c ric ket and c yc le without a helm et, get c rus hed in a rugby s c rum , light fires , drink water from a garden hos e, s uc k a s weet whic h had been in m y poc ket for a week, s wing from the arm s of lam ppos ts , play m arbles in the dus t, jum p off the top bloc k at the s wim m ing baths , play leapfrog, propel m y hom e-m ade bogie (a trolley m ade from two planks and four pram wheels , with a bit of rope to s teer it) down the hill - and all without adult s upervis ion. I gues s m any people of m y generation did the s am e and we m anaged to s urvive. P erhaps als o, when we fell out of a tree or off the wall, s c raping a knee or breaking a bone, by experienc ing danger and s eeing what happens to people who don't take s uffic ient c are, we c am e to apprec iate our own lim itations . B y s uffering the c ons equenc es of our ac tions , we felt m ore in c ontrol of our lives and developed a s ens e of judgem ent. In P aranoid P arenting, the s oc iologis t Frank Furedi des c ribes a c ulture of fear that has led parents to s everely res tric t their c hildren's independent outdoor ac tivities . In 1971, he s tates , 80 per c ent of eight-year-olds were allowed to walk to s c hool alone. Now it is fewer than 1 per c ent. Children s hould be allowed to take a few m eas ured ris ks . Of c ours e, we need to warn them of the dangers and not enc ourage them to be rec kles s or irres pons ible, but let us not m ollyc oddle the young and erec t fenc es between them and the world. My revered father-in-law, the c elebrated 'Legs ' B entley who played rugby union for Y orks hire, onc e told m e that he played the gam e for s heer phys ic al exhilaration. He has been knoc ked out a few tim es and c om e off the pitc h s ore and bruis ed and bloodied but, as he told m e, 'if you c onfront ris k and go in with your eyes open, you are very often s afer in the long run'. Life is full of ris ks . If you laugh, you ris k being thought s illy; if you weep, you ris k appearing m awkis h; if you as k a ques tion, you ris k s ounding foolis h; if you s how your feelings , you ris k revealing your true s elf; if you try, you ris k failure; if you tell s om eone you love them , you ris k not being loved bac k. B ut the ris k is worth taking, bec aus e the pers on who ris ks nothing has a pretty tedious life. P lay ing A round

Young people s hould have the experienc e of perform ing in plays . It is a great dis appointm ent that, in s om e s c hools , dram a has been m arginalis ed in the c urric ulum in favour of m ore 'us eful s ubjec ts '. T hos e of us who have taken part in s c hool plays and direc ted them know only too well the value of dram a, through whic h young people c an gain in c onfidenc e, develop their s poken E nglis h and work together. S c hool plays are als o great fun. My interes t in the theatre flouris hed when I joined the S outh Yorks hire T heatre for Youth at the age of fourteen. T his was an am ateur dram atic s oc iety for young people, form ed by the Head of the E nglis h Departm ent at W ath Gram m ar S c hool. B ill Ham m ond was a c haris m atic , larger-than-life figure - one of the world's enthus ias ts , a brilliant teac her with a pas s ion for theatre. Over the s um m er holidays , for two intens ive weeks , he would give up a fortnight of his holiday to rehears e young ac tors from all over the s outh of the c ounty for a produc tion whic h would be s taged the following S eptem ber, in Rotherham and Donc as ter. I loved the rehears als , the c am araderie bac ks tage, the s haring of jokes and anec dotes , the as s ignations and the attention-s eeking exhibitionis m whic h s urrounded m e. I loved watc hing m y fellow ac tors going through their pac es , lis tening to the produc er s houting out direc tions , the s m ell of the theatre, the bright lights , the m ugs of hot s weet tea and the bac on s andwic hes and fizzy lem onade in the dres s ing room s . I have never before in m y life felt s o m uc h a part of s uc h a group of like-m inded, entertaining people. T he s ingle m os t enjoyable experienc e in appearing in that firs t play was the s ens e of elation before and after the perform anc e. E very night, m y heart would rac e with expec tation and be high with happines s . T here is s om ething very s pec ial and exhilarating about being a part of a c om pany of ac tors bac ks tage, lis tening to their exaggerated s tories and the ac c ents they put on, how they try to outdo eac h other with anec dotes and jokes and, above all, feeling the warm th of their c om panions hip. I rem em ber s eeing a brilliant produc tion of A nne of Green Gables in a s ec ondary s c hool I was ins pec ting. T he lead part of A nne, played by a plum p, red-fac ed girl with protuberant blue eyes , was undertaken with great enthus ias m and c onfidenc e. Dres s ed in a bright blue and yellow gingham s m oc k, s he dom inated the s tage. A fter the perform anc e, I was taken by the head of the dram a departm ent and the play's direc tor to m eet m em bers of the c as t. 'Y ou were very c onfident,' I told the girl who had played the lead, 'and you did very well to rem em ber all thos e words . It was a really im pres s ive perform anc e.' 'I do a lot of dram a, ac tually,' s he inform ed m e loftily. 'I go to a S aturday s tage s c hool and I have a m ain part in A nnie next week at the loc al theatre.' S he was already well on her way to bec om ing a dram a queen, I thought. T hen I c aught s ight of the pale, s light girl who had delivered the opening lines of the play. 'Y ou were exc ellent,' I told her. 'I only had a few lines ,' replied the c hild, s m iling c oyly. 'A h,' I s aid, 'but you were the firs t pers on to s peak and it was you who s et the s c ene. W e heard every word c learly and if I had an Os c ar to award - you know, the prizes that very fam ous ac tors s om etim es get - well, I would give it to you.' 'T hat was kind of you, Mr P hinn,' s aid the head of the dram a departm ent later, 'and if you only knew what that will do for that young lady's c onfidenc e. S he is s uc h a s hy little thing and it took s om e pers uading to get her to take part.' 'S he des erved an Os c ar,' I s aid. 'A nyone who c ould go on to the s tage, before all the other ac tors , beneath all the bright lights , in front of a hundred people and deliver s uc h lines without m aking one m is take, des erves an Os c ar.' T he teac her looked at m e quizzic ally. 'In what way?' s he as ked. I c ons ulted m y program m e. 'I wrote down the words s he had to s ay,' I replied, 'and I gues s m any of us would have had s om e diffic ulty dec laim ing them with s uc h c larity.' I read the lines : '"Is Farm er Hart's farm far from here?" ' I was told s om e years ago by Graham A llen, the dis tinguis hed form er dram a advis er for W akefield, about a s c hool produc tion of M ac beth. T he s ixth form er playing the lead was another m as s ively c onfident and rather s elf-s atis fied young ac tor. S eyton, an offic er attending Mac beth, was played by a s m all elevenyear-old who only had a very few lines to deliver. In A c t V, he was to c om e on s tage to inform Mac beth, 'T he queen, m y lord, is dead,' whereupon the devas tated king would dec laim his fam ous m onologue. On the T hurs day night, the little boy's relations took up the entire front row and, when he m ade his appearanc e, there was an audible nois e from his fans . 'Look, it's our Darren,' c am e a voic e from the audienc e. S eyton, aware that his fam ily was there, developed his part s om ewhat and began rubbing his eyes , wailing piteous ly and beating his breas t. 'T he queen, m y lord, oh, oh, the poor queen is dead. S he's dead! Dead! Dead! ' T hen, to applaus e, he exited s tage right. Mac beth was far from happy after the perform anc e. 'S ay your line and get off,' he s houted at the boy, 'and c ut out all that other s tuff, bec aus e if you s tart that tom orrow night I'll kic k you off the s tage! ' It was the las t night. Mac beth, alone on the battlem ents , s ees his world c rum bling about him . 'W herefore was that c ry?' he as ks plaintively. E nter S eyton. 'T he queen, m y lord,' he announc es , 'is m aking a rem arkable rec overy.' I gues s it is not true but it m akes a wonderful s tory. S eeing Red

I rec ently s hared a literary platform with Luc inda Dic kens -Hawks ley, the great, great, great granddaughter of Charles Dic kens , who s poke about her lates t book, Liz z ie S iddal, The Tragedy of a P re-Raphaelite S upermodel. T his wonderfully entertaining and inform ative s peaker gave a fas c inating ins ight into the lives of the P re-Raphaelite B rotherhood, and how they c hanged the public perc eption of thos e with red hair by their depic tion of beautiful, T itian-haired wom en like Lizzie S iddal. S adly, public perc eption has not c hanged very m uc h and thos e with red or auburn hair s till s uffer m oc kery. T he m other who c om plained to Tes c o about the offens ive Chris tm as c ard for s ale in their s tores - s howing a ginger-headed little boy s itting on S anta's knee, with the c aption: 'S anta loves all kids . E ven GINGE R ones .' - had every right, and I too c om plained when vis iting m y loc al s tore. A nyone with red hair knows only too well how hurtful are s uc h taunts as 'ginger nut', 'c arrot top', 'ginger ninja' and 'c opper knob'. I rec all onc e vis iting a s c hool and c om m enting on the beautiful auburn hair of a c hild. 'I hate the c olour,' s he told m e. 'P eople c all m e nam es .' T here has always been this ingrained prejudic e agains t thos e with ginger hair. It was thought that J udas had red hair and, in V ic torian tim es , there were m any s upers titions s urrounding people with hair of this c olour. S om e people would not board a s hip if there was a red-headed pers on on board, bec aus e he or s he was thought be a jinx, and m any m is tres s es would not em ploy s ervants with red hair, believing them to be deeply unluc ky. Following an artic le I wrote about bullying for the Y ork s hire P os t, I rec eived a num ber of letters . One, an im m ens ely s ad letter, s poke of the reader's unm erc iful bullying at s c hool bec aus e of his red hair and frec kles . W hen he approac hed his teac her about it, he was told to ignore the nam e-c allers and that they would s oon get tired, and anyway, c oping with this s ort of thing was part of growing up and learning to take the rough with the s m ooth. Clearly, the teac her had never been s ubjec t to s uc h c ruelty from his peers when he was at s c hool. S c hools are plac es where c hildren ac quire m uc h m ore than the princ iples , ideas and proc es s es of a s ubjec t. T hey are form ative little worlds , where c hildren develop their s oc ial s kills , learn to get along with others , m ake friends hips and s om etim es enem ies . T hey are plac es where rules c irc um s c ribe their every m ove, where they dis c over, are hurt, feel lonely and experienc e s uc c es s and failure, and where teac hers loom large. In the good s c hools , they learn about love, beauty, c om pas s ion, goodnes s , c o-operation, c are and other pos itive hum an em otions and feelings . Children, however, even in the good s c hools , als o learn the hard les s ons of life; les s ons about injus tic e, hum iliation and c ruelty, and s om etim es , if they are unluc ky, they c om e ac ros s the bully. A m eas ure of rough and tum ble in a s c hool builds a degree of im m unity, and teac hes us to s tand up for ours elves . One c an't expec t c hildren to be perm anently pleas ant with eac h other. W e have all been nam e-c alled and c alled others nam es ours elves , but s ys tem atic c ruelty in the form of c ons tant bullying is a very different m atter. B ullies s eek out their vic tim s - thos e who are likely to be in s om e way different. It m ight be s kin c olour, phys ic al appearanc e, a dis ability, the c olour of one's hair or the way one s peaks . For m e, it was m y nam e that s et m e apart. Children c an be a delight but they c an als o be c orros ively m ean and s piteful, and thos e of us who bec om e the objec t of the bully's unwelc om e attention rem em ber for a lifetim e thos e periods when it was our turn to be pic ked on. W hen I was a s c hool ins pec tor I would as k c hildren what they thought m ade a really good s c hool. T he ans wer c am e bac k again and again: 'No bullying.' P ark ed A round the B ac k

S om e years ago, I vis ited A m pleforth College. I had been invited by the then headm as ter to attend a s c hool dram a produc tion and the V IP rec eption beforehand. I duly arrived in good tim e and parked m y c ar (an old blac k V olvo es tate) in front of the m ain building. T wo young s tudents , dres s ed in s m art s ports jac kets and flannels , approac hed m e. 'W ould you m ind parking around the bac k, s ir?' s aid one, as I em erged from the c ar. 'T his area is res erved for the V IP s .' I didn't enlighten them that I was there for the rec eption and had been told to park in this s pot, but drove the c ar to where I was direc ted. 'Y ou are rather early, s ir,' s aid one of the boys . 'W ould you like to look around the c ollege?' 'T hat would be s plendid,' I replied. T he two boys took m e on a tour around the c ollege, one of them explaining that on entering the library we s hould keep our voic es down. T here followed a s hort his tory of the c ollege and abbey, details of the old boys and the s porting s uc c es s es , and was told that m uc h of the furniture and fittings were by the fam ous woodc arver, 'Mous em an' T hom ps on. 'A nd how are you finding the V olvo?' as ked the other boy. I explained that, with four young c hildren, it was ideal. It was room y and c om fortable, a little heavy on petrol but very s afe and reliable. It was getting on a bit, but had a good few m iles left on it yet. T he boy, c learly s om ething of an expert on c ars , then proc eeded to s ugges t various other vehic les in whic h I m ight be interes ted s hould I be c hanging the c ar. E ventually, I adm itted that I was expec ted at the headm as ter's rec eption. T he two boys looked horrified and apologis ed for as king m e to park in the general c ar park. 'Not to worry,' I s aid. 'W e have had a m os t interes ting c onvers ation. Y ou were exc ellent guides .' S c hools c an have all the glos s y broc hures they like, but the bes t advertis em ents are the s tudents , they way they s peak and behave. T hes e two young m en gave a s plendid im pres s ion to a vis itor: c onfident, c ourteous and good-hum oured. S om e five years later, I took part in a B B C radio program m e and was as ked for a favourite piec e of m us ic to end. T he trac k I c hos e, P anis A ngelic us , was one featured on the s uperb A m pleforth College CD, S piritus , perform ed by two young brothers . Lis tening to the piec e s ung in s uc h beautiful c lear voic es m ade the hairs s tand up on the bac k of m y nec k. I arranged to vis it A m pleforth again, in the hope that I c ould arrange for two of the younger boys to perform the piec e on the radio program m e. I parked m y c ar (a s m art new T oyota A vens is ) in front of the m ain building, and c lim bed out. T wo s enior s tudents in s m art grey s uits were walking pas t. One of them s m iled. 'I s ee you've c hanged the V olvo, s ir,' he s aid, s m iling. P ay ing a V is it

W hen I firs t vis ited the c om prehens ive s c hool whic h m y s ons attended, the head teac her, T ony S torey, who had the dis tinc tion of being the c ountry's oldes t s erving s ec ondary head teac her, as ked m e if there was anything I wis hed to as k, or anywhere I would like to vis it. 'T he boys ' toilets ,' I told him .

T he toilets were c lean, well kept and free of graffiti and litter. T here were loc ks on the c ubic les , s oap, paper towels and adequate toilet paper. I knew then that this was no 'bog-s tandard c om prehens ive', to us e that ill-judged des c ription, and was proved to be right. It turned out to be a firs t-rate s c hool and m y s ons and daughter all did very well. T hat s am e week, I vis ited a prim ary s c hool in Carlton-in-S naith and found the am enities of the s am e high s tandard. T he building I entered was a bright, c heerful and welc om ing one. Children's work of a high quality enhanc ed a bus y, workm anlike environm ent. T he head teac her, P eter Holgate, who had s pent thirty or m ore years in the profes s ion, ges tured to a veritable tower of folders and files in the c orner of his room . 'I get guidelines , rec om m endations , polic y doc um ents , c irc ulars , ques tionnaires , reports , handbooks , s trategies and I don't know what els e, every week. I do wis h people would not was te their tim e and m oney produc ing what has been s aid s o m any tim es before, and allow teac hers to provide the bes t environm ent for learning and to get on with their teac hing.' He was right, of c ours e; s o m uc h advic e s ent to s c hools has been given before. The Handbook of S ugges tions for Teac hers , produc ed by the B oard of E duc ation in 1936, is a far m ore s ens ible, intelligible and interes ting public ation than m any of the rec ently produc ed direc tives whic h s c hools rec eive. For exam ple, on the s c hool its elf is the paragraph: The s c hool c annot perform its func tions adequately unles s the premis es thems elv es are an ex ample of w hat w e naturally as s oc iate w ith a c iv ilis ed life. The building s hould be dignified and pleas ing as w ell as c onduc iv e to health. The internal dec orations s hould be bright and attrac tiv e w ith s pec imens of good c raft w ork and s uitably c hos en pic tures plac ed to bes t adv antage. The s c hool, moreov er, s hould giv e an impres s ion of order and c leanlines s , reflec ted for ins tanc e, in the c are of book s and apparatus , in the proper s toring of c lothes in w ell-k ept c loak rooms , and in the tidy appearanc e of play grounds and offic es . The s c hool s hould, in s hort, be a s ourc e of c omfort and ins piration to the c hildren w hile they are y oung, as a plac e w here, for an important part of their day , they c an purs ue their s tudies in a friendly , healthy and c iv ilis ing atmos phere. I was thinking of this paragraph when I vis ited a s ec ondary s c hool the following week. It was quite a c ontras t: a run-down, s habby-looking Colditz of a plac e, enc los ed within high redbric k walls . T he c orridors were bare, s ave for a few dog-eared pos ters on the walls , and the rain had s eeped through the roof, leaving dark brown s tains on the c eilings . In the boys ' toilets , whic h were s m elly and dark, and bereft of s oap and toilet paper, there was a long lis t of pupils ' nam es s tretc hing down the bac k of one c ubic le door. T he heading read: 'S ign here if you think this plac e is a dum p.' I was very tem pted to add m y nam e. Off B y Heart

P oetry took c entre s tage in prim ary s c hools ac ros s the c ountry with the launc h of Off B y Heart, an exc iting B B C poetry c om petition to find the pupil who c ould bes t rec ite a well-known poem from m em ory. T he winner perform ed his c hos en poem at Oxford las t year, and I was delighted to be as ked to be the lead judge in the northern finals . It is good to c elebrate c hildren's talents and ac hievem ents , partic ularly when all we s eem to read about are diffic ult and dis affec ted youngs ters . I was als o pleas ed to be part of this initiative bec aus e I am a big believer that c hildren s hould know by heart s om e of the well-known traditional vers e. I c an s till rec ite s om e of the poem s I learnt as a c hild: the nurs ery rhym es and riddles , tongue twis ters and nons ens e vers e. I s till rec all with great pleas ure the oc c as ions when, as a s m all c hild, I s tood with m y father at the kitc hen s ink as we was hed and dried the dis hes (whic h we c alled the 'pots '), and he would launc h into a funny poem or a m onologue; I thought he m ade them up. I c annot s ay I was very keen when, at s c hool, we were c om pelled to learn poem s by heart. Now I am glad I did learn piec es of vers e. A s I travel down the m otorway at dus k and s ee the m oon high in the s ky, I find m ys elf rec iting part of a rem em bered vers e: 'the m oon was a ghos tly galleon tos s ed upon c loudy s eas '. A s I s troll along a pebbly s hore, the words of a poem I learnt at s c hool, where 'the flung s pray and the blown s pum e, and the s eagulls c rying', c om e to m ind. Late at night, when I look up at the dark and em pty s ky I rec all the words of W alter de la Mare's beautiful poem : 'S lowly, s ilently, now the m oon, walks the night in her s ilver s hoon'. Children, I have found, do enjoy learning poem s if it is not m ade too m uc h of a c hore. T hey love s howing off their talents and perform ing the poem s , partic ularly before their proud parents at s c hool c onc erts . T he young c ontes tants who took part in Off B y Heart were a delight to hear, and perform ed with wonderful expres s ion, ges ture, perfec t tim ing and great c larity and c onfidenc e. It was s uc h a pleas ure to hear the words of the great poets - Rudyard K ipling, W illiam W ords worth, E dward Lear, Hillaire B elloc , W illiam B lake, Lewis Carroll, W alter de la Mare, A A Milne, T S E lliot, W B Yeats and m any m ore - brought to life by young voic es . A n ins pec tor c olleague of m ine onc e vis ited a large prim ary s c hool in the m iddle of a dreadfully depres s ing inner-c ity area. He found a nervous little boy in the c orner of the c las s room . W hen he as ked if he c ould exam ine his book, the c hild looked at him with s uc h large, s ad eyes and s aid very quietly: 'No.' My c olleague tried to c oax him but the boy was adam ant, s aying that his work was not worth looking at. He c ouldn't s pell, his writing was untidy and he never got good m arks for his work. E ventually, he was pers uaded to s how his writing. T he work was indeed of poor quality. T hen, at the very bac k of the book, the s c hool ins pec tor c am e upon a piec e of writing in s m all c rabbed print. T he pupil was as ked if he had written it. He nodded. He was as ked if he had rec eived any help with it. He s hook his head. 'T his is a s m all m as terpiec e,' the ins pec tor told him , and he read it aloud with great feeling: Y es terday yes terday yes terday S orrow s orrow s orrow T oday today today Hope hope hope T om orrow tom orrow tom orrow Love love love 'W hat a wonderful little poem ,' the ins pec tor rem arked. T he boy thought for a while, s tared up at the vis itor with thos e large, s ad eyes and announc ed: 'T hey're m i s pelling c orrec tions , s ir.' P lay time

I am patron, along with P rofes s or Fletc her Ranney DuB ois , of Queen S treet S c hool, in B arton-in-Hum ber. I rec ently s hared a platform with this em inent educ ationalis t, s peaking to the friends and volunteer s upporters who have tireles s ly res tored this rem arkable and unique V ic torian s c hool. T he building had rem ained derelic t for alm os t thirty years and was des tined to be dem olis hed to m ake way for a c ar park. T hankfully, the Queen S treet P res ervation T rus t was es tablis hed and, with help from the Heritage Lottery Fund, Yorks hire Forward, E nglis h Heritage and various other bodies , it has been faithfully rec reated as a unique infant s c hoolroom , with tiered s eating, gas lighting, an open fire, blac kboard, s lates , old des ks , V ic torian privy, playground and garden. It is now open to the public and is a s m all gem . A princ ipal aim of thos e wis hing to pres erve Queen S treet and res tore it was to revive the reputation of the nineteenth-c entury pioneering educ ationalis t, S am uel W ilders pin, whos e work provided the m odel for infant s c hools in E urope and A m eric a, and who is c redited with the invention of the playground. W ilders pin, at a tim e when dis c ipline in s c hools was s tric t and s om etim es brutal, believed pas s ionately that a c hild s hould be enc ouraged to learn through experienc e and in the developm ent of feelings as well as intellec t. Children, he believed, were born inherently good and des erved the very bes t m odels of behaviour from teac hers and parents . S c hools s hould be, for the m os t vulnerable and im poveris hed c hildren, what the hom e is for the m os t fortunate: a plac e where there is work but where there is als o laughter; a plac e where there is law but als o where there is grac e; a plac e where there is jus tic e but where there is als o love. He als o believed in the educ ational value of play. I was s addened to read that a new s c hool has been built with every c onc eivable elec tronic res ourc e and energy-s aving devic e, but without a playground, for, as the head teac her rem arked, in the twenty-firs t c entury, better us e c ould be m ade of the s pac e and anyway, playgrounds are not really nec es s ary in 'a learning c entre'. T hen there is the head teac her of the infant s c hool who has done away with the play area in the infant c las s room to c onc entrate on m ore form al teac hing approac hes . It is regrettable that the 'hom e c orner', where c hildren c an dres s up, get into role, prac tis e talking, reading, writing and ac ting out parts , is regarded by s om e as m erely dec orating the m argins of the s erious bus ines s of s tudy. P lay, as W ilders pin was at great pains to s tres s , is of great im portanc e for the developing c hild. He knew, as good teac hers do today, nearly 150 years after his death, that play develops the im agination, prom otes c reativity, thinking, fruitful talk, c o-operation and m uc h, m uc h m ore. In one infant s c hool, I m et a s toc ky s ix-year-old boy dres s ed in a large blue apron, s tanding outs ide his little c afe in the hom e c orner. I s eated m ys elf at the s m all m elam ine table and looked at a blank piec e of paper, at the top of whic h was written, in bold lettering: m enu. T he little boy s idled up, and s tared at m e intently. I looked up. 'W hat's it to be?' he as ked. 'Oh,' I s aid, taking on the role of a c us tom er, 'I think I'll jus t have s om ething to drink.' T he boy dis appeared, and returned a m om ent later with a s m all, em pty, plas tic beaker, whic h he plac ed before m e. T hen he watc hed intently as I drank the im aginary liquid, lic ked m y lips and exc laim ed: 'T hat was the nic es t c up of tea I have had in a long while.' 'It's an 'arf o' bitter,' he told m e bluntly, and walked off. It would have brought a s m ile, I am s ure, to S am uel W ilders pin. W ith Onions

I was teac hing a c las s of eleven-year-olds in a Dales prim ary s c hool. I was us ing a s elec tion of s tuffed anim als - badger, m ole, rabbit, s toat and fox c ub - as s tim uli and hoped that, by the end of the m orning, the c hildren would have produc ed s om e s hort, interes ting des c riptive poem s . I s pent a good ten m inutes talking about the c reatures but it s oon bec am e c lear that thes e c hildren, m os tly from farm ing bac kgrounds , knew a whole lot m ore about them than m e. T he previous week I had taught the s am e les s on in a s c hool in Harrogate, and the c hildren had produc ed rather trite and s entim ental piec es of vers e about little, s oft-furred m oles , adorable little dorm ic e, gam bolling rabbits or playful s quirrels . T he poem s the c hildren wrote in the Dales prim ary s c hool that m orning were very different - blunt, realis tic des c riptions of the anim als that they knew s o m uc h about. T hey c learly did not need s tuffed anim als to prom pt them . T here were im ages of 'fierc e, s harp-toothed badgers ', 'c rows whic h pic ked at the dead anim als on the road', 'fat, blac k rats that hid in the hay' and 'red foxes c reeping behind the hen c oop'. T hom as 's effort was quite c learly the bes t: On a fros ty m orning, m y granddad T akes his J ill to c atc h rabbits . S he has a little blue c ollar and a s ilver bell, T iny red eyes and c ream y fur, A nd s he trem bles in his hands . 'T hom as lives on the farm at the top of the dale,' explained his teac her, as we headed in the direc tion of the s c hool hall for lunc h. 'Like m os t farm ing c hildren, he's been brought up to be uns entim ental about anim als . T hey are on the farm for a purpos e, not as pets , and any c reature whic h affec ts their livelihood is regarded as a pes t. Y ou s hould hear what he's got to s ay about foxes .' S he paus ed for a m om ent, before adding: 'T hom as has a great deal to s ay for him s elf, has n't he?' A t lunc h, I s at between T hom as and an angelic -looking little girl. T he boy s urveyed m e. 'Meat and tatey pie for lunc h,' he s aid, rubbing his hands . 'My favourite.' He s tared at m e for a m om ent. 'I rec kon you won't be 'aving any.' 'W hy is that?' I as ked, intrigued. 'Y ou're probably one of thos e vegetarians . Me granddad does n't like vegetarians . He s ays they take the m eat out of his m outh. "T here's nothing better than a good bit o' beef on your plate or a nic e bit o' pork on your fork." T hat's what m y granddad s ays . He does n't like vegetarians , m y granddad.' B efore I c ould inform T hom as that I was not, in fac t, a vegetarian, the little angel s itting next to m e whis pered s hyly, 'I like rabbits .' 'S o do I,' I replied. 'My daddy likes rabbits too.' 'Does he?' 'A nd m y m um m y likes rabbits .' 'T hat's nic e.' S he took a m outhful of m eat and potato pie before adding quietly, 'T hey tas te really good with onions .' S ent to the Head Teacher Y ou again, Farringdon! Y es , s ir. Can't you s tay out of trouble? I try , s ir. W ell, you don't try very hard, do you? I s uppos e not, s ir. T hree tim es this week you have been s ent to m y room . That's right, s ir. For getting into trouble. Y es , s ir. Y ou're a nuis anc e, Farringdon. Y es , s ir. A teac hers ' nightm are! Y es , s ir. A diffic ult, dis ruptive, dis obedient boy. Y es , s ir. A naughty, wayward, badly behaved young m an. Y es , s ir. A trouble, a torm ent, the bane of m y life! If y ou s ay s o, s ir. I do, Farringdon! I do! Y es , s ir. A nd when I leave next week, Farringdon. Y es , s ir? I s hall not be s orry if I never ever s ee you again! I s ee, s ir. W ell, what is it this tim e? I'v e brought y ou a leav ing c ard, s ir - to w is h y ou good luc k in y our new job.

'The Wonder Years'

The M agic of Childhood

To B e a Child

Y oung c hildren are a delight. T he s m all c hild knows nothing of s kin c olour, rank, s tatus , religion, m oney and the m any other things that are at the root of envy and dis c ord. For the little one, everything in the world is fres h, c olourful and exc iting. S m ile at a s m all c hild and invariably the s m ile is returned. A fter forty years in educ ation, as a teac her and s c hool ins pec tor, I have m et c ountles s num bers of c hildren and been genuinely entertained, am us ed and, on oc c as ions , greatly m oved by them . I rec all the s m all c hild of s ix, with hair like a bris tly lavatory brus h, who m us ed, 'Have you ever thought that, when I'm twenty-one, you'll probably be dead?', and the c hild em erging from the infant s c hool, inform ing the V IP s there to s ee the Nativity play that: 'It's off! V irgin Mary's got nits ! ' T here was the little angel with her dolly c lutc hed to her c hes t, who told m e when I approac hed her in the infant c las s room , to: 'Go away! I'm breas t feeding.' T here was the four-year-old I c am e ac ros s in the nurs ery departm ent at an infant s c hool, ins ide a huge c ardboard box. 'B rm m , brm m , brm m ,' he went, and the box m oved from s ide to s ide. I peered over the top and as ked the c hild: 'A re you in your rac ing c ar?' 'No,' he replied s erious ly, 'I'm in a c ardboard box.' In a s m all prim ary s c hool, I c om m ented on the writing of a s even-year-old girl. 'Y our writing is very neat and tidy at the top of the page,' I obs erved, 'but it goes all s quiggly at the bottom .' 'I know,' replied the c hild, looking up. 'T his pen's got a life of its own.' 'I know how to m ek babies ,' a young boy of nine inform ed m e when I vis ited a s c hool in S waledale. 'Really?' I s ighed. 'Do you know how to m ek babies ?' he as ked. 'I do,' I replied. 'W ell, how do you m ek babies ?' 'Y ou go firs t,' I told him . 'I knoc k off the "y" and put "ies ".' I was ins pec ting a prim ary s c hool in W ens leydale, and thought I would tes t a youngs ter on his num ber work. W e looked out of the c las s room window at the s pec tac ular panoram a before us . 'How m any s heep c an you s ee in that field?' I as ked. 'A ll of 'em ,' he replied. Young c hildren are nothing if not hones t, and their hones ty is invariably dis arm ing and c om ic al. A t a tim e in the world where everything s eem s s o gloom y and depres s ing and there is c ons tant c onflic t and violenc e, the words of s m all c hildren lift our s pirits , they help us to feel good about ours elves and others and they m ake us optim is tic for the future. Out of the M ouths

I rec ently bec am e a grandfather for the s ec ond tim e. Nina, m y daughter-in-law, gave birth to a bonny little girl with large round eyes and a c aptivating s m ile. Her parents were intending to c all the baby S c arlett. W hat a relief it was for m e when they dec ided on the nam e Megan. S c arlett P hinn s ounds to m e like a dis eas e of tropic al fis h. W hen I bec am e a grandfather for the firs t tim e, m y preferred nam e for the baby boy was S ebas tian. P erhaps unders tandably, it was not m y s on and daughter-in-law's . 'One unus ual nam e in the fam ily is quite enough,' s aid m y s on Ric hard. I onc e heard Lord S ebas tian Coe s peaking at a dinner and he c onfided in the audienc e that: 'W hen you grow up in S heffield with a nam e like S ebas tian, you have to learn to run.' W ell, what about being brought up in Rotherham with a nam e like Gervas e? I c ould tell him a few tales . A nyway, here I am in m y s ixties , a grandfather, and like a c hild m ys elf. I have s o m any things planned for little Harry J ohn Gervas e and Megan Ros e. W e will walk along the beac h at B ridlington, paddling in the s ea, getting s and between their little toes . W e will explore roc k pools for c rabs , c ollec t s hells and bits of s m ooth c oloured s ea glas s , eat s tic ky c andyflos s and feed the s c reec hing s eagulls on the harbour wall. T hey will s nuggle up with Grandpa for a bedtim e s tory, help Granny m ake gingerbread m en, s queal with delight at the pantom im e and do all the other things little ones s o love to do. E verything for them will be bright and new and exc iting. Of c ours e, m y little grandc hildren will als o m ake the s hrewdes t obs ervations as they grow older, as all young c hildren tend to do: 'Grandpa, your fac e needs ironing', 'Oh, I do like the s m ell of old age', 'Daddy, that fat lady needs to go on a diet.' A nd they will c onfound m e with the m os t diffic ult ques tions that innoc ent c hildren frequently as k: 'W hy are holes em pty?', 'W hy are bananas bent?', 'W hy do you have to talk to God with your eyes c los ed?', 'Grandpa, who will fetc h the fis h and c hips when you're dead?', 'W hy c an't w e walk and wee at the s am e tim e like c ows do?', 'Grandpa, why are there m ore idiots on the road when Daddy's driving?' W hen P rinc es s Diana vis ited the North, c rowds c am e to s ee her. S he knew young c hildren well and had a great em pathy with them . S eeing, am ong the c hildren thronging to give her flowers , a rather s ad little boy with hair like a lavatory brus h and a s m all green c andle appearing from a c rus ty nos tril, s he went s traight to him . He was holding a s ingle wilting bloom . S he s ingled him out and, bending low, took the flower and ruffled the c hild's hair affec tionately. 'A nd have you had the day off s c hool to s ee m e?' s he as ked the c hild, giving him one of her s tunning s m iles . 'No,' he replied bluntly, 'I've been s ent hom e with nits ! ' S omething Colourful

I do like bright c olours . Red, in partic ular, is s uc h a c heerful, uplifting hue. Y oung c hildren als o like bright c olours . One only has to s ee their paintings , s o full of bold reds , vivid greens and bright blues , to apprec iate this . In an infant s c hool, I onc e enc ountered a s erious -fac ed little girl with m ore paint on hers elf than on the large piec e of paper in front of her. S he had drawn what I thought was a s nake. T he long, m ultic oloured c reature c urled and twis ted ac ros s the page like a writhing s erpent from a fairy s tory. It was a s m all m as terpiec e, with intric ate patterning and delightful detail. 'T hat's beautiful,' I told her. S he looked up and eyed m e s olem nly. 'Is it?' s he as ked. 'Oh yes ,' I replied. 'S ee how your s nake wriggles ac ros s the paper.' 'It's not a s nake,' the c hild told m e, putting down her brus h and folding her little arm s ac ros s her c hes t. 'It's a road.' 'It looks like a s nake to m e.' 'W ell, it's not,' s he told m e pertly. 'It's a road. I know bec aus e I painted it.' 'A h, yes , I c an s ee now,' I s aid tac tfully. 'It's a m agic al road that twis ts and turns up into the grey s ky and through ragged c louds and to the ic e palac e, where the Ic e Queen hers elf s its on her c rys tal throne. S he has a fac e as white as s now and long nails as s harp as ic ic les .' T he c hild s tared at the pic ture for a m om ent and then at m e. 'No, it is n't,' s he s aid. 'It's an ordinary road.' 'It looks like a m agic al road to m e.' 'W ell, it is n't,' s aid the c hild. 'It's an ordinary road.' 'B ut it's full of greens and reds and blues . It looks like a m agic al road.' 'I've told you,' s aid the c hild, s ighing. 'It's an ordinary road and it does n't lead to any ic e palac e.' 'W hy all the c olours ?' I as ked, intrigued. Her finger trac ed the c urve of the road. 'T hos e are the diam onds and thos e are the rubies and thos e are the em eralds ,' s he explained. 'It is a m agic al road! ' I teas ed. 'No, it's not,' the c hild replied, 'it's a jewel c arriageway.' It was during that s c hool vis it that I was joined on the team by a fellow s c hool ins pec tor from Lanc as hire. I had not m et J ohn before, and telephoned him prior to the ins pec tion to s ay we would m eet in the s c hool entranc e on the Monday m orning at eight o'c loc k. 'A nd be s ure to wear s om ething c heerful,' I s aid. 'Y ou know how young c hildren like bright c olours , and it is a little daunting for them if we all appear in grey s uits and dark ties .' On the m orning of the ins pec tion, J oyc e, the ins pec tor for m athem atic s , approac hed m e. 'Gervas e,' s he s aid quietly, 'what did you tell that ins pec tor from Lanc as hire to wear?' 'W hy?' I as ked. 'W ell, I've jus t pas s ed Coc o the Clown in the entranc e,' s he told m e. J ohn, I s oon dis c overed, was dres s ed in a s m art navy jac ket with bright bras s buttons , pris tine white trous ers , fuc hs ia pink s hirt and a blue polka-dot bow tie. 'W ill I do?' he as ked am iably. B efore I c ould reply, a pas s ing infant s topped, s tared at him for a m om ent and then, taking his hand, departed with him down the c orridor. 'Com e with m e,' s he s aid. 'I'll look after you.' A t m orning break I as ked m y c olourful c olleague from the Red Ros e County where he had got to. 'W ell,' he s aid, s m iling widely, 'that little girl took m e to the s c hool offic e and told the s ec retary that s he had jus t found W illy W onka.' Grow ing P ains

Young people nowadays tend to get a bad pres s . News papers often feature artic les about the unruly youth of today, the 'hoodies ' and the 'yobbos ', the football hooligans and lager louts , the rude, the s elfis h and the aggres s ive. It is frequently s aid that if they perform well in their exam inations then it's bec aus e the exam s are eas ier thes e days . If they do not perform well then it's an indic ation of the s teady dec line in s tandards . T hey jus t c an't win. 'It was n't like that when I was young,' you will hear the older generation s ay. It is a fac t, of c ours e, that young people down the c enturies have inc luded thos e who have kic ked over the trac es , m is behaved, been unruly and rec alc itrant, ignored the advic e of their elders and been in want of s om e good old-fas hioned dis c ipline. W hat tends to be forgotten is that there are thous ands of young people who c om e from loving, s upportive hom es , are taught by dedic ated and enthus ias tic teac hers and are a c redit to their hom es and s c hools . A nd s om e have their c ros s es to bear, and do s o without c om plaint. I m et Rebec c a in a c om prehens ive s c hool in S heffield. S he was s tudying for her ten GCS E s and had a S aturday job in a s hoe s hop, to earn a bit of extra m oney to s upplem ent the dis ability allowanc e her m other rec eived. Rebec c a was a c arer. S he looked after her m other, who was c rippled with a debilitating dis eas e, and s he was hed, c ooked, c leaned and dealt with the bills . T his bubbly, uns elf-pitying, good-hum oured young wom an had little s oc ial life and, although her friends were s ym pathetic , they had s topped inviting her to be part of the ac tivities teenagers enjoy bec aus e, invariably, s he was unable to join them given her c om m itm ents at hom e. 'Y ou have a c hallenging and dem anding life,' I told her. S he s m iled. 'Not half as c hallenging and dem anding as m y m other's ,' s he replied. Matty was s ix, and s tood out from the res t of the c hildren in his infant c las s . His s kin looked unhealthily pale and his untidy, greas y hair was c learly unwas hed. T here were m ilk s tains down his jum per and his trainers were grubby. He was one of the s ad, fragile c hildren whom I had c om e ac ros s on m y travels as a s c hool ins pec tor - c hildren who are neglec ted, dis paraged, dam aged and s om etim es abus ed, c hildren who would never know the warm th, enc ouragem ent and love of a good hom e. 'He's s uc h a s ad little boy,' explained the head teac her. 'Can you im agine a c hild of his age having to get him s elf up in the m orning, c om e to s c hool without any breakfas t, unwas hed, in the s am e c oat he has had for two years and whic h is now far too s m all for him ? A c hild s o s m elly that none of the other c hildren will s it near him or play with him , a c hild who watc hes all the other m um m ies c ollec t their c hildren from s c hool but who has to walk his lonely way hom e alone, to a c old, em pty hous e? P oor c hild has n't a c hanc e, has he? Is it any wonder he s teals and s pits and gets into fights ? He's never been s hown any different. You know, s om e c hildren c om e from hom es where there is ac c eptable behaviour and pos itive attitudes to others , where there's laughter and love and lots of books . A nd then there are s om e c hildren, like Matty, who get nothing. Of c ours e, it's the s am e old s tory: poverty, inadequate parenting, abs entee father, s tring of s tepfathers . T here are drugs , of c ours e, and, I s us pec t, violenc e.' On m y vis it to Matty's s c hool, jus t before Chris tm as , I was as ked to tell the c hildren the s tory of the birth of J es us . Little Matty s at c ros s -legged and wide-eyed before m e, a little apart from the others . T here was the unpleas ant s m ell of an unwas hed body in the air. 'B aby J es us was born in a s table, a c attle s hed,' I explained, 'and he had a m anger for a bed. It wouldn't have been nic e and c lean and bright, like the c rib in s hopping c entre. T he s table in whic h B aby J es us was born would have been full of rather s m elly, nois y anim als , m ic e and rats and dirty hay. T here was no room in the inn, you s ee, s o Mary and J os eph had to s tay in the s table and it didn't have lovely furniture and c arpets and c entral heating. Mary had to have her baby in a c old, dark barn,' I c ontinued. 'He had no nic e new c lothes , no toys and no c ot. He c am e into the world with nothing. He was one of the poor and m ean and lowly.' Matty, who had been watc hing with eyes like s auc ers , s hook his head s lowly and s aid, quietly but with feeling: 'P oor little bugger.' P erhaps m ore than any, he knew what it was to have very little. I m et Mark, aged twelve, at the c ollege for the blind whic h he attended. He had los t his s ight at ten and, am azingly, s eem ed to take it in his s tride. He had a wonderful s ens e of hum our and c hatted away as if I were an old friend, explaining that he was very happy at the s c hool, doing well in his work, and he hoped to be a teac her one day. I arrived at Mark's c las s room before the c hildren and, as ins pec tors are wont to do, ens c onc ed m ys elf in the c orner as the teac her (who was s ighted) nervous ly s huffled her papers . In c am e the s tudents . Of c ours e, they were not aware of the figure at the bac k. 'Mis s ,' as ked Mark, 'will we be having one of thes e s c hool ins pec tors in with us this m orning?' 'W e will indeed,' ans wered the teac her, glanc ing in m y direc tion. 'Do you know who it will be, Mis s ?' 'His nam e's Mr P hinn.' 'Oh, I m et him this m orning, Mis s ,' c ried the boy. 'He's from Y orks hire and he talks funny. He s ays , "E ee by gum ! " ' 'No he does n't, Mark,' s aid the em barras s ed teac her. 'Now s it down and get out your B railler.' 'W hat does he look like, Mis s ?' pers is ted the boy. 'A ll thes e ques tions , Mark.' 'I've never m et a s c hool ins pec tor before,' he c ontinued, undeterred.

'W ell, now's your c hanc e.' 'Go on, Mis s , tell m e what he looks like. I want to put a fac e to his voic e.' 'W ell,' s aid the teac her, drawing out the word and looking again in m y direc tion, with a m is c hievous s m ile on her lips , 'he's young, hands om e, elegant, c ultivated and very well dres s ed.' Mark thought for a m om ent before replying: 'A nd he's als o in the room , is n't he, Mis s ?' T erry was bullied. I m et him in the library of an inner-c ity s c hool where he was leafing through a book on c ars . 'T hey pic k on m e,' he told m e, 'c os I'm little and don't give 'em what they want - m oney and s weets . I c om e in the library to get out of their way.' 'I think perhaps you s hould tell s om ebody at s c hool,' I s aid. 'Naw,' he s aid dis m is s ively. 'W hat's the us e? T hey never do owt. Y ou jus t 'ave to put up wi' it.' 'No, you don't,' I s aid. 'Y ou don't have to put up with it. If you are being bullied you s hould tell s om eone you trus t. Have you told your parents ?' 'I'm fos tered out,' he s aid. 'I've jus t s tarted at a new plac e and don't want to c aus e no trouble.' 'Y ou m us t never ignore bullying,' I s aid. 'It won't jus t go away. S om ething s hould be done about it. Y ou s hould tell your fos ter parents .' 'Naw, it'd only m ek things wors e,' he replied. 'No, it wouldn't,' I s aid. He looked at m e and his fac e tightened. 'A nd how would you know? Have you been fos tered, lived in a c hildren's hom e, taken away from your m am , not allowed to s ee your little brother, always m oving around from one plac e to another, s witc hing s c hools , having to go to all thes e m eetings when they talk about you? T hen you get to this new s c hool and all the teac hers know you're in c are and then everybody knows and you s tand out and kids s tart to pic k on you bec aus e you're different. T hen they s ay things about your m am and where you c om e from and you get into a s c rap and s ent to the year tutor and you c an s ee it in the teac her's eyes - "T hes e kids are all the s am e - trouble." ' I lis tened to his outburs t but c ouldn't reply. I really had no c onc eption of the life this c hild led. W hat a s ad, angry and troubled c hild he was . 'W ill you prom is e m e you will tell s om eone?' I s aid. He looked up. 'I've told y ou, haven't I?' he s aid. In a s m all prim ary s c hool, in the heart of the Yorks hire Dales , I found a s m all boy who was putting the final touc hes to a written ac c ount of his father, and we got to talking. His m other had left when he was s m all, and he s aw little of her. He s aw nothing of his m aternal grandparents . He felt s ad about this and found it diffic ult to unders tand, but he was happy living with a father who, he s aid, was as m uc h a friend as a parent. T hey did m os t things together. T he ac c ount of his father des c ribed 'an ordinary-looking s ort of m an, a bit bald and overweight, the kind of m an who wears s hiny trous ers , baggy c ardigans and old s lippers ', but it went on to tell how s pec ial he was and how m uc h he loved him . 'Y our ac c ount is very hones t,' I told him . 'Do you not m ind s haring s uc h pers onal details with other people?' 'W hy s hould I?' he replied. 'It's the truth. I'm not as ham ed of it. My father s ays it is always bes t to be hones t.' 'He s ounds a rem arkable m an, your father.' 'He is .' T here is a s tereotype about the one-parent fam ily. It is thought by s om e that c hildren with only one parent are, inevitably, in s om e ways deprived, ac hieve wors e at s c hool than their peers and are likely to be m ore troubles om e. Of c ours e, in an ideal world, a c hild s hould have a m other and father, but in all relations hips there is likely to be fric tion and dis c ord and it is bes t s om etim es for parents to part. S om e c hildren, like this young m an, who have jus t the one parent looking after them , have a warm , loving, s upportive and ric h life. His father was indeed rem arkable and his s on was a c redit to him . 'A nd what quality do you adm ire m os t in this very s pec ial father of yours ?' I as ked. T he boy thought for a m om ent, s taring at his book and biting his bottom lip. T hen he looked up and into m y eyes . 'W hen he m akes a m is take, m y father s ays he's s orry. Grown-ups don't tend to do that. If m y father gets it wrong, he s ays s o. He s ays it's not being weak to adm it you don't always get things right or that you don't know s om ething.' I thought of the s trident televis ion program m e about rowdy and dis obedient c hildren I had s een rec ently. T hos e interviewed, who had little good to s ay about the younger generation, ought to m eet this polite young s tudent, s o m ature for his age. 'I hope that m y c hildren s peak about m e in the s am e way as you s peak about your father,' I told him . 'T hat's really down to you, is n't it?' replied the boy, s m iling broadly. 'Y es , I s uppos e it is ,' I replied. No S ort of Childhood

I m et Ric hard Mc Cann at a writers ' rec eption in London. He s truc k m e, at firs t m eeting, as a good-hum oured, c onfident, gregarious and unas s um ing young m an, and we c hatted about a num ber of inc ons equential things until I got around to talking about his book, J us t a B oy . W hen I was jus t a boy I thought that all c hildren had parents like m ine: loving, funny, generous and ever-s upportive; I thought that all c hildren had m others who told wild and wonderful tales , fathers who c rac ked jokes , played tric ks and teas ed them gently. For as long as I c ould rem em ber, s inc e I was a s m all boy, I always felt valued and loved. I dis c overed that Ric hard Mc Cann's c hildhood c ould not have been different. One c old and m is ty Oc tober m orning in 1975, at the age of five years old, he woke up to dis c overer that his m other had gone forever. S he was the firs t of the thirteen vic tim s of the notorious 'Yorks hire Ripper', P eter S utc liffe. Ric hard was told that his m other had been taken to heaven and he would never s ee her again. It was only when he was s ixteen years old that he dis c overed where s he was buried. His life had c hanged forever after his m other was m urdered, for the tragedy was to trigger years of neglec t, deprivation, abus e and pain. It led to drug addic tion, a s uic ide attem pt and pris on. T he c hild had already been plac ed on the 'at ris k' regis ter, and was s ent to a c hildren's hom e following his m other's death. A fter s om e m onths , he and his s iblings were plac ed with their often c ruel and violent father, who found he was unable to c ope with four traum atis ed c hildren. Ric hard has s inc e forgiven his father for the hars h treatm ent he rec eived as a c hild. 'It has been found,' wrote His Holines s T he Dalai Lam a, in The Dalai Lama's B ook of Lov e and Compas s ion, that 'thos e c hildren who grow up in hom es where there is love and affec tion have a healthier phys ic al developm ent and s tudy better at s c hool. Convers ely, thos e who lac k hum an affec tion have m ore diffic ulty in developing phys ic ally and m entally. T hes e c hildren als o find it diffic ult to s how affec tion when they grow up, whic h is a great tragedy.' Few would dis agree with thes e words . W hat, then, is s o rem arkable about Ric hard Mc Cann's ins pirational s tory is that he not only s urvived a life of terrible deprivation and abus e, but he c reated for him s elf a life for whic h he s o yearned - a life of s ec urity, c om pas s ion and love. He now us es his experienc es to help others who have been s ubjec ted to neglec t, and thos e who have roc k-bottom s elf-es teem and little expec tation from thos e around them , to s how that they c an ac hieve anything in life. My wife and I rec ently heard Ric hard s peak to a large group of adoles c ents in a c om prehens ive s c hool in Donc as ter. I have obs erved m any a les s on as a s c hool ins pec tor but never have I s een young people s o engros s ed. S everal were m oved to tears . 'Life is s om etim es unc om fortable,' he told them , 's om etim es s o painful it bec om es alm os t unbearable, but you m us t never let thos e s etbac ks , however terrible, hold you bac k. T hings in life s om etim es don't work out the way you expec t but, with s elf-belief, determ ination and pers everanc e, you c an overc om e.' His unflinc hing and uns elf-pitying ac c ount of his life s hould be read by every parent and teac her, and young people in s c hools s hould have the opportunity of hearing him tell his ins pirational s tory. S uffer Little Children

I was onc e prevailed upon, by an infant s c hool head teac her, to play Father Chris tm as . Nervous ly, I donned the bright red c os tum e, c otton-wool beard and W ellington boots , and, after a s trong c up of c offee, entered the hall to find row upon row of open-m outhed, wide-eyed c hildren. T hey s quealed in delight when they s aw the fam iliar red c oat and white beard. E verything went well until a rather grubby little s c rap as ked if s he c ould s it on m y knee. 'No, Chels ea,' s aid the head teac her, firm ly. 'I don't think . . .' S he was too late; the c hild had already c lam bered up, and now c lung to m e like a little m onkey. T he unpleas ant s m ell of the unwas hed em anated from her. S he gave m e a great big hug. 'I love you, Father Chris tm as ,' s he whis pered in m y ear. 'Com e on down, Chels ea,' s aid the head teac her. 'I don't think Father Chris tm as wants c hildren on his knee.' 'Now, you be a very good little girl and s it on the floor, Chels ea,' I s aid, in m y jolly voic e, 'otherwis e all the other c hildren will want to c lim b up.' Chels ea s tayed put and held fas t like a lim pet. I c huc kled uneas ily, and left her until the c hild's teac her m anaged to pris e her off. Later, in the s taff room , the s c hool welfare offic er, who had s at at the bac k of the hall, proffered an opinion. 'I don't think it's a very good idea,' s he s aid, 'to have c hildren on your knee. Y ou have to be s o c areful thes e days .'

I feigned ignoranc e. 'In what way?' 'P ardon?' 'In what way do I have to be c areful?' 'W ell,' s he told m e, 'people m ight get the wrong idea.' 'How c ould people get the wrong idea?' I as ked. 'I was in full view of an entire hall of c hildren, s even m em bers of s taff and you.' 'It's jus t not appropriate any m ore,' s he s aid. A newly qualified m em ber of s taff told m e later that, when s he was training, a c ollege tutor s trongly advis ed the s tudents that, when they bec am e teac hers , they s hould avoid c uddling a dis tres s ed c hild. P eople m ight get the wrong idea. I read a news paper report of two elderly wom en, B etty and B renda, who were innoc ently taking photographs in a park near the paddling pool before being warned not to do s o bec aus e people m ight get the wrong idea. 'W e don't allow parents to film their c hildren in the s c hool Nativity play any m ore,' I was told by one head teac her. 'W e've had c om plaints from s om e parents . It's all very worrying.' 'A h yes ,' I s aid, with a degree of s arc as m in m y voic e. 'P eople m ight get the wrong idea.' I was in c hurc h rec ently, for the c hris tening of m y great nephew, Giles W illiam . T he pries t read from Mark, Chapter 10: P eople were bringing little c hildren to him , for him to touc h them . T he dis c iples turned them away, but when J es us s aw this he was indignant and s aid to them , 'Let the little c hildren c om e to m e; do not s top them ; for it is to s uc h as thes e that the kingdom of God belongs . I tell you s olem nly, anyone who does not welc om e the kingdom of God like a little c hild will never enter it.' T hen he put his arm s around them , laid his hands on them and gave them his bles s ing. P erhaps one of the dis c iples s hould have had a quiet word with J es us later and advis ed him not to touc h the c hildren. A fter all, people m ight get the wrong idea. M is s Reec e and the Chic k s

I walked down the s c hool c orridor in the infant departm ent with Mis s Reec e, a newly qualified teac her. If s he was at all daunted by the pres enc e of the s c hool ins pec tor, s he c ertainly didn't s how it. 'I'll tell you this , Mr P hinn,' s he told m e, in a pronounc ed W els h ac c ent, 'if you think m y les s on plan bears any res em blanc e to what I am doing today, then you have another think c om ing.' 'Really,' I s aid, rather taken abac k. 'I did have a les s on planned for this m orning and it was fab'lous but the head teac her s ays I c an't do it bec aus e it's illegal.' 'Illegal! ' I repeated. 'Yes indeed, illegal,' s he inform ed m e. 'He s aid that, under s om e new regulation from OFS T E D, live c reatures c annot be taken into the c las s room any m ore. W hat with the bird flu and s uc h he thinks it's agains t the Health and S afety Direc tive. S o, I c an't s how the c hildren m y c hic ks . T hey will be s o dis appointed bec aus e I prom is ed the c hildren I would bring them in this m orning.' 'W ell, it's the firs t I've heard of s uc h a direc tive,' I s aid. 'W ere the c hildren going to handle thes e c hic ks ?' I as ked. 'No, they've jus t hatc hed out and are in an inc ubator,' the teac her told m e, s topping at the c las s room door. 'I s hould bring the c hic ks in,' I s aid. 'I'm s ure it's all right. I will have a word with the head teac her.' 'Oh good! ' s he exc laim ed. 'I'll go and get them . W ould you let the c hildren in out of the playground? I'll only be a m inute.' T he infants had lined up outs ide the c las s room door, ready to be told to enter. 'Right, c hildren,' I s aid, 'you m ay go in quic kly and quietly.' 'W e're not s uppos ed to s peak to s trangers ,' a little girl with great bunc hes in her hair told m e pertly. 'W here's our teac her?' 'S he will be here in a m inute,' I told the c hild. S he eyed m e s us pic ious ly. 'W ell, I hope s he is ,' s he s aid peevis hly. A t that m om ent, Mis s Reec e appeared with the c hic ks . 'W ho's this m an, Mis s ?' as ked the little girl. 'He's a friend, B ethany,' s aid the teac her, s m iling in m y direc tion. 'He's c om e to s ee m y c hic ks .' Onc e ins ide the c las s room , the little c hildren gathered around the teac her's des k exc itedly. In a s m all inc ubator, four tiny yellow c hic ks c heeped and s c ratc hed. 'T hey look as if they have jus t hatc hed out of their eggs , don't they, c hildren?' s aid Mis s Reec e. 'A ll s oft and fluffy and golden.' 'I love thos e little c hic ks , Mis s ,' s aid a s m all boy with a fac e as s pec kled as a hen's egg and bris tly ginger hair. 'Could I hold one, Mis s ?' as ked a s m all girl. 'No, Chloe,' replied the teac her, 'they are very s m all and delic ate and would get very frightened if you were to hold them .' T he s m all boy s tared for a m om ent at the c hic ks and then at his teac her. Mis s Reec e was wearing a fluffy yellow m ohair jum per. 'Do you know, Mis s ,' he s aid, in that loud, c onfident voic e only pos s es s ed by young c hildren, 'you look as if you've jus t been laid.' T he blus h from the teac her's nec k ros e to her fac e and the s c hool ins pec tor nearly fell off the c hair, laughing. Reading W ithout Tears

I was s ent a book rec ently by the em inent Iris h educ ationalis t, and wonderfully nam ed, Dr Finian O'S hea. I had m entioned in one of m y talks that I c ollec t old reading s c hem e books and prim ers , and Dr O'S hea very kindly s ent m e a c opy of Reading W ithout Tears or a P leas ant M ode of Learning to Read. It was publis hed in 1861 by the author of P eep of Day , one Mrs Favell Lee Mortim er, the daughter of a wealthy B ris tol banker and a wom an with great religious fervour. W ins ton Churc hill learnt to read with the aid of Reading W ithout Tears and, in his m em oir, M y E arly Life, noted wryly that, 'it c ertainly didn't jus tify its title in m y c as e'. A nd is it any wonder? T his influential and popular work of s tark realis m c ertainly does not reflec t the intention of the author, who s tated in the prefac e, that, 'great pains have been taken to render this book pleas ing to c hildren'. I c an only as s um e that the V ic torian nurs ery-aged c hildren who were given this text were m ade of pretty s trong s tuff, for it is full of the m os t am azingly grues om e ac c ounts of the hazardous injuries and violent deaths of naughty and

foolhardy c hildren. T he book begins rather tam ely enough, where the early readers are required to read dozens of everyday words and s im ple s entenc es s uc h as , 'I had a bun' and 'Nan ran to a log', and are given help in learning the alphabet: D is like an old m an leaning on a s tic k. E is like a c arriage with a little s eat for the driver. F is like a tree with a s eat for a c hild. G is like a m onkey eating a c ake. T hen we get to m eet a s ingularly nas ty little boy c alled B ill, and a num ber of ac c ident-prone c hildren: B ill hit a pig. B ill hit a kid. B ill will kill a pig. B ill is a big lad. B ill has a bad dog. Get a rod. Hit a dog. J ac k hit his nec k. Dic k hit his hip. T om got a bad kic k in the nec k. T he author gets into her s tride when it c om es to infant m ortality. W hen the wagon gets s tuc k in the s now, the little s is ters freeze to death, and when J ac k falls from the high tree, his nec k is 's napped' and 'he is killed on the s pot'. A dis obedient c hild drinks pois on and dies in agony - 'the pois on has des troyed him '. One partic ularly gris ly ac c ount involves W illiam , who played with gunpowder with dire res ults . His father, Mr Morley, rus hes up the s tairs on hearing a loud nois e. W hat a s ight! A ll his c hildren lying on the floor burning. T he doc tor s ays , 'T he c hildren are blind, they will s oon die.' A c entury and a half later, m aterial for em ergent readers , thank goodnes s , is very different. T hes e bright, inform ative and entertaining pic ture books and early texts enric h life, they take c hildren to plac es they m ay never vis it and introduc e them to c harac ters they m ay never m eet, and the early reader grows to s ee reading as a pleas urable ac tivity. In the pos t with Dr O'S hea's gift c am e another book, this one produc ed by the B ook T rus t. Treas ure, a B ook of Ideas c elebrates learning in its broades t s ens e with advic e for parents and teac hers on how to give c hildren the very bes t s tart in reading: a c urios ity about life, an eagernes s to learn and a lifelong love of books . T hankfully, Reading W ithout Tears is not a rec om m ended text. In the Reading Corner

T he reading c orner in the s m all Dales s c hool had a hard-bac ked teac her's c hair, a s m all s quare of c oloured c arpet, two large c us hions and a bookc as e full of as s orted books . I had agreed to read a s tory to the s ixteen bright-eyed c hildren, and s elec ted a s tory from The Tales of P eter Rabbit , the c hildren's c las s ic by B eatrix P otter. T he s elec tion of this book, I found, was s ingularly unfortunate, and I c am e to apprec iate jus t how s hrewd, bluntly hones t and witty the Dales c hild c an be. J ohn, a s erious little boy of about s even or eight, with a tangled m op of s traw-c oloured hair, was c learly not very enam oured with the plot. I arrived at that part of the s tory when poor P eter Rabbit, to es c ape the terrifying Mr Mc Gregor, who was s earc hing for him in the vegetable garden, bec am e entangled in the goos eberry net. T he frightened little rabbit gave him s elf up for los t and s hed big tears . It was the c lim ax to the s tory and when I had read this part to m y little nephew J am ie and m y niec e K irs ten, their eyes had widened like s auc ers and their m ouths had fallen open in expec tation of the c apture of the poor little rabbit by the c ruel gardener. B ut J ohn s tared im pas s ively at m e, with tight little lips and wide s taring eyes . 'W hat a terrible thing it would be,' I s aid, 'if poor P eter Rabbit s hould be c aught.' 'Rabbits ! Rabbits ! ' c ried the angry-fac ed little lad, s c ratc hing the tangled m op of hair in irritation. 'T hey're a blas ted nuis anc e, that's what m y dad s ays ! Have you s een what rabbits do to a c rop?' I ans wered that I had not. 'Rabbits with little c otton-wool tails and pipe-c leaner whis kers ,' he s neered, 'and fur as s oft as velvet. Huh! W e s hoot the buggers ! T hey c an eat their way through a c rop in a week, c an rabbits . Clear nine ac res in a m onth! Millions of pounds ' worth of dam age when it's a m ild winter. No am ount of fenc ing will s top 'em .' 'W e don't s hoot rabbits on our farm ,' announc ed a little girl of about ten, with round ros y c heeks and c los ely c ropped red hair. 'Don't you?' I as ked. 'W e gas ours ! ' s he told m e. 'T hat s tops 'em , I c an tell you.' 'Nay, Marianne,' retorted the boy, c urling a s m all lip, 'gas s in' does n't work.' T hen, looking m e s traight in the eyes , he added: 'Never m ind poor old P eter Rabbit. It's Mr Mc Gregor I feel s orry for - trying to grow his vegetables with a lot of 'ungry rabbits all ovver t'plac e! ' 'P erhaps I s hould read another book,' I s ugges ted feebly. A Fav ourite B ook

I am frequently as ked, by c hildren in the s c hools I vis it, whic h is m y very favourite s tory. I tell them I have read a good m any books in m y tim e but the one s tory whic h I love the m os t, one whic h brings bac k s uc h happy m em ories of m y c hildhood and one whic h I wis h I had written m ys elf, is The S elfis h Giant by Os c ar W ilde. It was m y grandm other's favourite s tory and was read to m e when I was s m all. It is a powerful, poignant and s im ply written narrative about a m ean-m inded Giant who forbids the little c hildren to enter his beautiful garden to play. One E as ter tim e, when vis iting a s m all rural prim ary s c hool in Nidderdale, North Y orks hire, I read The S elfis h Giant to a group of eight-year-olds . T he c hildren s at in a s em i-c irc le around m e on the c arpet in the reading c orner and lis tened intently as I rec ounted the tale. 'My own garden is m y own garden,' he tells the c hildren, 'and I will not allow anyone to play in it but m ys elf.' W hen s pring c om es , the Giant's garden rem ains c old and barren and a great white c loak of s now buries everything. T he Giant c annot unders tand why the s pring pas s es his garden by. S um m er does n't c om e, and neither does autum n, and the garden s tays perpetually c old and em pty of life. One m orning, the Giant s ees a m os t wonderful s ight. T hrough a little hole in the wall, the c hildren have c rept into his garden and every tree has a little c hild s itting in the branc hes am ongs t the blos s om s . T hey have brought life bac k to his garden, and the Giant's heart m elts . He c reeps into the garden but when the c hildren s ee him they are frightened and run away. One s m all boy does n't s ee the Giant, for his eyes are full of tears . T he Giant s teals up behind the c hild and gently takes his little hand in his . Many years pas s and the little boy never c om es bac k to play in the garden. Now very old and feeble, the giant longs to s ee his firs t little friend again. One day the s m all c hild returns . Dow ns tairs ran the Giant in great joy and out into the garden. He has tened ac ros s the gras s , and c ame near to the c hild. A nd w hen he c ame quite c los e his fac e grew red w ith anger, and he s aid, 'W ho hath dared to w ound thee?' For on the palms of the c hild's hands w ere the prints of tw o nails , and the prints of the tw o nails w ere on the little feet. 'W ho hath dared to w ound thee?' c ried the Giant; 'tell me, that I may tak e my big s w ord and s lay him.' 'Nay !' ans w ered the c hild: 'but thes e are the w ounds of Lov e.' 'W ho art thou?' s aid the Giant, and a s trange aw e fell on him, and he k nelt before the little c hild. A nd the c hild s miled on the Giant, and s aid to him, 'Y ou let me play onc e in y our garden, today y ou s hall c ome w ith me to my garden, w hic h is P aradis e.' A nd w hen the c hildren ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant ly ing dead under the tree, all c ov ered w ith w hite blos s oms . A t the end, m y little lis teners were c learly m oved, as I was when I firs t heard the s tory, and they s at in s ilenc e. T he teac her dabbed her eyes . T hen a s m all girl s itting at the front dec lared, 'I'm a Methodis t, Mr P hinn, and I'm going to P aradis e one day.' 'I am s ure you are,' I told her, s m iling. 'I'm Churc h of E ngland,' volunteered another c hild, 'and I'm going to P aradis e as well.' I nodded. 'Of c ours e.' A wiry-looking little boy at the bac k s tood up and announc ed loudly, 'W ell, I'm nowt - but I'm gerrin in! ' Y ou will probably be firs t in the queue, I thought to m ys elf. P lay ing S afe

Las t autum n, I vis ited a prim ary s c hool to read s om e of m y poem s to the c hildren, and to open a new bloc k. A s I walked ac ros s the playground at break, I c aught s ight of s om e junior boys playing football with a large foam ball. 'T hat's not a proper football,' I obs erved. 'A ye, well,' one replied, wiping his nos e on the bac k of his hand, 'we're not allowed to us e a proper one in c as e s om eone gets hurt. Las t year a lad got hit in the fac e and bus t his nos e.' I rec alled when I was their age and played football on Herringthorpe P laying Fields , in Rotherham , with a s ubs tantial football. I well rec all when the heavy, s odden, leather orb arc hed its way through the air towards m e and s m ac ked m e on m y bare legs . It s tung for ages but it was worth it. 'Las s es c an't s kip, either,' s aid the other boy, 'in c as e they fall over.' 'T hen t's c hool c ould get done,' the firs t boy told m e, 'if s om ebody gets 'urt and 'as to go to t'os pital.' 'No win, no fee,' s aid the s ec ond boy, nodding s agely. E arlier that year, I had vis ited a s c hool in B ritis h Colum bia, Canada, to s peak to teac hers and s c hool trus tees and work in s om e of the s c hools . T his s c hool, on the s pec tac ular V ic toria Is land, was one of the highes t ac hieving in the c ountry; it was bright, c heerful and welc om ing, with an outs tanding reputation in m us ic , art and poetry. On a glorious day, I s at in the s uns hine with a group of elem entary s c hool c hildren, outs ide their c las s room , during rec es s . A bove us c irc led two m agnific ent birds with s now white heads , golden beaks and inc redibly large wing s pans . 'B ald eagles ,' s aid the little girl s itting next to m e, s haking her head. I s tared up in am azem ent. 'I have never s een s uc h huge and beautiful birds ,' I s aid. 'Y eah,' s aid the girl, in a m atter-of-fac t voic e. 'W e get a lot of thes e around here. T hey're real nuis anc es . W e have to keep our c at indoors when they are breeding.' 'T hey take your c ats ?' I exc laim ed. 'S ure do, and anything els e they c an get. T hey like the s alm on the bes t but they will eat anything. T hey're on the lookout now bec aus e they've two c hic ks to feed.' 'I would love to s ee the c hic ks ,' I s aid. 'W ell, take a walk up the path at the bac k of the s c hool,' the c hild told m e, 'and turn right at the top and you'll s ee the eagles ' nes t high up in the c ottonwood tree.' 'I s hall do that at lunc htim e,' I s aid. 'Rem em ber to get your bell and pepper s pray from the s c hool s ec retary.' 'B ell and pepper s pray?' I repeated. 'In c as e you c om e ac ros s a blac k bear up there,' the c hild told m e. 'B lac k bear,' I m outhed. 'T hey're breeding at the m om ent too,' the c hild inform ed m e, c as ually. 'It's the brown bears , the grizzlies , that you have to be c areful of, but they are up on the m ountains and don't us ually c om e down.' 'Grizzly bears ,' I whis pered. 'T he blac k are m os tly harm les s unles s you get in between the m other and her c ub. T hen they c an be nas ty. B ut if you c om e ac ros s one on the path, look her s traight in the eyes , ring your bell really loudly and us e the pepper s pray, and they s oon s kedaddle.' 'I s ee,' I s aid. 'K eep an eye out for a c ougar,' another little girl told m e. 'He s om etim es likes to res t in the branc hes of a tree.' 'Don't look a c ougar in the eye though,' added the other. 'T hey feel threatened if you do.' I s at there in the s uns hine and thought for a m om ent. In s om e s c hools in E ngland, the c hildren are not allowed to play football and s kip. In Canada there are blac k bears and c ougars in the woods at the bac k of the s c hools . S uc h is life! A P ric k ly Cus tomer

It won't be long now before the pric kly res idents whic h live in m y garden m ake their appearanc e. Las t Oc tober, I s et up three boxes by the c om pos t heap for the hedgehogs , s o they c ould s ettle down for the winter. W e have quite a c olony in our garden (I believe the c orrec t c ollec tive noun for hedgehogs is 'pric kle') and, when the c hildren were s m all, they would wait until dus k and go out onto the lawn to watc h thes e s trange, s hy and endearing little c reatures s nuffling about, looking for the dog food we put out for them . Lizzie, m y daughter, s till loves hedgehogs and, when s he was little, her very favourite B eatrix P otter s tory featured Mrs T iggywinkle. I rec all vis iting a prim ary s c hool one c old Novem ber day, when I was a s c hool ins pec tor. T he teac her as ked the eight-year-olds to des c ribe anything interes ting that they had s een over the weekend. One c hild inform ed her that s he had s een a hedgehog on the lawn. 'It's very s trange,' s aid the teac her, looking in m y direc tion, 'that a hedgehog has c om e out at this tim e of year, is n't it, Mr P hinn?' 'It is ,' I agreed. 'T hey us ually have a long s leep in the winter, don't they, Mr P hinn?' 'T hey do,' I c onc urred again. 'Did you dis turb it, Chardonnay?' as ked the teac her. 'No, Mis s ,' replied the c hild. 'W ell it is s trange, is n't it, Mr P hinn?' as ked the teac her. 'It is ,' I replied, wis hing that s he would des is t from c ons tantly c ons ulting m e. 'A nd did anything happen to you over the weekend, Darren?' as ked the teac her of a s m all frizzy-haired boy with large eyes . 'S om e white worm s c om e out of m y bottom ,' announc ed the c hild bluntly. 'Oh dear,' s aid the teac her, pulling the fac e of one wearing s hoes whic h were too tight. 'I really do not think we need to hear about that, do we Mr P hinn?' 'No,' I s aid, s m iling. 'T hey c am e out of m y bottom ,' c ontinued the c hild undeterred, 'and they wriggled about.' 'Darren! ' s napped the teac her. 'I really do not think that we want to hear about your white worm s , thank you very m uc h. Now, I s hall write "hibernate" on the board and we will get bac k to the hedgehog.' 'W e gave it s om e bread and m ilk,' s aid Chardonnay. 'I don't think that is very wis e, is it Mr P hinn?' s aid the teac her. 'I have an idea that bread and m ilk m ight be bad for them . Do you know what hedgehogs like to eat, Mr P hinn?' 'W orm s ,' I replied. One S unday, looking through m y m other's old c ookbooks for a rec ipe, I c am e upon The P rac tic al Cook , publis hed in 1949. T he author was the indom itable Fanny Cradoc k. I loved to watc h Fanny and J ohnny on the televis ion in the 1950s . Fanny was s elf-c entred, c ondes c ending, ins ulting, patronis ing, rude, tac tles s , offens ive and wonderfully pric kly but, like m any people at the tim e, I loved her c ookery program m es . W ith that deep, intim idating growl and dres s ed like a pantom im e dam e, s he c arped and c avilled, c ritic is ed and c ajoled, and it m ade fas c inating viewing. I have to own that I went off Fanny as I leafed through The P rac tic al Cook . One of the rec ipes is for 'baked hedgehog'. For thos e who are planning a dinner party and want to s erve s om ething a little m ore unus ual, here is her rec ipe: Clean the hedgehog and roll in thic k m ois t c lay. S tand on a baking s heet and leave in a m edium oven until the c lay is hard and c rac king. B reak away the c rus t and the s kin and the pric kles will c om e away c leanly. P lac e the fles h in a baking tin and c ontinue baking in a m edium oven, at Regulo 5, in hot fat, bas ting frequently until the fles h is tender. S erve with thic k brown gravy and s m all boiled onions .

'I Shall Not Tell You Again!'

Family Life

B eing a P arent

Rec ent res earc h has revealed that one in four parents don't like to tell their c hildren off, and are s c ared to dis c ipline them . A c c ording to a behavioural ps yc hologis t, the c urrent c ulture in an inc reas ing num ber of hom es is for the parent to be the c hild's friend, and to explain, dis c us s and negotiate rather than tell him or her what to do. S he c ited the inc ident in a s uperm arket queue, when a toddler, having been told repeatedly by his m other not to put s om e s weets in the bas ket, inform ed her: 'You c an't tell m e what to do! ' T here followed a dialogue in whic h the parent, holding up the queue, tried to explain to the c hild why he s hould do as he was told. W ell, when I was s m all, there was no dis c us s ion or negotiation; I was given firm guidelines and c lear param eters about how to behave, and the word 'No' was a frequently us ed word in m y parents ' voc abulary. I have to s ay that I have c arried on the tradition, and tried to em ploy the s am e s ort of parenting s kills with m y own c hildren. W hen Lizzie, m y younges t, was five, I heard her in her bedroom , telling off her dolls . It c ould have been m e s peaking, for the words , voic e and intonation were m ine. 'Now, I've told you onc e, and I s hall not tell you again. Do you follow m y drift?' A t the s am e tim e as this res earc h appeared, the Times E duc ational S upplement ran an artic le about what teac hers dis c us s behind the s taff room door. In m y experienc e, the c onvers ation predic tably turns to c hildren's behaviour and the role of the parent. 'Of c ours e, I blam e the parents ,' is the us ual refrain. 'If they exerted a bit m ore dis c ipline at hom e, and s upported the s c hool m ore, then we wouldn't have to deal with thes e truc ulent and unruly c hildren.' T here is , of c ours e, a great deal of truth in this . It is an old c hes tnut but c ertainly rings true in m y c as e. P arents often c om e in for c ritic is m from teac hers - the pus hy one who thinks Tam s in is naturally gifted, the dis interes ted one who s ends the reading book bac k with the c om m ent that 'it's the teac hers job to learn them how to read and not m ine', the neurotic one who has s een a televis ion program m e and believes his c hild has every c ondition under the s un, from dys lexia to irritable bowel s yndrom e, the bols hy one who takes his c hild's s ide on every oc c as ion, the know-it-all who tries to teac h the teac hers their job, the interfering, the rude and the aggres s ive. One c ould add to the lis t. 'Mos t of the parents are the s alt of the earth,' one head teac her told m e. 'T hey c aus e m e no trouble and, on the whole, they want the bes t for their c hildren.' T hen he rolled his eyes . 'B ut s om e . . . I des pair! ' He then related a c atalogue of inc idents . 'I have been s houted at by parents , c alled Hitler and ac c us ed of vic tim is ation and c hild c ruelty. B ut there have been s om e lighter m om ents . One young m other with four c hildren - s he c an't have been m uc h older than eighteen - had real problem s filling in the form s when s he regis tered the c hildren to s tart s c hool. S he knew the c hildren's dates of birth, and who the fathers were, but when I as ked if all the c hildren were natural born B ritis h c itizens , s he told m e that the younges t c hild was born by Caes arean. W hen it got to "length of res idenc e", s he s aid it was about fifty feet although s he c ouldn't be s ure. I onc e as ked a young lone-parent m other, whos e s on had a wonderful head of c urly ginger hair, if the boy's father was red-headed too. "I don't know," s he told m e in all s erious nes s , "he kept his c ap on." ' In this day and age, of c ours e, teac hers have to be very c areful in dealing with parents , and in what they s ay about the c hildren they teac h. How they m us t look bac k envious ly to the tim e when teac hers were res pec ted, s upported, often held in awe and even feared. How head teac hers m us t yearn for the pas t, when the pos ition they held allowed them to be bluntly hones t in dealing with parents , and they c ould s end letters hom e like this one, from the headm is tres s of B ram pton New National S c hools , written to parents in 1871: You m us t rem em ber that you have not done all that is required by m erely gaining adm is s ion for your c hild into our s c hool. Do not s uppos e that its educ ation is to be left entirely to the c are of the m as ter or m is tres s , and that you are to do nothing. Unles s you labour together with them for your c hild's welfare, dis appointm ent to all parties will be the res ult. Muc h of the im pertinenc e, bad language, and ill behaviour whic h s o dis grac e and degrade the youth of our town, and of whic h c ontinual c om plaint is m ade, is , in too m any c as es , to be trac ed to the want of due c are in s etting a good exam ple and enforc ing it at hom e; and not, as is fals ely and wic kedly attributed, to the fault of the s c hool. The Challenge of Childrearing

T here's been a lot in the news rec ently about pus hy parents . In a Channel 4 doc um entary, A dmis s ion Impos s ible, viewers were offered a fas c inating ins ight into the efforts of s om e parents s eeking the bes t educ ation for their offs pring. One parent, with what he undoubtedly believed to be in the c hild's bes t interes ts , was determ ined that his s on s hould gain entry into a des irable and over-s ubs c ribed gram m ar s c hool, s o he s ubjec ted his s on to extens ive evening tutoring, c om bined with a fair am ount of parental pres s ure for the lad to s uc c eed. T he father appeared a well-m eaning and loving parent, but I ques tion the effic ac y of 'hot-hous ing' c hildren in this m anner. In no way c om parable, and far m ore dis turbing, is the tragic s tory of little J onB enet Ram s ey, whos e parents ' am bitions trans form ed her into a s ix-year-old beauty queen. A ndrea P eys er, in the New Y ork P os t, felt little s ym pathy and no vindic ation for the parents when s he wrote: 'A t the age when ordinary girls are learning to walk, this c ham pion baby was taught to s as hay like a m iniature dim e-s tore tart.' Dr Madeline Levine, the A m eric an ps yc hoanalys t, des c ribes in her new book, The P ric e of P riv ilege, the depres s ion, anxiety, eating dis orders and s elf-harm endem ic in an ever-inc reas ing num ber of young people from affluent hom es , res ulting from overly am bitious and fierc ely c om petitive parents who exert unreas onable pres s ure for their c hildren to s uc c eed. No doubt s uc h parents believe that they are doing the very bes t for their c hildren, giving them a head s tart in life, doing what they think is needed for their c hildren to bec om e s uc c es s ful but, as Dr Levine c ontends , unreas onable pres s ure on c hildren c an have s ad and s om etim es tragic c ons equenc es . I know this to be a fac t. A fter forty years in the educ ation bus ines s , as a teac her, educ ation advis er, s c hool ins pec tor and profes s or of educ ation, I have witnes s ed the dam age done to c hildren who have parents with overweening am bitions for their offs pring. Let m e give a few exam ples . I was the c om pere at a young people's m us ic c om petition. Over a thous and people pac ked the great hall and, bac ks tage, I was trying to put the young perform ers at their eas e. Dam ien (not his real nam e), aged twelve, was unders tandably nervous . He was to play a diffic ult piec e by P aganini on his violin. I reas s ured him that he would be fine, that he wouldn't s ee the audienc e anyway and that I was as nervous as anyone. During his perform anc e, he los t his way and had to s tart again. Naturally, the boy was very dis tres s ed and rec eived no prize, although the judges were very s ym pathetic and enc ouraging. He told m e bac ks tage afterwards , c learly in no hurry to s ee his parents , that his father would be very dis appointed. He had s et his heart on him winning. I went out front to s peak to his parents . B efore I c ould open m y m outh, his father, a s evere-looking m an, c learly very angry with the outc om e of the c om petition, ignored m e and approac hed his s on. 'S o, what happened?' he dem anded. T he boy tearfully m um bled s om e exc us e. I introduc ed m ys elf. 'I know who you are,' he s aid rudely, and then inform ed m e that his s on had prac tis ed his piec e tim e and again without s o m uc h as a wrong note. 'A nd now when it c om es to the perform anc e, he m akes a m es s of it.' I s hall not forget the devas tated look on the boy's fac e. He looked, and m us t have felt, a c om plete failure. 'A nd do you s om etim es not m ake a m is take when you are playing P aganini?' I as ked him . 'A c tually, I don't play the violin,' he told m e, pom pous ly. 'Neither do I,' I s aid, 'but your s on does , and he plays s uprem ely well.' Did the m an not realis e what effec t his reac tion was having on the boy? S houldn't he have put his arm around him and told him that it didn't really m atter, and that he had tried his bes t, that there was always another c om petition? I m et Oliver at a pres tigious public s c hool. He told m e his brother, father and grandfather had all attended the s c hool and had all been c aptain of hous e, and that his father hoped he would follow in their foots teps . He was a s ad, s hy and s erious boy who inform ed m e that he was not m uc h good at s ports , not partic ularly bright and that he preferred reading. T here was little c hanc e of him m aintaining the fam ily tradition. 'Dad keeps on telling m e that I ought to m ake m ore of an effort,' he told m e. I s aw in his eyes the dis tres s of a c hild who felt him s elf to be a dis appointm ent to his father. I was rem inded on that oc c as ion of the film , Dead P oets ' S oc iety , where Robin W illiam s played the c haris m atic E nglis h teac her who ins pired the s tudent who had as pirations to be an ac tor. T he boy, des perate for his am bitious father's approval that was not forthc om ing, and to follow a dream that was never to be, in the end took his own life. T he headm is tres s of a s uc c es s ful girls ' independent s c hool related to m e the s tory of a pros pec tive pupil who c am e, ac c om panied by her S vengali of a parent, for the interview prior to being ac c epted. 'S o, what are your interes ts ?' as ked the headm is tres s . T he c hild delivered her prepared addres s without faltering. S he enjoyed reading (her favourite novelis t being J ane A us ten), playing the piano ('S he has Grade Five,' added the m other), s wim m ing ('S he's won c ups ,' added the m other), was in the Guides ('A nd has num erous badges ,' added the m other) and did ballet ('S he took a lead part in this year's pantom im e at the Civic T heatre,' added the m other). T he c hild c ontinued to s ay that s he liked theatre and enjoyed writing s tories . 'A nd what televis ion program m es do you like?' as ked the headm is tres s . 'Doc um entaries ,' s aid the c hild. S he then looked in her m other's direc tion before as king, 'A nd what els e do I like?' 'I'm a big fan of P op Idol,' s aid the headm is tres s . 'W ho do you think will win?' T he c hild s uddenly bec am e anim ated. 'Oh, Gareth is m y favourite, m uc h better than W ill.' T his headm is tres s leads and m anages a firs t-rate s c hool. Her prim e aim is to provide a c heerful, welc om ing, happy and optim is tic environm ent, where the pupils feel s ec ure and valued and where eac h one is helped to realis e her potential. T here is no undue pres s ure, no obs es s ion with league tables and targets , jus t good quality teac hing, effec tive s upport, plenty of enc ouragem ent and high expec tations . S om etim es , s he told m e, c hildren develop later than others ; the s eeds take a little while before they bec om e es tablis hed and the s hoots appear, but, with c areful and s ens itive nurturing, the flowers eventually blos s om . S he was not, s he told m e, in the bus ines s of produc ing 'hot-hous e plants '. Dr Levine m akes the very s am e point when s he writes that: 'W e would do well to rem em ber late bloom ers like A lbert E ins tein and J ohn S teinbec k. S om etim es a nudge is helpful, a s hove rarely is .' S o let us allow our c hildren to enjoy their c hildhood, a c hildhood joyous and c arefree, where they are reared in a loving and s upportive environm ent by parents who enc ourage their efforts and c elebrate their s uc c es s es , but who will always be there with a helping hand if they s hould s tum ble, and a reas s uranc e that it is not the end of the world to s om etim es fail. Las t week, I read in the paper about the m other of the tennis s upers tar, A ndy Murray, who has beaten Roger Federer, the world num ber one, in s traight s ets . On her webs ite, s he advis es am bitious parents that their offs pring's bes t c hanc e of s uc c es s is not to heap exc es s ive pres s ure upon them . S he, of all people, s hould know. The S imple P leas ures of Life

W e had s everal wonderful fam ily holidays when our c hildren were very young. On one m em orable holiday in Ireland, the three little boys and m ys elf would s pend m any a happy hour walking down the beac h, c ollec ting pebbles , bits of c oloured glas s s m oothed and polis hed by the s ea, s hells like tiny pink fingernails and little piec es of red c oral. W e would s it on the end of a jetty on a des erted s tretc h of s hore, fis hing for c rabs . E ac h of the boys would be equipped with a piec e of s tring, s om e s trips of bac on rind and a buc ket, and they would c om pete to s ee whic h of them c ould c atc h the m os t c rabs . Gently, gently, they would pull in the s tring with the c rus tac ean c linging on, determ inedly. One m orning we were joined by two youths . 'W hat are yous doing?' one as ked. I explained we were fis hing for c rabs . He peered into the buc kets and looked bem us ed. 'W hy, s ure you c an't be eatin' thos e! ' 'W e're not going to eat them ,' I told him . 'W e're jus t c atc hing c rabs for the fun of it. T hen we throw them bac k. Have you never fis hed for c rabs when you were young?' 'Never,' he replied. 'W ould you like a go?' I as ked. 'S ure, I would,' he replied. 'Could I have a go too?' as ked the other young m an. Half an hour later, they were well into the c om petition until, with fading light, we c alled it a day. T he following afternoon the two youths appeared again, as m y s ons and I were attem pting to s tem the onc om ing tide from des troying our s andc as tle. W e had built a barric ade, whic h c ontinued to be breac hed, and we s hovelled s and frantic ally to try and hold bac k the s ea. T he two young m en joined us in our endeavours and then, when our futile attem pts failed, we all watc hed as the great oc ean devoured our s andy fortres s . 'S ure, that was great c raik,' s aid one of the youths . T hey s hook m y hand, thanked m e and waved goodbye. 'Y ou don't want to be enc ouraging thos e two,' the landlady told m e later. S he had obs erved us from the window of the boarding hous e. 'T hey're always in trouble. Real tearaways they are. A lways up to no good.' Res earc h s ays that m any youngs ters thes e days s pend up to thirty hours a week ins ide the hous e in front of a s c reen, watc hing televis ion or playing gam es on the c om puter. Many, it is s aid, have televis ion s ets and DV D players in their bedroom s , and s pend an inc reas ing am ount of tim e texting their friends . T hey are bought m ore and m ore expens ive and s ophis tic ated toys and gadgets , and have little experienc e of the s im ple pleas ures enjoyed by youngs ters of the pas t. How m any thes e days , one wonders , go fis hing for s tic klebac ks and m innows , c ollec t frogs pawn, build dens , play football on a piec e of was te ground, c yc le into the c ountry, vis it the s wim m ing baths , c atc h a bus into town, run errands , play m arbles , c om pete at c onkers and pic k blac kberries ? P erhaps I am turning into a grum py old m an and it has been ever thus that the older generation looks bac k, through ros e-tinted s pec tac les , to a halc yon tim e when life for the young was les s c om plic ated and m ore enjoyable. Certainly, bac k in 1824, the great philos opher, J J Rous s eau, writing in E mile: Or Treatis e on E duc ation, had a deal to s ay about the s im ple pleas ures of life whic h s eem ed, even in his age, to have s adly dis appeared: W e no longer know how to be s im ple in anything, not even in our dealings with c hildren. Gold or s ilver bells , c oral, elaborate c rys tals , toys of all kinds and pric es - what us eles s and pernic ious furniture! Nothing of all this . No bells , no toys . Little branc hes with their fruits and flowers , a poppy-head on whic h the s eeds are heard to rattle, a s tic k of liquoric e whic h he c an s uc k and c hew, will am us e him jus t as m uc h as thes e gorgeous trinkets and will not have the dis advantage of ac c us tom ing him to luxury from the day of his birth. Do Y ou S peak Frenc h?

A nother of our holidays was a c am ping trip to Franc e. E ac h year I would drive down to the s outh c oas t in the early m orning, and we would take the ferry to S t Malo. T hen I drove to the c am ps ite at La T ranc he, in the V endee, where a friendly c ourier from E uroc am p would be there to greet us and s how us to our tent. T here was always a get-together on the firs t evening, when the c ourier introduc ed all the happy c am pers to eac h other, des c ribed the fac ilities on offer and took us through a few golden rules . My wife and I were both teac hers at the tim e, but never revealed this . I did onc e, and then I had to lis ten to a diatribe from one red-fac ed parent in khaki s horts , about his s on's failing s c hool, s ym pathis e with another whos e daughter was dys lexic and try and give s om e advic e to a m other whos e s on was being bullied by his c las s m ates . A fter this experienc e, I told people I was a s ys tem s analys t with B ritis h Fuels and thankfully was left alone. One s um m er, our tent was s andwic hed between a m is erable know-it-all and his ever-c om plaining wife on one s ide, and a very pleas ant and good-hum oured c ouple and their teenage daughter on the other. T he girl, Melanie, a very c apable and artic ulate young wom an, was only too happy to baby-s it for us on a few evenings , and we got to know her quite well. One m orning, Melanie rus hed over to our tent, beam ing widely. 'I've jus t got m y GCS E res ults ,' s he told us , exc itedly. 'I c an't believe it. I've got five A s , three B s and an A s tar in Frenc h.' 'Congratulations ! ' I s aid. 'V ery well done. T hat's brilliant.' W hen the girl had gone, the m is erable know-it-all in the next tent, who had been eaves dropping, s hared with m e his c ons idered opinion. 'Hardly brilliant,' he c om m ented. 'E xam s thes e days aren't anywhere near as hard as they were in the pas t. A m onkey c ould pas s s om e of them .' 'Oh,' I s aid, 'you work in educ ation, do you?' 'No,' he replied. 'Y ou m ark exam ination papers then?' 'No, I fit double glazing,' he told m e. 'I'm jus t s aying that s tandards in s c hool have dec lined and that the exam s are eas ier. K ids thes e days don't know half as m uc h as what we did at s c hool.' T he following day I c am e ac ros s the 'educ ational expert' in the s uperm arket. 'Do you s peak the lingo?' he as ked m e.

'P ardon?' 'Frenc h. Do you s peak Frenc h?' 'A little,' I replied. 'W ell, the wife wants to know the nam e of this c hees e we've been eating. S he wants to s ee if they have it bac k hom e. Can you c om e and as k the fellow at the c harc uterie what it's c alled?' I ac c om panied him to the c ounter to find 'the wife' was pointing and nodding and m outhing s om ething volubly, in a s ort of pigeon E nglis h. 'May I help?' I as ked. 'No, thank you,' s he s aid, 'I c an m anage.' 'If you would like m e to as k--' I s tarted. 'No, thank you,' s he interrupted s harply. 'I s aid I c an m anage.' A t the c hec kout the c ouple were ahead of m e. 'Did you dis c over what s ort of c hees e it was ?' I as ked. 'Oh yes ,' s aid the m an, holding up a large wedge in greas eproof paper. 'T he wife's going to as k for it bac k hom e at S ains bury's . It's c alled fromage.' 'A c tually I think it's c alled Roquefort,' I ventured. T he wom an gave m e a s ort of s ym pathetic s m ile. 'I'm s ure the m an on the c hees e c ounter knows a little bit m ore about c hees e than you do,' s he told m e. B on A ppetit!

On another Frenc h holiday, m y wife took the three little boys and m e on a nos talgic journey. A s part of her training as a m odern language teac her, Chris tine s pent a year as an as s is tante in the beautiful Frenc h town of A rc ac hon on the River Garonne, fam ous for the P y la Dunes , the highes t s and dunes in E urope. One evening, m y wife, keen to introduc e our c hildren to Frenc h c uis ine, took us to a res taurant s he had frequented when a s tudent, and ordered a typic ally Frenc h m eal. W hen I s aw the plate of oys ters , langous tines , lapin en as pic , es c argots , c uis s es de grenouilles , biftec k s aignant, moules marinieres and c alamar, I rec alled m y firs t vis it to a Frenc h res taurant as a boy of fifteen, with m y m other and her friend. It was a s m art res taurant in Montm artre, a s um ptuous plac e with white tablec loths , s hining s ilver c utlery and great glittering c handeliers . A rather arrogant waiter, attired in a blac k apron whic h very nearly touc hed the ground, pres ented us with the m enus - huge, s quare, fanc y-looking folders with all the dis hes written ins ide in Frenc h. None of us c ould s peak a word of the language and we s tared for an inordinate am ount of tim e until m y m other's friend, taking the initiative, c alled the waiter over, and, pointing to the s et m enu, plac ed the order. T he waiter returned to the table s om e tim e later c arrying a bowl of c ut lem ons in s m all glas s dis hes , a large bottle c ontaining a liquid whic h looked a lot like vinegar and a huge plate of oys ters , open and s parkling in the bright lights , and res ting on a bed of brown s hiny s eaweed. T hen the s nails arrived, on a s pec ial c hina plate with s m all hollows to ac c om m odate the little s helled c reatures . I s tared in horror as the waiter plac ed the s m all fork before m e, to enable m e to extrac t the garlic ky-s m elling gas tropods , and s aid, s m irking, 'B on A ppetit!'

W e were c autious eaters in our hous e bac k in Rotherham , and tended to look with great s us pic ion upon the rare oc c as ions when we were fac ed with food with whic h we were unfam iliar. W e never ate s paghetti (unles s from a tin and s oaked in tom ato s auc e), any c hees e (other than Cheddar); we never touc hed garlic , m ayonnais e (we ate s alad c ream from a bottle), veal, s hrim ps , yoghurt, noodles , brown bread, s weet potatoes , pate, any s pic es other than s alt and pepper or anything els e deem ed 'foreign'. Fis h was invariably c od, and c am e perfec tly rec tangular in s hape and s m othered in bright orange breadc rum bs . W hen the fis h arrived that evening - head, s kin, tail, fins , eyes and all - I los t m y appetite. T he third c ours e - c ubes of white m eat s us pended in a pale yellow jelly - m ade m e feel s ic k. S om e s ay that m em ories , even the m os t prec ious ones , fade s urpris ingly quic kly with tim e. W ell, the rec ollec tion of m y m other's fac e, when s he s aw the oys ters , the s nails and the fis h with the popping eyes , will never fade. Her m outh dropped open. T he three of us m us t have appeared a c om ic al trio as we s at upright and m otionles s , s taring at the untouc hed food with expres s ions of dis tas te. My m other c alled for the bill, whic h s he paid hurriedly, and we left, I am s ure, m uc h to the am us em ent of the waiter and the other diners . T he whole m eal rem ained untouc hed. In the res taurant in A rc ac hon, m y three s ons s urveyed the repas t before them with eyes like c hapel hat pegs . Chris tine explained that the m eal c om pris ed of rabbit in jelly, s nails , frogs ' legs , s teak, m us s els and oc topus . Ric hard and Matthew pulled fac es and, reac hing for the baguettes , announc ed they would s ettle for the bread. Dom inic , the younges t, lic ked his lips and tuc ked in with gus to. He tried everything, m uc h to the dis gus t of his brothers and the am us em ent of the waiter and the other diners . Henc eforth, he bec am e known as Dom inique, la poubelle, an appellation he delights in to this day. P arents ' E v ening

J us t before m y firs t c hild, Ric hard, s tarted s c hool, I c om pleted a three-year res earc h degree in reading developm ent and put m y findings into a book. I was als o appointed as a s c hool ins pec tor. T he day before the firs t parents ' c ons ultation evening, m y wife Chris tine gave m e a s tern warning. 'A nd don't go telling Ric hard's teac her what you do. S he's only in her firs t year and will be nervous enough without you telling her you're a s c hool ins pec tor and putting the fear of God in her.' 'I won't,' I replied. 'A nd don't go on and on about all that res earc h on reading you've been doing.' 'I won't,' I s aid again. Mis s S m ith, m y young s on's teac her, s m iled warm ly when we s at down in front of her. If s he was nervous s he c ertainly was not s howing it. 'Ric hard is doing very nic ely,' s he s aid c onfidently, s c anning her m ark book. 'He's a well-behaved c hild and has s ettled in well.' B efore we c ould reply, s he c ontinued: 'Now, reading is perhaps the m os t im portant s kill he needs to learn in thes e early years .' My wife gave m e a s ideways glanc e. I s m iled s m ugly but rem ained s ilent. Mis s S m ith c ontinued enthus ias tic ally. 'It is fundam ental to learning and we m us t work together, not only to get Ric hard to read c learly and fluently, but als o to help him bec om e a lifelong reader.' T his young wom an was very im pres s ive, I thought. S he c ontinued: 'S o let m e explain about early reading developm ent and the reading s c hem e we are us ing, and give you a little advic e on how you, as Ric hard's parents and m os t im portant teac hers , c an help him at hom e.' I s aid nothing but felt m y wife tapping m y foot under the table. A fter five m inutes lis tening to Mis s S m ith, Chris tine, a form er infant teac her hers elf, felt s he ought to s ay s om ething. 'A c tually, Mis s S m ith, m y hus band and I know a little about reading developm ent and the various s c hem es ,' s he s aid am iably. Mis s S m ith s m iled a s ym pathetic s m ile, the s ort of res igned expres s ion of a teac her res ponding to a c hild's willing but inc orrec t ans wer. 'A lot of parents think they do, Mrs P hinn, but they often get the wrong end of the s tic k.' S o we s at it out. Next m orning, Mis s S m ith told Ric hard how s he had enjoyed her c onvers ation with his daddy and m um m y, and as ked what they did for a living. 'Daddy goes out in the m orning with a big blac k bag and c om es in late with his big blac k bag.' I m us t have s ounded like J ac k the Ripper. 'A h,' s ighed the teac her, 'your daddy is a doc tor?' Like all infants , Ric hard was bluntly hones t. 'Oh no, m y daddy's a s c hool ins pec tor who has jus t written a book about reading, and m y m um m y us ed to teac h infants - jus t like you.' T hat afternoon, Ric hard c am e hom e with a brown envelope addres s ed to Ric hard's parents . Ins ide, on a s heet of c oloured paper, four words were printed in bold lettering: 'Ha, ha, bloody, ha! ' S omething on M y P late

T here is s om ething about auc tions that brings out the wors t in people. I s uppos e it's the fierc ely c om petitive nature of the bus ines s : people bidding in public agains t eac h other for a des ired objec t, s om etim es going way over the value of the item , jus t s o they c an have the s atis fac tion of having done the other pers on down. B ut I have to adm it I do love auc tions . Many a S unday m orning I have s pent at the loc al auc tion room with the bes t of the bargain hunters , rooting through c ardboard boxes c ram m ed with c rac ked plates and c hipped jugs , garis h glas s ware and old bottles , pot lids and c os tum e jewellery, and flic king through dus ty tom es and s tam p album s , folders of c arefully m ounted c igarette c ards and old photographs . Like all the other bidders , I hope to c om e ac ros s an undis c overed and pric eles s Canaletto or an unrec ognis ed piec e of unique Claric e Cliff pottery. B efore we were m arried, Chris tine c ollec ted W illow P attern plates . W hen we were c ourting, I thought I would s urpris e her on her birthday with a fine s pec im en I had s een dis played in the auc tion hous e window. Unfortunately, on the day of the s ale, the auc tioneer rattled through the lots like a Gatling gun and, by ac c ident, I bought another plate. It was without doubt the uglies t piec e of pottery I had ever s et m y eyes upon. It was a large plate depic ting three s tiff Chines e figures walking ac ros s a c rudely painted bridge. T he pic ture looked like one exec uted by a s m all c hild. W ors t of all, there was a long hairline c rac k right ac ros s the c entre. Chris tine was aghas t when s he s aw it and even m ore aghas t when I told her how m uc h I had paid for it. 'It's horrendous ! ' s he c ried. 'I wouldn't eat m y fis h and c hips off it.' T he plate was c ons igned to the bac k of the c upboard, where it s tayed for m any years . It s aw the light of day one afternoon when Chris tine dec ided to attend a s oc ial event at our c hildren's s c hool. T he head teac her had prevailed upon another parent, a loc al antique dealer, to talk about and value s m all item s brought in by the parents and teac hers . Chris tine took in a very old and delic ately c arved J apanes e ivory figure, given to her by a great aunt, and a delic ate and beautifully hand-painted porc elain bowl, a P hinn heirloom , given to her by m y m other. A fter s om e c oaxing, I pers uaded her to take in the plate. T he antique dealer exam ined the objec ts dis played on the tables before him with a world-weary expres s ion. His c om m ents were c urs ory and deeply dis appointing for the owners of the objec ts : 'dam aged', 'of little real value', 'c heap c opy', 'poor quality', 'rather ugly'. He was not im pres s ed with the J apanes e figure. 'It's bone,' he s aid, plac ing the J apanes e ivory figure to his c heek. 'It's a way of telling ivory from c heap objec ts like this ,' he explained. T he beautiful hand-painted porc elain bowl, he inform ed her, was m as s -produc ed and of little interes t or value. T hen he s pied the plate and went weak at the knees . 'I c ould s woon! ' he gas ped, s troking the rough textured pottery. 'It's m agnific ent! T his is Delft, c irc a 1680, an extrem ely rare exam ple of Lowes toft ware.' He pleaded with Chris tine to s ell it to him . My wife politely dec lined and, on returning hom e, told m e of the plate's provenanc e as s he plac ed it in pride of plac e on the dres s er. 'S hall I fetc h s om e fis h and c hips ?' I as ked her. Los ing Y our M arbles

I was in the Cas ualty Departm ent at Donc as ter Royal Infirm ary again rec ently. Chris tine, while s nipping bits off the V irginia Creeper whic h c overs the front our hous e, s nipped off a bit of her finger. S he was reluc tant to let m e ac c om pany her to the hos pital after the las t tim e, when s he fell off a ladder and broke an ankle while pruning the ros es . A s s he hobbled in to s ee the doc tor a nos y patient had enquired: 'W hat's wrong with her then?' I replied, in hus hed tones , that it is always unwis e to drink too m uc h when line danc ing. On the way hom e, I had to explain to m y wife why s he had rec eived s o m any s trange looks when s he em erged from the exam ination room . Over the years , I've been a regular vis itor to Cas ualty. W ith four lively c hildren, and a wife who enjoys c lim bing and balanc ing, pruning and digging, I gues s it is not s urpris ing that I have been s om ething of a fixture at the DRI. Dom inic was partic ularly prone to ac c idents as a c hild: popc orn up nos e, wax c rayon in ear, as s orted broken bones , s tubbed toe, trapped finger, s plinter down nail, c rac ked head, grit in eye. He was a walking pathologic al dic tionary. One Monday evening, I was all dres s ed up in dinner jac ket, bow tie and fanc y s hirt, about to s et off to s peak at an after-dinner event, when young Dom inic , aged eight at the tim e, flew down the s tairs to kis s m e goodbye. He tripped, hit a s harp c orner of the bannis ter and s plit open his forehead. I have never s een s uc h blood. Chris tine drove to hos pital with m e c radling our dis tres s ed c hild on the bac k s eat, a flannel pres s ed to his head. My wife parked the c ar as I rus hed through the door of Cas ualty with Dom inic , the front of m y dres s s hirt liberally s pattered with blood. T here were audible 'A aahs ' and 'Ohhhs ' and 'Good Gods ' and 'B loody hells ' from the waiting patients as they c aught s ight of m e, looking like s om e guns hot vic tim out of a J am es B ond film . I was grabbed by a nurs e and pus hed towards a trolley. 'It's not m y dad! ' s houted Dom inic . 'It's m e.' T hen he rem oved the flannel and announc ed, 'It's s topped now.' A c ouple of s titc hes later, Dom inic c lim bed into the c ar and as ked, with a great s m ile, if we c ould go bowling. T he following Friday, Dom inic c am e in from the garden. 'I've s wallowed a m arble,' he told m e glum ly. 'How did you m anage to do that?' I as ked 'I jus t popped it in m y m outh,' he explained. 'I was pretending it was a s weet.' B ac k at Cas ualty, the rec eptionis t rem arked, as s he s igned us in, 'Y ou know, I've never c om e ac ros s the s pelling of P hinn like this before but this week we had another pers on with that nam e in Cas ualty.' I didn't enlighten her. It was the s am e doc tor who had s titc hed Dom inic 's head. 'Y ou're keeping m e bus y, young m an,' he told m y s on. 'Don't look s o worried. Y ou'll get your m arble bac k. W hat goes in one way us ually c om es out the other. It's a m atter of waiting. A s k your dad to buy you s om e prunes .' T he following m orning, Dom inic proc laim ed he was ready to perform . Chris tine and I kept vigil outs ide the bathroom door. 'A nything?' I as ked. A m om ent later, there was a c lunk and a c ry. 'Dad, Dad! I've got m y m arble bac k.' Trus t M e, I'm a Doc tor

Half way through her finals at Leeds Univers ity, m y daughter E lizabeth was rus hed to hos pital with a s us pec ted ruptured appendix. It was a worrying tim e but s he c am e through it with flying c olours . S he had the operation and, when I phoned through to the hos pital, s he s ounded as lively and c heerful as ever and s aid the doc tors and nurs es were s plendid. S he s hared a s m all ward with two other wom en, both of whom were rec overing from their operations . T he elderly wom an in the next bed, E lizabeth told m e, was c hatty and am us ing and never c om plained; the wom an oppos ite c ould not have been m ore different. For her, the tea was too weak, the food too c old, the doc tors too young and inexperienc ed and the nurs es not very helpful and too bus y to be bothered. S he delighted in c om plaint. It was no wonder, Lizzie told m e, that her vis itors c urtailed their vis its . B y c hanc e, I was to give a lec ture to the pos t-graduate educ ation s tudents at Leeds Univers ity the day following m y daughter's operation, s o I c ould give m y talk and then walk the s hort dis tanc e to the hos pital to vis it. My lec ture was in the m orning and vis iting hours in the afternoon, but the very ac c om m odating ward s is ter s aid I c ould c all in during the m orning before the doc tor m ade her rounds . I duly arrived at the s m all ward s traight from the lec ture, c arrying m y notes on a c lipboard. I was dres s ed form ally in grey s uit, m aroon wais tc oat with m y father's watc h c hain dangling ac ros s m y s tom ac h, white s hirt and c ollege tie, and s porting a pair of half-m oon, gold-rim m ed s pec tac les . I gues s I looked every inc h the s pec ialis t as I entered the ward. T he univers ity had produc ed a large lapel badge for m e on whic h the nam e DR GE RV A S E P HINN was em blazoned in bold blac k c apitals , and whic h I s till wore. Cons c ious of the eagle eyes and the finely tuned hearing of the wom an oppos ite E lizabeth, I pulled the s c reens half around m y daughter's bed for s om e privac y, and s pent a good ten m inutes in c onvers ation. I then kis s ed her goodbye, rem oved the s c reens and, on m y way out, exc hanged a few words with the elderly wom an in the next bed. 'A nd how are you feeling?' I as ked her. 'Mus tn't grum ble,' s he replied. 'A replac em ent hip, I hear,' I s aid. 'Is it very painful?' 'Oh not that bad,' s he s aid, and then added pointedly for the eaves dropper oppos ite, 'and everyone here has been wonderful.' 'Y ou'll be bac k line danc ing before you know it,' I told her. A s I headed for the door, the wom an in the oppos ite bed c alled after m e. 'E xc us e m e. Can I have a word?' 'Y es , of c ours e,' I replied, approac hing her. 'I've not s een anyone this m orning.' S he purs ed her lips as if s uc king a lem on. 'P ardon?' 'I s aid I've not been s een by anyone, Doc tor.' S he had obvious ly c aught s ight of the badge. 'T he young wom an in the c orner bed has s een two nurs es and a doc tor already today and the wom an next to her s aw her s pec ialis t this m orning. I've not been s een.' 'I'm s orry about that,' I s aid. 'A re they private patients ?' s he as ked. 'B ec aus e if they are, it's preferential treatm ent.' B efore I c ould enlighten her as to m y pos ition in the world, s he c ontinued: 'I m ight as well be invis ible, Doc tor, for all the attention I get.' 'A re you not feeling too well?' I enquired s olic itous ly. 'No, not really.' 'A re you eating?'

'Y es , but the food in here's not good,' s he c om plained. 'A nd are you regular?' I as ked m is c hievous ly. 'Y es , I'm all right in that departm ent.' 'W ell, I'm very glad to hear it,' I s aid, s m iling warm ly. I turned to go. 'Is that it?' s he dem anded. 'I beg your pardon?' 'A ren't you going to exam ine m e?' s he as ked s harply. 'No, I'm afraid not.' 'W ell, you are a doc tor, aren't you?' s he as ked. 'Y es indeed,' I replied, 'but I'm a doc tor of letters , not of m edic ine. Good m orning.' I left an ac utely em barras s ed daughter, a c huc kling elderly patient with a replac ed hip and the wom an in ques tion open-m outhed and, for onc e in her life, los t for words . A P res ent for Chris tmas

'B ah! Hum bug! ' exc laim ed Dom inic , when I inform ed him that I would not want any pres ents on a rec ent Chris tm as . It is not that I am a Chris tm as killjoy; I love the fes tive s eas on and m os t of the things it brings with it, but I hones tly do not need any pres ents . 'B uy a c ow for A fric a,' I told m y s on, 'or m ake a donation to the donkey s anc tuary.' Y ou s ee, I have all I need. I want for nothing. I c ertainly do not require any m ore s oc ks or s c arves , s hirts or c ardigans , ties or underpants . I prefer to buy s uc h item s m ys elf and do s o in the J anuary s ales when everything is half the pric e. Invariably, any Chris tm as offerings of this kind whic h I rec eive end up in an Oxfam s hop in the New Y ear. A t one tim e, I did like to rec eive a bottle of s ingle m alt for Chris tm as but m y daughter put a s top to that. E lizabeth is a res earc h ps yc hologis t at Newc as tle Univers ity, looking into effec ts of alc ohol on intelligenc e. S he us ed to talk to her father but now s he tends to obs erve m e as if I am a c as e s tudy. A week after her taking up the pos t I found bottles of wine had m ys terious ly dis appeared. Lizzie watc hes m e eagle-eyed if I s o m uc h as look in the direc tion of a dec anter. I only buy one Chris tm as pres ent - for m y wife. T he c hildren are quite c ontent with c heques . E ac h year, I as k Chris tine what s he would like. E ac h year, it is the s am e res pons e: 'S urpris e m e.' I onc e c ons idered jum ping out from behind the Chris tm as tree, wearing only a fake leopards kin thong and with 'LOV E ' and 'HAT E ' tattooed on m y knuc kles . T hat would have s urpris ed her and no m is take. In the pas t, Chris tine has rec eived bags s he never us es , CDs s he never plays , c hoc olates s he never c ons um es and jewellery s he never wears . S he is very grac ious on opening the pres ents , and dec lares with great enthus ias m that the gift is lovely and one s he really wanted. T hen it is returned to the box and does n't s ee the light of day again. One year, I did s urpris e her - and every m em ber of the as s em bled fam ily as well. A c olleague in the offic e at Harrogate enquired what I had bought for m y wife that Chris tm as . 'A very nic e rope of pearls ,' I inform ed him 'P earls ! ' he s norted. 'P earls ! T hat's what old wom en wear.' T hen the expert on the ps yc hology of wom en inform ed m e that: 'W hen wom en get older they s till want to feel attrac tive and des irable. You need to get her a bottle of expens ive perfum e, an em erald ring, an outrageous bouquet of winter ros es or a s exy negligee.' I was prevailed upon to ac c om pany this c olleague to an exc lus ive ladies ' s hop in Harrogate, and to buy s om e s kim py red s ilk underwear. On Chris tm as m orning, with all the fam ily gathered in the lounge, Chris tine opened her pres ent and held up the c ontents . It was as if s he had been poked with a c attle prod. Our four c hildren turned the c olour of the underwear. My s ainted m other, s itting in the arm c hair by the fire, s hook her head, s ighed wearily and told m y wife: 'P ut them away, Chris tine. His father went through that s tage.' T his year I s ettled for a flat-s c reen televis ion s et. B ac k w ard Reader

I was onc e as ked, by a large educ ational s upplier, to c om pile a book c atalogue for s c hools , to rec om m end a wide range of reading m aterial for teac hers to us e with infants . I was to write a s hort paragraph on eac h text. Over s ix m onths , I had the m os t wonderful tim e, reading m ore than 500 pic ture books and early readers . During the s um m er, while m y wife Chris tine took Maeve B inc hy and S ebas tian Faulks , Dic k Franc is and Deric Longden on holiday to Majorc a with her to read, I pac ked fifty or s o large, bright pic ture books . I would get up early - s o early that I was always the firs t to the s un beds - take a glas s of orange with m e and relax around the hotel pool before anyone els e had s tirred, reviewing the early readers . E ac h m orning J os e, the pool c leaner, would pas s m e as I read S tories for the V ery Y oung or E arly Nurs ery Rhy mes , and greet m e with 'Ola! ' to whic h I would reply 'Ola.' He was not at all interes ted in m y reading m atter. A t about s even-thirty, a large, bleary-eyed individual in a white towelling dres s ing gown would flip-flop pas t m e and res erve the four s un beds next to m ine with towels , m agazines , paras ols , s un-tan lotions , c old c ream s , lilos and an inflatable dinghy, and then he would dis appear until a c ouple of hours later, when he would re-em erge with his wife, his s ullen-fac ed daughter, let's c all her T rac ey-J o, and a large, aggres s ive-looking s on, who we'll c all Duane. T here was the whole of the pools ide to c hoos e from but he pic ked the s pot next to m e. He would rec line there for the day, gradually taking on the c olour of a boiled lobs ter. On the fifth day, he s poke to m e. I was at that tim e reading a delightful book all parents of young c hildren s hould read. T he c over depic ts a large happy rabbit bounc ing ac ros s the page and has the title Read to y our B unny . ''A ppen you'll get onto t'big books one day, then,' he s aid, grinning inanely. 'I'm s orry?' I s aid, looking up. He ges tured at the pic ture book with a fles hy hand. 'I s aid, 'appen you'll get onto t'big books one day.' 'I have problem s with m y reading,' I inform ed him s erious ly. T he s m ile dis appeared and was replac ed by an expres s ion of s om e dis c om fort. 'Oh, I s ee,' he s aid. Clearly em barras s ed, he ros e from the s un bed and flip-flopped off to have a s wim . 'I don't know why you do that,' s aid Chris tine, looking up from her novel and s haking her head. 'P eople will s tart believing you.' 'W ell, if I had got problem s with m y reading,' I replied, 'the las t thing I would want would be to hear that s ort of c om m ent.' Later that m orning, Duane approac hed. He was a large young m an em bellis hed with various s ilver s tuds and rings . He c lutc hed a pint of lager, whic h he then plac ed in front of m e. 'Mi dad's s ent this ,' he s aid, artic ulating every word. I felt awful. 'He s ays he's s orry for what he s aid.' I felt wors e. Chris tine s ighed and tut-tutted. T hen the lad turned to m y wife, adding in a theatric al whis per of a voic e and nodding in m y direc tion: 'Mi dad didn't know he was bac kward.' A Message for Mums and Dads Teac h m e c om pas s ion. Help to keep an open m ind and res pec t the views of others . E xpec t a lot of m e. Allow m e s om e s pac e. Don't tell m e m y dream s are wild and m y fears are foolis h. Offer advic e now and again, but pleas e don't nag. Lis ten to what I have to s ay. E nc ourage m e and pleas e don't c ritic is e m e in front of others . S upport m e and realis e that - onc e in a while - I c an be diffic ult. Cope with m y m oods and try to be a bit m ore patient. E njoy m y s uc c es s es but pleas e don't be dis appointed in m y s hortc om ings . Never m ake prom is es you c an never keep. Take no notic e when I s ay hurtful things , I don't m ean them .

'God's Own Country'

Y ork s hire

Dis c ov ering Y ork s hire

Young people thes e days are m uc h m ore widely travelled than was the c as e in the pas t. T hey s ee m uc h m ore of the c ountry than I did when I was young, and m any have had a S panis h holiday or vis ited the Dis ney them e parks in P aris or Florida. Growing up in Rotherham in the 1950s , the c hild of parents with m odes t inc om es , I s aw little of the c ountry outs ide S outh Y orks hire, and m y firs t trip abroad was to P aris for a weekend when I was fifteen. Mos t s um m ers , when the s teelworks had 's hut-down week', the fam ily had a fortnight in B lac kpool. A part from Chris tm as , the holiday fortnight held the greates t thrill for m e. Mos t fam ilies like m ine had neither the m oney nor the opportunity to travel and s ee the world, and therefore s pent the holidays at one of B ritain's s eas ide res orts . Rotherham is about as far as you c an get from the s ea s o, apart from the day trips to S c arborough, Filey and B ridlington and the s c hool trips to the Is le of Man, I s aw little of the c oas t. T here was , therefore, an extraordinary feeling of exc item ent and antic ipation when the s um m er holiday c am e around. It was only when I was in the s ixth form , s tudying for m y 'A ' levels , that I dis c overed North Yorks hire, where I was later to s pend m uc h of m y working life as a s c hool ins pec tor. On the field s tudy trips , organis ed by m y geography m as ter, the inim itable J A lan Taylor, I c am e ac ros s the Yorks hire Dales and the North Y ork Moors for the firs t tim e, and the experienc e was unforgettable. One m em orable field trip was to Malham Cove. W e had read about 'c lints ' and 'grykes ', lim es tone pavem ents and c averns , potholes and s ubterranean rivers in our phys ic al geography text-book, but I was not prepared for what I was to s ee. W e approac hed by a footpath from the s outh, and this im m ens e bows haped c ove c am e into view like s om e great walled c athedral. It was breathtaking. I had never s een anything quite as bleak and rugged. Mr Taylor had us s tand beneath the towering c ove and not s ay anything at all - jus t take it in for a m om ent. T hen he explained that it was form ed m illions of years ago, when the earth's c rus t c rac ked, frac turing the roc k s o that it dropped vertic ally. 'It's over two hundred feet high,' he told us , 'a thous and feet wide and, onc e, a c ras hing waterfall c as c aded over the vertic al c liff, c reating a fall higher than the Niagara Falls . Now, c an your s m all m inds take that in?' A nother tim e, we s tayed in a youth hos tel s et in the North York Moors . T his part of E ngland, a s ilent, bleak world with its great trac ts of heather and brac ken, fas c inated m e. W e explored the inc redible lands c ape, vis ited great abbeys like B yland and Rievaulx, ate our s andwic hes in the s hadow of lofty c as tles at Helm s ley and P ic kering, and s at in the s uns hine outs ide loc al inns , in villages untouc hed by m odern life. One weekend, Mr Taylor led us deep within the m oors towards the c oas t at Ravens c ar. T he journey followed the old V iking route known as the 'Lyke W ake'. Legend has it that the V ikings c arried the 'lyke' or c orps e ac ros s the forty boggy m iles to the s ea, where the body was given up to the waves . W ith the c om ing of Chris tianity, the prac tic e was c ontinued, but it took on a deeper m eaning and the walk c am e to s ym bolis e the journey of the s oul towards heaven. I had never s een s uc h m agnific ent s c enery in m y life. B eneath a s hining blue s ky, there s tretc hed a lands c ape of every c onc eivable c olour: brilliant greens , s wathes of red and yellow gors e, whic h blazed like a bonfire, dark hedgerows s pec kled in pinks and whites , twis ted blac k s tum ps , s triding walls and the grey s nake of the road c urling upwards to the hills in the far dis tanc e. Light, the c olour of m elted butter, danc ed am ongs t the new leaves of early s um m er. Now, as I reac h pens ionable age, and have vis ited m any parts of B ritain and a goodly num ber of foreign plac es over the years , it is the dales and the m oors of North Y orks hire whic h s till hold for m e an enduring fas c ination. A Language of its Ow n

W hen I s ent the m anus c ript of m y m em oir to m y London editor, s he returned it with s everal words ringed. S he had written in the m argins : 'W hat does this word m ean?' I as s um ed that everyone knew what 'm ardy' m eant, des pite the fac t that it does not feature in the c om puter thes aurus . It is s uc h an expres s ive word for that s ort of whining, s ulky, s poilt c hild ('with a fac e like a s m ac ked bottom ,' as m y grandm other would s ay) and was s o well us ed when I was a youngs ter that I as s um ed everyone knows and us es it. 'T he s ight of the s team train on its journey from S ettle to Carlis le, c lic kerty c lac king down the line,' I wrote, 'puthering s ulphurous s m oke and s m ut and s ounding the s hrieking whis tle rem inds m e of the heady c hildhood days .' Here was m y editor again with her penc il. 'P uthering?' T hen s he got to 'c rozzled' and 's prag' and 'wam m y'. Yorks hire dialec t is full of the m os t vivid and unus ual words , intriguing exam ples of how E nglis h c ontinues to be the m os t quirky language in the world. T hree c olourful exam ples are 's tridewallop', a term for a tall and awkward wom an, 's hot c lod', whic h des c ribes a drinking c om panion only tolerated bec aus e he pays for the drinks , and 'c ram bazzled', us ed to des c ribe s om eone who is prem aturely aged through drink and a dis s olute life. I had never c om e ac ros s the words 'fornale' (to s pend one's m oney before it has been earned), 'c agg' (a s olem n vow to abs tain from s trong liquor for a period of tim e) and 'petric hor' (the agreeable s m ell in the air after a rain s hower) until I m et the profes s or of linguis tic s who introduc ed m e at a c onferenc e. He had heard of all three, and m any m ore. He was a s elf c onfes s ed 'bowerbird' - s om eone who ac c um ulates an am azing c ollec tion of quite us eles s objec ts . W hen, as a s c hool ins pec tor, I vis ited Upper Nidderdale High S c hool for the firs t tim e, I s at with a young m an, looking through his work. It was wonderfully des c riptive and entertaining, but I s topped at a word he had us ed and I had never c om e ac ros s before. I as ked him what he m eant. A s light s m ile c am e to the boy's lips and his expres s ion took on that of the expert in the pres enc e of an ignoram us - a s ort of patient, s ym pathetic , tolerant look. He had written in his ac c ount that his father, a farm er, had arrived hom e on the Friday night, after a really tough week, thoroughly exhaus ted. He us ed another c olourful word for 'thoroughly exhaus ted' whic h I will not repeat, but I am s ure it is one with whic h you are fam iliar. However, the boy had written: 'My dad c am e in from the fields , flopped on the s ettee and s aid, "I'm fair riggwelted." ' He explained: 'It's a word whic h des c ribes a yow when s he's heavily pregnant, s o heavy you s ee, s he falls over on her bac k and jus t c an't m ove, s he's helples s . S tic ks her legs in the air and jus t c an't s hift. It's c alled "rigged", proper word is "riggwelted".' S om e weeks later, I was s peaking at the North of E ngland Conferenc e in Y ork. A Minis ter of E duc ation enquired of m e how the teac hers were c oping with the rec ent c hanges in the National Curric ulum . I s m iled and jus t c ould not res is t. 'T hey are feeling "fair riggwelted",' I replied. A fternoon Tea

A n A m eric an friend of m ine s tayed with m e for a c ouple of days over the s um m er. I m et B ill when I was lec turing in V anc ouver at an international educ ation c onferenc e, and invited him to s tay s hould he ever vis it thes e s hores , s tres s ing that the plac e to s ee in E ngland was not London but Y orks hire. B ill was en route from the c apital to a c onferenc e on c ontem porary E nglis h literature in Durham , s o broke his journey in God's own c ountry. He was very keen to s ee s om ething that was typic ally B ritis h, and had heard about the tradition of afternoon tea. T here was only one plac e to take him : B ettys Tea Room s in Harrogate. To s ay m y c olleague was im pres s ed by the interior was s om ething of an unders tatem ent. He s tood and s tared at the opulenc e of the s urroundings : light brown leather banquettes , burnis hed bras s handrails , elegant eas y c hairs and c arefully arranged c entrepiec es on eac h s parkling table. T he c afe was very bus y, but B ill es pied a c ouple of vac ant s eats . B efore I c ould s top him , he approac hed two elegant elderly ladies , let's c all them Myriam and J oyc e, taking afternoon tea in a quiet c orner. One was c ons idering the s elec tion of dainty finger s andwic hes and m iniature c akes dis played on the tiered s tand, the other pouring tea from a s ilver-plated pot into a Royal Doulton c hina teac up. 'May we join you?' as ked B ill, am iably. T he wom en gave him looks that would c urdle m ilk. 'Certainly not! ' they s napped in unis on. 'One has one's own table at B ettys ,' the m ore form idable of the two inform ed him , fros tily. 'A nd you have to wait to be s eated,' added the other, s c rewing up her m outh. A m om ent later, a s m iling young waitres s , in a pris tine white blous e with the B ettys logo em blazoned in red on the front, es c orted us to the adjac ent table. It was then that I los t m y c olleague, who eaves dropped on the c onvers ation between the two ladies . 'T ell m e, Gervas e,' he whis pered after a while, 'is this rehears ed?' I lis tened in too. I had to adm it it was fas c inating. 'Do you know, Myriam ,' s aid the form idable one, who bore a rem arkable res em blanc e to, and s ounded very m uc h like, Dam e E dith E vans playing Lady B rac knell, 'I was up and down thos e s teps like a s huttlec oc k.' I gues s s he m eant yo-yo. 'If I vom ited onc e, I vom ited five tim es .' Her c om panion nodded and m ade a little s ym pathetic nois e but s he didn't interrupt the m onologue. 'Of c ours e, S idney would ins is t on c om ing bac k via Cherbourg. He's that s tubborn. W e always c om e bac k via S t Malo but, oh no, he thought bes t and we s et off from Cherbourg, agains t m y better judgem ent I m ight add. T he s ea was m ountainous , the s hip rolling and rollic king. Up and down, up and down it went, like a fiddler's elbow. I was c los eted in the ladies ' lavatory, heaving and s plas hing, the s ea was outs ide, heaving and s plas hing, and where was S idney?' I was tem pted to as k where he was too. 'I'll tell you where he was ,' c ontinued the wom an, now well into her s tride, 'he was in the res taurant with a Frenc h bap, a lum p of Cam em bert and a half a bottle of red wine. S tatic . If he'd have been on the Titanic he wouldn't have s hifted his bac ks ide. "B it on the rough s ide," he s ays to m e, when he did finally em erge. I c ould have c rowned him . It was horrendous .' S he paus ed to s elec t a s andwic h before adding: 'I've never been s o glad in m y life to get m y feet bac k on terra c otta.' 'Gervas e,' as ked B ill, after the wom en had departed, 'does your A lan B ennett c om e here for his m aterial?' The Great Y ork s hire E c c entric

On a rec ent vis it to S outh A m eric a, Chris tine and I took an aerial tram through the rain fores t and s aw the m os t am azing variety of vegetation and anim al life: towering trees whic h grow five m etres a year, blood-red tree frogs , s him m ering blue butterflies , s loths and s nakes and s trange reptiles . T he guide, a profes s or of ec ology, as ked m e where in E ngland I c am e from . W hen I told him Y orks hire, his eyes lit up. 'Y orks hire! ' he c ried. 'T he hom e of the great Charles W aterton.' I was then inform ed that W aterton ins pired Charles Darwin and m any other s c ientis ts , and was E ngland's firs t ec o-c am paigner, an outs poken pioneer and c ons ervationis t, a pas s ionate m an who des pis ed the des truc tion of the natural environm ent, es pec ially when wilfully done. He is c ons idered a vis ionary to environm entalis ts throughout the world. E m barras s ed, I had to adm it that I had never heard of the s aid gentlem an. B ac k hom e, I undertook a little res earc h. B orn at W alton Hall in W akefield, in 1782, 'S quire' W aterton travelled widely, exploring rem ote areas in the world and rec ording his obs ervations and dis c overies in wonderful detail. In 1825, he publis hed a travelogue, W anderings in S outh A meric a, whic h bec am e an ins tant bes ts eller. His love of anim als , and of the natural beauty of the tropic al rainfores t, fills every page. It was Charles W aterton who c reated E ngland's firs t wildfowl and nature res erve, erec ting a nine-foot-high wall around three m iles of his es tate at a c os t of P S 6,000, whic h was a c ons iderable s um of m oney in thos e days . He fought a long-running and ultim ately s uc c es s ful c as e agains t the owners of a s oapworks . T he fac tory, built c los e to his es tate, exuded toxic c hem ic als , c aus ing wides pread pollution. In his lifetim e, W aterton was on the edge of s oc ial exc lus ion; he was an odd c harac ter, one of the world's great ec c entric s , of s triking appearanc e and with an anarc hic s ens e of hum our. He had his hair c ut s hort when the fas hion was to have a full head of hair, he devis ed a new m ethod of pres erving anim als , us ing them to c reate unus ual tableaux, he c lim bed S t P eter's in Rom e and left his gloves on the top of the lightning c onduc tor and he jum ped on the bac k of a c aym an and rode it like a hors e. W aterton didn't c are what others thought of him or how c rac kpot they thought his opinions . E dith S itwell, a biographer of E nglis h ec c entric s , c onc luded he was an extrem ely happy m an. 'Few of us ,' s he wrote, 'are s o full of life, love, c urios ity and plain joy.' I gues s he would have m ade a s plendid teac her. I have to adm it that when I vis ited s c hools as an ins pec tor, I always had a s oft s pot for the teac her who was a little bit out of the ordinary. S om e, of c ours e, would s ay that there is no room in educ ation for the ec c entric teac her. I would dis agree. T hinking of m y own s c hooldays , it was the teac hers who were idios ync ratic , and who did not always follow the various direc tives , who m ade the greates t im pres s ion upon m e. In a rather gloom y and violent world, there is room for the Charles W atertons , for ec c entric s , in m y experienc e, brighten our lives ; they are les s inhibited and m ore im aginative and are often dis arm ingly c hildlike in their approac h to life than we 'ordinary' folk. A nd, after all, there is a pantheon of m en and wom en - Is aac Newton, Mary W ard, E lizabeth Fry, Is am bard K ingdom B runel, W illiam B lake, Charles Darwin, W ins ton Churc hill, B arnes W allis , Lewis Carroll and m any m ore - who were labelled outs poken, nonc onform is t and ec c entric during their lifetim es , and who have gone on to be viewed by later generations as m onum ental people, gifted with originality and vis ion. Drama Off-S tage

My wife and I are regulars at the theatre; we enjoy the variety of events s taged there, love the intim ate atm os phere and like watc hing the reac tions of other playgoers . One m em orable perform anc e at the Cruc ible T heatre in S heffield was of E dw ard II, Chris topher Marlowe's greates t tragedy. Chris tine and I had jus t s ettled down c om fortably, in the m iddle of row B , when an elderly m an inform ed us that we were in the wrong s eats . W e c om pared tic kets to dis c over that he and his c om panion (a dim inutive wom an, who obs erved proc eedings from the ais le with a tragic expres s ion on her fac e) were in the row behind. T here was no apology, jus t a s ort of s nort from the m an and an im patient tut-tut from the wom an. I knew, when the c ouple who were now direc tly behind m e, s tarted dis c us s ing what they were about to s ee, that I was des tined for an 'interes ting' evening. 'W hat's it about?' as ked the wom an of her c om panion, who, I gues s ed, judging by the nois e of pages turning, was flic king through the program m e. 'It's his toric al,' he told her without further elaboration. 'Is it a m us ic al?' 'No.' 'I thought it was a m us ic al.' 'It's like S hakes peare,' the m an told her. 'I thought it was a m us ic al about E dward and Mrs S im ps on.' 'No, that's another E dward.' 'I s han't like it.' 'W ell, we're not paying for t's eats are we, and it were a pity to let 'em go to was te,' he told her in true Y orks hire fas hion. 'W e c an always leave at t'interval if we don't like it.' 'I s han't like it,' repeated the wom an. 'S hurrup m oaning,' he told her. T hen the c onvers ation turned to other, rather m ore m undane, m atters . Firs t, it was the s weets they had bought. 'Do you want an Opal Fruit,' as ked the wom an, 'or a W erther's Original?' 'I'll have an Opal Fruit,' s aid the m an. 'W hat flavour?' 'Lem on.' T here was a rus tling of a bag, ac c om panied a m om ent later by a variety of s uc king s ounds . 'Did you put the c at out?' as ked the wom an. 'Y es .' 'A nd loc k the bac k gate?' 'Y es .' A nd s o it went on, until the play began. E dw ard II has s om e pretty brutal parts in it, the m os t violent and s hoc king being the m urder of the king when a red-hot poker is ins erted in a rather intim ate part of his anatom y. S c ream s and s hrieks filled the theatre as the king writhed and flailed under his m urderers ' hands . T his was followed by a deathly s ilenc e as his body flopped bac k dead. T he voic e of the wom an behind m e c ould be heard quite dis tinc tly. 'A nd I only hope the dog's not been s ic k in the c ar.' How M uc h?

I have heard it s aid that the Yorks hirem an's war-c ry is : 'How m uc h?' On our rec ent holiday in Franc e, I us ed this well-worn phras e s o m any tim es that Chris tine, m y long-s uffering wife, s tarted to total them up. It s tarted at E as t Midlands A irport. T he flight to Nic e on eas yJ et was a reas onable P S 152.78 for the both of

us . W hen we c hec ked in at the airport we were told that it would c os t a further P S 64 for the two s m all c as es we were taking. 'How m uc h?' I exc laim ed. 'A nd,' added the s m iling young wom an at the c hec k-in c ounter, 'jus t to let you know, all refres hm ents on the plane m us t be paid for.' T hen we got to Franc e. W e took a taxi from Nic e to V enc e, where we were s taying, whic h is s om e fifteen m iles away. 'S oix ante euros ,' s aid the lugubrious -looking taxi driver, when we arrived at our des tination. 'C'es t c ombien?' I exc laim ed. He s hrugged. 'S erv ic e non c ompris ,' he added. 'S ixty euros and a tip on top! ' I c ried. 'W e'll be going bac k on the bus .' In the patis s erie the next day, I peered into the dis play c abinet at the delic ious -looking pas tries and flans . T he apple tart c os t 22 euros . 'C'es t c ombien?' I exc laim ed again. T he as s is tant s hrugged. 'W ell, I'll tell you this , Chris tine,' I s aid, 'we'll not be eating c akes .' 'I wis h you would enter the holiday s pirit,' c hided m y wife later, as we wandered around the s uperm arket. 'W hat, with thes e pric es ?' I grum bled, pointing to a s helf. 'E ven the wine is dearer than in E ngland.' 'Not everything's dearer,' the E nglis h wom an behind m e vouc hs afed. 'Cotton buds are c heaper in Franc e.' It is not that Y orks hire folk are pars im onious . It is jus t that we like value for our m oney. W e are thrifty, prudent, ec onom ic al people and there is no way we would pay P S 20 for an apple pie. A friend told m e the s tory (c learly a tall tale, but worth repeating) of the Y orks hirem an who went to plac e an 'In m em oriam ' notic e in the Y ork s hire P os t, following the death of his wife. T he c ouple had been happily m arried for fifty years . W hen inform ed of the c os t by the wom an at the des k, the m an uttered, in true Y orks hire fas hion: 'How m uc h?' S haking his head, he reluc tantly produc ed his wallet. 'I want s um m at s im ple,' he explained. 'My Gladys was a plain, good-hearted and hard-working Y orks hire las s , but s he wunt 'ave wanted owt s wanky.' 'P erhaps a s m all poem ,' s ugges ted the wom an at the des k. 'Nay,' s aid the m an, 's he wunt 'ave wanted anything la-di-da. J us t put in: "Gladys B raithwaite's died".' 'Y ou need to s ay when,' he was told by the rec eptionis t taking his order. 'Do I? W ell, put "died 17th Marc h, 2008". T hat'll do.' 'It is us ual for the bereaved to add s om e m eaningful phras e,' s aid the wom an. 'S om ething tender and heartfelt about the dearly departed.' T he m an c ons idered for a m om ent. 'W ell, put in "S adly m is s ed". T hat'll do,' he s aid. 'Y ou c an have another four words ,' the wom an at the des k explained. 'No, no! ' c ried the m an. 'S he wouldn't 'ave wanted m e to s plas h out.' 'T he words are inc luded in the pric e,' the wom an inform ed him . 'A re they?' T he m an rais ed an eyebrow. 'Y ou m ean I've paid for 'em .' 'Y es , indeed,' replied the wom an. 'W ell, if I've paid for 'em ,' exc laim ed the m an, 'I'm 'avin' 'em ! ' T he obituary was duly printed: Glady s B raithw aite. Died 17th M arc h, 2008. S adly mis s ed. A ls o trac tor for s ale. Chris tine and I didn't bring m uc h bac k from Franc e: a c ouple of bottles of wine, a wedge of Cam em bert, s om e ground c offee and a m ug. W e did, however, s toc k up on enough c otton buds to las t us for the next forty years . Conv ers ation in the Country Inn

I don't s pend a great deal of tim e in c ountry inns but, s om e years ago, I had a m em orable evening lis tening to a Dales ' farm er in T he B lac k B ull entertaining his two c om panions . I was ins pec ting a s c hool near S ettle that week and, having finis hed m y report that evening, went down for a well-des erved pint. In the c orner of the inn, three figures s at around a s m all round table, two of them lis tening to the third, who was entertaining them with a s tory. T he s peaker was a s m all wiry individual with ros y red c heeks and large jug ears . His c om panions were a partic ularly s triking-looking figure with brown leathery farm ers ' hands , m us tard c olouring and grey watery eyes s unken in a s epulc hral fac e, and a large wom an with an abundant bos om and beehive hair-do. Like all writers , I am a m agpie, a c ollec tor of s tories and an inveterate eaves dropper and, as I rais ed the beer to m y lips , I took a profes s ional interes t in the entertaining c onvers ation. T he s peaker had the anim ated voic e and tim ing of a profes s ional c om edian. 'Now, m i Unc le S tan were a c harac ter and no m is take,' s aid the s m all m an. 'W a'n't 'e, B eryl?' 'A ye, 'e were,' replied the wom an. 'Onc e m i Unc le S tan goes and buys this tup from t'm arket. Lovely-looking c reature it were. Texel. S quare as a box, four s olid legs , beautiful fleec e. A nyroad, he puts it in t'field wi' yows and s its bac k to watc h 'im do what nature intended 'im to do, if you follow m i drift. W ell, nowt 'appens . T up jus t s tands theer, then does a bit a walking, a bit o' grazin', but he's not interes ted in any o' yows . T hey s tand theer waiting for 'im to m ek a m ove but 'e's jus t not interes ted. W ell, m i unc le s c ratc hes 'is 'ead and dunt know what's up. 'E 's nivver s een the like afoor. S o, he s ends for t'vet. T 'vet's puzzled an all. "I s hall tell thee what I'll do, Mes ter B annis ter," he s ays , "I've got this 'ere Dutc h m edic ine whic h m ight jus t do the tric k. J us t c om e on t'm arket." A nd he tells m i Unc le S tan to give t'tup one o' thes e pills in t'm ornin'. V et gus bac k on t'T hurs day and 'e as ks how things are goin'. "Cham pion," s ays m i Unc le S tan. "I've nivver s een the like. T hem theer pills c ertainly did t'tric k. T up's gone m ad. Chas ing anything that m oves . S ex m ad 'e is . Nothing's s afe in t'field wi' 'im ." W e were talking about it in t'pub later that day and I s ays to m i Unc le S tan, I s ays , "I wonder what was in them theer pills what t'vet give t'tup." "I don't know," s ays 'e, "but they tas te of pepperm int." ' T he s peaker threw his head bac k and roared with laughter, and his fem ale c om panion c huc kled. 'It's a good un, that one, in't it?' he as ked. 'A ye, it is ,' s aid the m an with the m us tard c olouring, his fac e s till as s olem n as ever. T hen he added, 'I c an't s ay I'm all that partial to pepperm int, tha knaas .' M an's B es t Friend

I was at the B roughton S how las t J une. T his always proves to be a s uperb day out and, on this oc c as ion, it was held on a beautifully s unny day and was pac ked with fam ilies . A t this traditional c ountry s how there is a range of ac tivities , dis plays , events , talks and c om m entaries : ac robatic s , c lay s hoots , pipe and bras s band perform anc es , eagle flying, a flat c ap whanging c om petition, ferret rac ing, s tunt team s , fly tying, lure c ours ing and dres s age. T he hilarious B irdm an Challenge is not to be m is s ed. T here is a c as k of ale for the one who c an ac hieve the farthes t non-powered flight ac ros s the river at B roughton Hall. Com petitors fly ac ros s the river in the m os t inventive outfits and on a range of inc redible c ontraptions . A c tually, I m anaged to s ee very little of the events for I s pent m os t of the day outs ide the Dales m an T ent, s igning one or two books . Not m any people s topped, s o I s at in the s hade with a pint of traditional Y orks hire Dark Hors e B rewery A le, people watc hing, an ac tivity I love to do. A t this vantage point, I was able to s ee the m os t inc redible variety of dogs . T here were s paniels and s etters , retrievers and terriers , pointers and foxhounds , and s om e other breeds of the m os t rem arkable appearanc e. I have never s een s uc h c reatures in m y life and, as owners pas s ed by with their c anine c om panions , I would s top them and enquire: 'T ell m e, what s ort of dog is that?' P roud owners would be only too pleas ed to give m e details of the dog's breed and provenanc e. 'He's a T ibetan Mas tiff,' s aid a large m an with a s haven head, tight-fitting ves t and s porting an as s ortm ent of tattoos . T he Hound of the B as kervilles eyed m e and growled. 'S oft as a brus h,' he added, before tugging the beas t away. 'Old E nglis h B ulldog,' s aid another m an, who bore a rem arkable res em blanc e to his 'pet'. 'He'll let anyone in the hous e, won't you B us ter, but jus t let them try and get out.' T he dog looked up at m e with grey button eyes , s howed a s et of bottom teeth like tank traps and s trained at the leas h. It em itted a deep rum bling growl. 'Onc e he gets hold of anything,' the m an told m e, 'his teeth loc k on and he won't let go.' I c ros s ed m y legs . 'It's a Dandie Dinm ont T errier,' a s m all lady, wearing a turban and c oloured s m oc k, inform ed m e. 'I did have a S hih T zu.' 'Really?' I s aid. One of the highlights of the s how was the terrier rac e. A s trip of fur was pulled at great s peed ac ros s the arena, and the terriers were let loos e and went in frantic c has e. A nother popular event was the all-breed rac e, when any dog c ould take part. T his proved to be abs olute m ayhem , as great lum bering beas ts of every c onc eivable s hape, c olour and s ize galloped around the field, ac c om panied by hairy little c reatures yapping m adly at their heels . My m other was a health vis itor and regularly had to vis it hous es in the poorer parts of Rotherham . A t one hous e, there lived a huge blac k m ongrel c alled Major and, rum our had it, the c reature had been trained by the owner to attac k anyone in uniform . P olic e offic ers , pos tm en and rent c ollec tors c ons equently never m ade it down the garden path. My m other had to vis it the hous e to look at a baby whom neighbours c laim ed was undernouris hed and they thought m ight be neglec ted. S he was ac c om panied by a s oc ial worker and warned him about the dangerous dog, s ugges ting he rattle the gate to s ee if the beas t was about before venturing down the path. 'No need, nurs e,' s aid the m an c as ually. 'I c an handle dogs .' A s s he walked nervous ly behind him as he s auntered up the path, Major appeared from around the bac k. 'B e c areful,' m y m other warned her c om panion, ready to s wing her bag, 'that dog's vic ious .' 'Don't worry, nurs e,' he replied, nonc halantly, 'I have c om e ac ros s m any dogs in m y tim e.' T he c reature, the s ize of a s m all bear, bounded towards them , teeth bared, tail in the air and ears bac k. T he s oc ial worker, whom m y m other des c ribed as a s m all, ins ignific ant-looking m an with a bald head and large ears , rem ained perfec tly m otionles s until the dog leapt up. He then prom ptly punc hed it on the right hinge of its jaw, knoc king the beas t out c old. 'Y ou have to know how to handle dogs ,' he told her c alm ly. 'I was featherweight boxing c ham pion in the arm y.' A fter that, Major was as gentle as a lam b. A Country P aris h

A c urate friend of m ine has jus t s ec ured a living as vic ar in a s m all rural paris h in North Yorks hire. He is m oving from a vibrant paris h in the indus trial s outh of the c ounty to an idyllic s pot in the Dales and, although m uc h looking forward to the m ove, he is a little apprehens ive. Having s pent ten years travelling around the s c hools in that part of the c ountry, and m eeting m any a c leric on m y travels , I warned m y friend that he will find life very different in rural Y orks hire and will need to adjus t to the dry wit and the bluntnes s of his new c ongregation. A t a c harity dinner in S ettle, at whic h I had been as ked to s peak, I was entertained with the following s tory of a grizzled farm er. 'My m other nivver m is s ed a s ervic e at t'c hurc h,' he told m e. 'Com e rain or s hine s he'd walk all t'way from t'farm up to t'village. One winter, it were thic k wi' s now, drifts up to ten foot deep, rooads like ic ing rinks , wind that 'ud c ut thee like a s harpened s c ythe, but s he m ade it up t'c hurc h. Cooars e, vic ar were not expec tin' anybody and then m i m other turns up. Only one theer, s he were, s itting in t'front pew as large as life. A nyroad, vic ar as ks 'er if 'e s hould c arry on wi' s ervic e like, s eeing as s he were t'only one in t'c hurc h. "Look 'ere, vic ar," s he tells 'im , "I c an't tell thee what tha s hould do, but if I went out of a m orning to feed t'c ows and only one on 'em 'ad tekken trouble to turn up, I'd feed it." He were nonplus s ed at this , was t'vic ar. "Do you know," he s ays , "yer right." A nd he went ahead with t's ervic e and give one of thes e long s erm ons jus t for m i m other's benefit. He were pretty pleas ed wi' his s en afterwards . "I hope you felt it were worth the walk through all that s now, Mis s is B annis ter," he tells 'er. "Look 'ere, vic ar," s he replies , "I don't rec kon I know all that m uc h about s erm ons and the like, but if I went out of a m ornin' to feed t'c ows and only one 'ad tekken trouble to s how up, I'd not be likely to give it t'whole lot of feed." ' T he vic ar in the rural c om m unity often plays a vital part of the life of the people, not jus t by being there for the m om entous events , like births , m arriages and deaths ('hatc hes , m atc hes and des patc hes '), but by taking an ac tive role in a whole range of ac tivities . T his frequently inc ludes c hairing the governing body at the loc al s c hool, and taking the as s em blies . One new vic ar had s tarted his as s em bly in the prim ary s c hool by telling the c hildren how he had walked to the s c hool that m orning through the c hurc hyard. 'A nd do you know, c hildren,' he told them , 'I had a big, big s urpris e this m orning as I pas s ed the big oak tree near the c hurc h gate. I s aw s om ething watc hing m e with large blac k s hiny eyes . T here it was , perc hed in the branc hes of the tree, grey in c olour and with a great bus hy tail. A nd what do you think I'm talking about?' he had as ked. A large boy, with very fair hair and a round red fac e, replied, 'I know it's J es us , vic ar, but it s ounds like a s quirrel to m e! ' Of c ours e, vic ars ' feet are kept firm ly on the ground by their wives or hus bands , who play im portant roles in the c om m unity too. I rec all a c ertain head teac her of a s c hool near Ripon, m arried to a vic ar, telling m e that her hus band had a tendenc y to get rather c arried away in the pulpit, and his s erm ons were s om etim es over-long. S he found a good way of telling him it was tim e to wind up. S he inform ed him that when he s m elt the Y orks hire pudding it was tim e for him to s top. In a M anner of S peak ing

A s tudy c om m is s ioned by the P aram ount Com edy Channel c laim s that the funnies t ac c ents in the UK , in rank order, are: B irm ingham 20.8% Liverpudlian 15.8% Geordie 14.5% W els h 10% Y orks hire 9.3% Coc kney 8.4% B elfas t 8% S outh W es t 6.6% Glas wegian 3.4% Manc unian 2.1% Rec eived P ronunc iation 1.1% Res earc hers led by Dr Les ley Harbridge, of the Univers ity of A berdeen, as ked 4,000 people to lis ten to the s am e joke in eleven regions , and found that thos e with a pronounc ed northern ac c ent got the greates t laughs . Here is the joke: W orkm en are eating s andwic hes , balanc ing on a girder m iles above the ground. 'Y ou ever get that urge, Frank? It begins with looking down from forty s toreys up, thinking s om ething about the m eaningles s nes s of life, lis tening to dark voic es deep ins ide you and you think, s hould I? S hould I? S hould I pus h s om eone off?' Dr Harbridge als o found that thos e with the 'funnies t' ac c ents were als o deem ed to be the leas t intelligent. In m y own c areer, I have found a c orrelation between ac c ent and people's perc eption of who is , or who is not, intelligent. Des pite the fac t that, at univers ity and in later life as a teac her and ins pec tor, s om e of m y c olleagues found m y way of s peaking and turn of phras e am us ing, I am proud of m y Y orks hire ac c ent and do not intend to c hange it. 'Could I as k you to s peak a little m ore s lowly when you s peak to the s tudents , Mr P hinn?' as ked the headm is tres s of the girls ' gram m ar s c hool. I was there in the s outh of the c ountry with two ins pec tor c olleagues . 'It's jus t that s om e of the gels ,' s he c ontinued, 'm ight hev a little diffic ulty with your Yorks hire ac c ent.' I have to adm it that I do pronounc e the word 'bath' and not 'barth', 'buc k' and not 'boook' and 'hous e' rather than 'hic e', but I as s um ed that m y ac c ent was c om prehens ible. 'A c tually,' c ontinued the headm is tres s , 'I do s o like to hear that wonderful B arns ley burr. Y ou rem ind m e s o m uc h of the c harac ter in the televis ion program m e Heartbeat.' 'Lord A s hfordly?' I ventured. 'No no, the am us ing c harac ter who s quints .' 'Claude Greengras s ?' I s ugges ted, thinking of the tram p-like figure played by B ill Maynard. 'T hat's the one,' s he s aid. W ith m y two c olleagues , I joined the headm is tres s on the s c hool s tage at the as s em bly, to be introduc ed to the s taff and pupils . T he three of us s tood to the s ide, like the B everley S is ters waiting to break into s ong. 'It will not have es c aped your notic e, gels ,' s tarted the headm is tres s , 'that we hev with us this m orning three dis tinguis hed vis itors .' S he waved a hand in our direc tion. 'T hes e gentlem en are s c hool ins pec tors .' A ll eyes foc us ed on the three of us . 'T hey are here to s pend a few days with us and s hould they as k you a ques tion, ans wer them in your us ual c lear, c ogent and enthus ias tic way.' S he looked in our direc tion. 'A nd s hould they look los t, I am s ure you will be able to tell them where to go.' S he gave a s m all s elf-s atis fied s m ile. 'Y ou m ay s it.' E veryone in the hall s at down, but we three rem ained s tanding. I m anaged to c atc h the headm is tres s 's eye. 'Oh, I'm s orry,' s he s aid. 'Could we have three c hairs for the s c hool ins pec tors ?' Her reques t was followed im m ediately by three hearty c heers of 'Hip, hip, hooray! ' A Y ork s hire 'A mlet

W hen I vis ited Gras s ington P rim ary S c hool s om e years ago, I was told by the head teac her about a unique theatric al enterpris e whic h took plac e in the town in the early nineteenth c entury. T he village pos tm as ter, Tom A irey, born in Gras s ington in 1771, having s een a perform anc e in S kipton by the c elebrated S hakes pearean ac tor, E dm und K ean, founded his own theatre c om pany, us ing a s pac ious barn on Garrs Lane. Mos t of the leading perform ers of the day, inc luding Mis s Harriet Mellon (later the Duc hes s of S t A lbans ) and E dm und K ean him s elf, took to the s tage in this unlikely venue. T om 's own perform anc es of the B ard in a ric h Yorks hire dialec t were m uc h apprec iated in the loc ality, although often derided by puris ts and off-c om ed-uns . T he theatre ran for m any years before c los ing in the 1830s . Tom 's granddaughter rec alled that: 'He was him s elf a grand ac tor and s tirred others with his enthus ias m .' One E dm ond B ogg c aptured his vers e s peaking for pos terity: 'A hos s , a hos s , wh'ull hev m e kindum fur a hos s ?' 'Y e dam ons o'deeth, c um s attle m i s wured.' 'W at pum p, wat paggyantry is thare heer?' My thoughts were of T om A irey when, s om e m onths later, I witnes s ed a wonderful Y orks hire vers ion of Ham let perform ed in a s c hool in S heffield, by the s enior s tudents . A s an introduc tion to the play, the teac her had trans pos ed the original into Y orks hire dialec t. T wo boys am bled towards eac h other at the front of the room , hands thrus t deep in their poc kets . 'Hey up, 'A m let.'

'Hey up, 'Oratio, what's tha doin' 'ere?' 'Nowt m uc h. 'Ow abaat thee then, 'A m let? I ant s een thee for a bit.' 'Nay, I'm not that c ham pion, 'Oratio, if t'truth be towld.' 'W hay, 'A m let, what's oop?' 'Mi dad's deead, m i m am 's m arried m i unc le and m i girl friend does nowt but nag, nag, nag. I tell thee 'Oratio, I'm weary wi' it. ' 'A ye, tha's not far wrong theer, 'A m let, S he's gor a reight gob on 'er, that Hophilia. T eks after 'er owld m an.' T he highlight of the perform anc e was following the m os t fam ous of S hakes peare's s oliloquies : 'T o be or not to be, that's t'ques tion. W hether 'tis nobbler in t'm ind T o s uffer t's lings and 'arras of outrageeous fowtune Or to tek harm s agin a s ea of troubles . A nd by oppos in', end 'em .' S o the tradition of perform ing S hakes peare in dialec t lives on. T om A irey, res ting now in Linton c hurc hyard, would no doubt have been proud of thos e youngs ters , s ithee. The S urpris e

J ohn lived on a farm way out ac ros s the m oors . It was a hard but happy life he led. He was expec ted, like m os t c hildren from farm ing fam ilies , to help around the farm - feed the c hic kens , s tac k wood, m uc k out and undertake a hos t of other nec es s ary jobs , and all that before he s tarted his hom ework. He was a s hrewd, good-natured, blunt-s peaking little boy, with a hos t of s tories to tell about farm life. W hen he was little, his teac her told m e, he had been awakened by his father one night and taken into the byre to s ee the birth of a blac k A ngus c alf. 'Now look, young m an,' the vet s aid, 'tonight you are going to s ee a m irac le. Y ou m us t be very very quiet and watc h. Can you do that?' T he c hild nodded, and his father lifted him onto a bale of hay to watc h proc eedings . 'W hen I was your age,' the vet c ontinued, 'I s aw what you are about to s ee for the firs t tim e, and knew then that I wanted to be a vet. It's very s pec ial and you will never forget it.' T he blac k A ngus c ow was led onto the byre and, in the half light, s he s trained to deliver her c alf. T he s m all, wet, furry bundle s oon arrived and the vet, wet with pers piration and with a trium phant look on his fac e, had gently wiped the c alf's m outh and then held up the new-born c reature for the little boy to s ee. J ohn had s tared, wide-eyed. 'A nd what do you think of that?' the vet had as ked him . 'Is n't that a wonderful s ight?' J ohn had thought for a m om ent before replying. 'How did it s wallow the dog in the firs t plac e?' he had as ked. K now ing Y our S heep

My firs t experienc e of s traight-s peaking and knowledgeable c ountry c hildren was in a grey s tone prim ary s c hool in the heart of the Yorks hire Dales . I was the vis iting s c hool ins pec tor, there to tes t the reading s tandards , and was as king a num ber of c hildren in the infant c las s to read to m e. I c hos e a bright pic ture book about a brave old ram that went off into the deep, s now-pac ked valley to look for a los t lam b. I dec ided that a s tory about s heep, whic h were c learly very popular in this part of the world, would be very appropriate. Graham , a s ix-year-old, began reading the s tory with great gus to. 'Ronald was an old, old grey ram who lived in a wide, wide green valley near a big, big farm .' A t this point, he prom ptly s topped reading and s tared intently at the pic ture of the ram for a m om ent. It had a great s m iling m outh, s hort horns , a fat body and s hining eyes like blac k m arbles . 'W hat breed is that then?' Graham as ked. 'B reed?' I repeated. 'A ye,' s aid the c hild. 'W hat breed is he?' 'I don't know,' I ans wered in a rather pathetic tone of voic e. 'Don't you know your s heep then?' 'No, I don't,' I replied. 'Mis s ,' s houted the c hild, 'c ould T ony c om e over here a m inute? I want to know what breed of s heep this is .' W e were joined by T ony, another s toc ky little s ix-year-old with red c heeks and a runny nos e. 'Let's have a look at t'pic ture then,' he s aid. I turned the pic ture book to fac e him . T he large white s heep with blac k patc hes and a m outh full of s hining teeth s m iled from the page. 'Is it a Mas ham or a S waledale?' he as ked m e. 'I don't know,' I ans wered, in the s am e pathetic tone of voic e. A nother c hild joined the dis c us s ion. 'It looks like a blue-fac ed Leic es ter to m e. W hat do you rec kon?' 'I have no idea,' I replied. 'Don't you know your s heep, then?' I was as ked again and onc e m ore replied that I did not. B y this tim e, a s m all c rowd of interes ted onlookers had joined m e in the reading c orner. 'T hey're not Leic es ters ,' ventured T ony. 'Is it a T exel?' ventured a plum p girl, peering at the pic ture. T hen s he glanc ed in the direc tion of the ignoram us . 'T hat's a Dutc h breed.'

'T exels have white fac es , not blac k,' Graham c om m ented. V ery s oon, the whole c las s was c onc entrating on the breed of the pic ture-book s heep. 'W ell,' s m iled the teac her, 'you are c aus ing quite a s tir in the reading c orner, Mr P hinn. In order to s olve the m ys tery, will you pop next door, Tony, and as k Mrs B rown if we c ould borrow Marianne for a m om ent. S ay we have a little problem s he c an help us s olve.' Tony s c am pered off into the next room . 'Marianne has eight breeds on her farm ,' explained the teac her, 'and her grandfather's prize ram won a blue ribbon at the Y orks hire S how.' 'S he knows her s heep, does Marianne,' I was told by a s erious -looking girl with dark plaits . T he c hildren nodded in agreem ent. Marianne s trode c onfidently into the c las s room from the juniors . 'Is it s heep?' s he as ked. 'W hat breed of s heep are thes e, do you rec kon, Marianne?' as ked T ony, s tabbing the page on the pic ture book that I was holding. Marianne s c rutinis ed the illus trations , s hook her head, s uc ked in her breath. A ll eyes were on her, everyone was waiting for the definitive ans wer. 'I rec kon they're B leu de Main or Rouge de l'Oues t,' s he s ugges ted. T hen s he turned to the dunc e holding the book, and looked m e s traight in the eyes . 'W hat do you rec kon?' B efore I c ould ans wer, T ony, s haking his head like a little old m an, rem arked, 'It's no good as kin' 'im . He knows nowt abaat owt! ' Hail Caes ar!

One of the m os t unus ual venues at whic h I have appeared on m y rec ent theatre tour was the S kipton A uc tion Mart. During the day, lives toc k is auc tioned and the plac e is c ram m ed with would-be buyers and s ellers , ins pec ting, c om paring, c onvers ing and bidding. In the evening, the s pac e is c onverted into a m akes hift theatre with tiered s eating, and a s tage, good ac ous tic s and exc ellent lighting. It is s uc h a c lever, innovative c onc ept and brings c om edians , folk groups , pop bands , one-m an s hows and ac tors to the m arket town, and they perform in an intim ate atm os pheric arena redolent of anim als , earth and hay. It was to the S kipton A uc tion Mart that I m ade a s pec ial journey, to s ee a B elgian B lue bull being auc tioned. It was a m agnific ent beas t, like a huge box on legs , pale brown and white in c olour with a m as s ively thic k nec k, m ighty horns and great m us c les . Here was the S c hwarzenegger of bulls . I had s een m y firs t B elgian B lue when, as a s c hool ins pec tor, I vis ited a s c hool in the Yorks hire Dales . In a nearby field I had c om e ac ros s this s triking-looking c reature of im pres s ive girth and inc redible m us c les , s taring im pas s ively over a gate. A pproac hing him , I c ould s m ell his gras s y breath, and felt a tingle of fear as he s c raped the c om pac ted earth with a m as s ive hoof. He was , indeed, a rem arkable c reature. I was told by the head teac her of the s c hool I later vis ited that the bull was c alled Caes ar and was owned by her neighbour, Mr P urvis , a m an of few words and s trong views . 'He's a great, fat, pom pous c reature,' the head teac her told m e. 'T he bull that is , not Mr P urvis . He keeps Caes ar only for breeding purpos es and the bull looks like the em peror him s elf, the way he s truts round the field until he's c alled upon to "do his duty", as one m ight s ay. B ut he has a really vic ious s treak, has Caes ar, and m any's the tim e Old Mr P urvis has s tam ped bac k to the farm hous e, c urs ing and s wearing, and blac k and blue with bruis es . T he bull broke his arm a c ouple of tim es when he was trying to get hold of him . A nyway, when J ac ob, his grands on, was about eleven, as the s tory goes , he rus hed into the farm hous e kitc hen one m orning, s houting blue m urder. "Grandfather! Grandfather! " he c ried. "Caes ar's gone! He's not in his field! S om ebody's s tolen Caes ar! " His grandfather didn't bat an eyelid but c arried on drinking his tea. T hen he nodded in the direc tion of the window. In the field beyond was poor old Caes ar, yoked to a plough, pulling away down the furrows , with two of the farm hands flic king his haunc hes with s harp s witc hes . Caes ar s norted and bellowed and puffed and heaved and looked very hard done by. "I'll s how him that there's m ore to life than love-m aking! " s aid Mr P urvis .' T he head teac her c huc kled loudly, her body heaving and her eyes filling with tears of pleas ure. Farm ers often s truggle to m ake a living. T heir life is hard, wearis om e and often with little reward. T hey are als o guardians of the c ountry, and pres erve its beauty. It is im portant for them to have a s ens e of hum our. A nother s tory c onc erning Mr P urvis and his young grands on was about their vis it to the A uc tion Mart. On their way out of S kipton, in the Land Rover with attac hed trailer, whic h had s everal rec ently purc has ed s heep in the bac k, the old m an as ked J ac ob. ''A s tha put t'c ooats in?' 'Y es , Granddad,' replied the boy. 'A nd t'tools ?' 'T hey're under t's eat.' 'A nd t'bran?' 'It's in t'bac k.' 'I'm s ure there's s um m at we've forgotten,' s aid Mr P urvis , s haking his head. 'W here's Grandm a?' as ked the boy. A Dalesman to His S on W ell lad, I'll tell thee s um m at: Life for m e aint been no eas y road to walk. It's been a long hard journey Mos tly uphill all the way. A t tim es it's been a hot and dus ty trail, W i' potholes and s harp s tones beneath m i feet A nd a s weltering s un burning the bac k o' m i nec k. S om etim es it's been knee-deep wi' m ud A nd thic k wi' s now and bloc ked wi' fallen trees , W ith an ic y wind blowing full in m i fac e. T here were tim es when it's been dark and dangerous A nd I've been lonely and afraid and felt like turning bac k. B ut all the tim e lad, I've kept plodding on, A nd c lim bing s tiles , A nd s c aling walls , A nd s eeing s ignpos ts , A nd reac hing m iles tones , A nd m aking headway. S o lad, don't you turn round, Don't go bac k on the road For I'm s till walking, I'm s till walking, A nd life for m e aint been no eas y road to walk.

'The Slippery Snake'

Troubles ome Language

P lac es Out of the Ordinary

Following the public ation of m y book, The Other S ide of the Dale, I rec eived a letter from a dis gruntled reader. 'Not being a native of Yorks hire, but reading all about the c ounty in your book,' s he wrote, 'I dec ided to have a week in the Yorks hire Dales , hoping that while I was there I m ight vis it s om e of the quaint villages - s uc h as S c arthorpe, B arton Moor and Hawks rill - whic h you m ention. I was very dis appointed to dis c over that they do not exis t.' It is true, I m ade them up. B eing a s om ewhat c autious pers on, I felt it politic not to m ention ac tual plac e nam es in m y books , in c as e it gave offenc e to the res idents or attrac ted unwanted vis itors to their villages . S o thorough was I in m aking c ertain the nam es I invented did not in fac t exis t, that I c hec ked in The P enguin Dic tionary of P lac e Names , written by a fellow P enguin author, A drian Groom . I s hould never have opened the pages of this book. Devoted to the origins of the nam es of towns , villages and other s pots throughout the c ountry, it is a fas c inating and c om prehens ive c om pendium . T he reader learns about the oldes t and newes t, longes t and s hortes t, m os t obs c ure and jus t plain s illy, plac es throughout the B ritis h Is les . I jus t c ould not put it down, and now c arry it with m e as I tour the c ountry on book s ignings and theatre tours , enlightening any c om panion brave enough to travel with m e, with the origins of our des tinations . T here is a village c alled Lover, jus t outs ide S alis bury in W ilts hire, that attrac ts hundreds of die-hard rom antic s eac h year, but this is not the only plac e where 'love' appears in the B ritis h lands c ape. T here is T ruelove in Devon, Heart's Delight in K ent and Cupid's Hill in Monm ouths hire. Couples c an kis s in V alentine's P ark in London, find Red Ros es in Carm arthens hire, c uddle in the s hadows of Love's Hill in P eterborough and s ay Is le of E we off the c oas t of S c otland. A m ongs t the s trangely nam ed plac es to be featured in the dic tionary are: B eer in Devon, W yre P iddle in W orc es ters hire, Little S noring in Norfolk, S pital in Linc olns hire, Res t and B e T hankful in A rgyll, B arton in the B eans in Leic es ters hire, B onkle in Lanc as hire, P eas e P ottage in S us s ex, Loos e in K ent, P ennyc om equic k near P lym outh, Matc hing T ye in E s s ex, Dirt P ot in Northum berland, P ity Me near Durham , Great Coc kup, Robin Hood's B utts , P ratt's B ottom and P uttoc k E nd. T here's a wonderfully expres s ive plac e c alled Old S odbury, in Glouc es ters hire, whic h s ounds like the wrinkled retainer in a P G W odehous e novel, and S hitterton in Dors et, the nam e deriving from 'the village on the s tream us ed as an open s ewer' (but you probably knew that anyway). My editor at P enguin, the redoubtable J enny Dereham (who edited the J am es Herriot books and Mis s Read am ongs t others ), was s lightly dubious about s om e of the m ore im aginative plac es I invented in m y books - B ac kwaters thwaite, Ugglem atters by, High Rus ton-c um -Riddles wade, and others , until I pointed out that Yorks hire is fam ed for its bizarre plac e nam es . 'God's own c ountry' is partic ularly ric h in im aginative and wonderfully expres s ive nam es : S exhow, B ooze, T he Land of Nod, Land of Green Ginger (near Hull), B edlam , Idle (near B radford, and hom e of the fam ous Idle W orking Men's Club), B ugthorpe, S lac k (near Halifax), J um p (near B arns ley), W etwang, Giggles wic k, B lubberhous es , S tudley Roger, T hwing, Ugglebarnaby and Fartown. A t the Roc k and Heifer Inn at T hornton, near B radford, is a s ignpos t pointing the ways to Mos c ow, J erus alem , E gypt, J eric ho and W orld's E nd, all of whic h are a c ouple of m iles away. A ls o near B radford is a Greenland and Cape of Good Hope, and, at E as t A rds ley, near W akefield, is an area known as 'W ho Could Have T hought It', whic h was the s c ene of a tragic m ining ac c ident in 1809. T he s tory goes that W illiam Hague, on bec om ing the MP for Ric hm ond, telephoned a c ons tituent but dialled the wrong num ber. 'Is this a Hawes num ber?' he enquired c heerfully. 'Certainly not! ' c am e the s harp reply, before the rec eiver was s lam m ed down. 'T here is no s ort of wom an like that here.' J us t W ords

I love this ric h, poetic , tric ky, troubles om e, inc ons is tent language of ours . S inc e an early age, I have written down words in m y notebook whic h have unus ual s pellings , ones whic h I have never c om e ac ros s before and thos e whic h s im ply appeal to m e. I have lis ts of them . Here are s om e of m y favourites : hobbledehoy, ragam uffin, brouhaha, autoc hthonous , es urient, luc ubration, pres c ienc e, s was hbuc kling, dandified, derac inated, troublous , ins pis s ated, m onody, propinquity, nonc halanc e, haec c eity, ptarm igan, vis c os ity, weas el, pontific ate, avunc ular, c ontrapuntal, expos tulatory, harridan and gewgaws . S hakes peare was the firs t rec orded us er of about two thous and words , of whic h nearly half have now, s adly, fallen out of us e. W e c ontinue to us e 'abhorred', 'abs tem ious ' and 'ac c es s ible', but we have los t s om e wonderful words like 'adoptious ', 'abidanc e', 'allaym ent' and 'annexm ent'. He was a great one for inventing words too, was the B ard of A von. Like S hakes peare, s om e people s till love to c reate new words and expres s ions , words that don't exis t in the language but the inventor thinks they ought to. T here was a wonderful offic e c leaner who was greatly adept at this . 'Mr P hinn,' s he onc e s aid to m e, 'you're s o artific ated.' On another oc c as ion, s he s aw a c olleague waving at m e m adly from ac ros s the offic e, and pointing to the ringing telephone. 'Mr S m ith's tes tic ulating,' s he told m e. I m et Hilary Murphy on a c ruis e s hip. S he was in the front row for one of m y lec tures on E nglis h s pelling - always a hot potato - and was willing, with s om e in the audienc e (but not all), to have a go at a s pelling tes t. 'A nyone who gets them all right,' I s aid, c onfident in the knowledge that none would, 'I will give to him or her a s igned, firs t edition c opy of m y lates t book.' I have given this s pelling tes t num erous tim es before, to parents , teac hers , head teac hers and ac adem ic s , and no one got them all right. Hilary, however, not only s pelt the thirty words c orrec tly but gave m e a lis t of other tric ky words . I was am azed by her knowledge, and then dis c overed that it is s he who s ets the ques tions on the televis ion program m e, W ho W ants to B e a M illionaire? I am indebted to Hilary for thes e wonderfully expres s ive words and their m eanings : A LE A T ORY - depending on the throw of the dic e B IB ULOUS - addic ted to alc ohol B ORB ORY GMUS - rum bling of gas in the intes tine CICA T RIZA T ION - healed by the form ing of a s c ar DE FE NE S T RA T ION - throwing a pers on out of a window E RGOP HOB IA - dread of work E X CORIA T E - peel off, s trip, rem ove s kin by abras ion GA LLIMOUFRY - jum ble, m edley GLA B ROUS - bald, c om pletely s m ooth GNOMON - the rod of a s undial P ICA Y UNE - ins ignific ant thing or pers on S T E A T OP Y GIC - having exc es s fat on the buttoc ks T E RA T OGE NIC - produc ing m ons ters B eing a nos y s ort of pers on, I as ked Hilary what was the m os t m em orable m om ent on that popular quiz s how. A c ontes tant, s he told m e, was as ked the ques tion: 'T he A rc hbis hop of Canterbury is known as a . . . ?' T here were four options : 'prim ate', 'm ars upial', 'm am m al' and 'rodent'. T he c ontes tant opted to go 'fifty-fifty', and was given two c hoic es , of 'prim ate' or 'm ars upial'. 'I'll phone a friend,' s aid the c ontes tant. T he friend, yes , you have gues s ed, opted for 'm ars upial'. W henever I s ee the warm bearded fac e and s hining eyes of Dr W illiam s on the televis ion s c reen, I c annot think of him as being anything other than 'T he Mars upial of A ll E ngland'. A Tric k y Language

Robert Mc Clos ky, a S tate Departm ent s pokes m an, onc e s aid: I know you believe that you unders tand what you think I s aid, but I'm not s ure that you rec ognis e that what you heard is not nec es s arily what I m eant. How true. W hat we s ay and write c an lead to a great deal of m is unders tanding and unintentional m irth. 'B etter to trip with the feet than with the tongue,' s aid Zeno, 300 years before the birth of J es us Chris t. S hakes peare, that m as ter words m ith, s hows us in his plays that words c an be delightful and am us ing, but als o c an be c ruel, c utting and dangerous in their s educ tion. I have jus t returned from a week in Tenerife. W henever abroad, I am always interes ted in the ways in whic h foreigners try and get their heads around this tric ky and troubles om e language of ours . In the toilet at the hotel in whic h we s tayed was a large notic e whic h read: 'In the event of fire evac uate im m ediately and leave the prem is e.' Over the years , on m y travels abroad, I have c ollec ted a fair num ber of am us ing, inventive and am biguous ins truc tions and notic es . Here are a few: W ould you like to ride on your own as s ? (E gypt) S pec ial today - No ic e-c ream (V enic e) W e take your bags and we s end them in all direc tions (S weden) It is forbidden to enter a wom an even a foreigner if dres s ed as a m an (B angkok tem ple) A s pec ial c oc ktail for ladies with nuts (T okyo) If this is your firs t vis it to Mos c ow you are welc om e to it (Rus s ia) S pec ialis t in wom en and other dis eas es (Rom e) E nglis h well talking (Majorc a) Y ou are invited to take advantage of the c ham berm aid (Franc e) Our wines leave you nothing to hope for (Lis bon) Drop your trous ers here for bes t res ults (Nanjing c leaners ) Ladies have a fit ups tairs (Hong K ong tailors ) Y ou are welc om e to vis it the c em etery where fam ous Rus s ian and S oviet c om pos ers , artis ts and writers are buried daily exc ept T hurs days (Mos c ow m onas tery) Of c ours e, we indigenous s peakers of E nglis h have a few problem s with our own language: P LE A S E LE A V E HE A T HE R FOR A LL T O E NJ OY (P eak Dis tric t) B argain B as em ent ups tairs (Harrogate s hop) Children m ay not s kate on the frozen water unles s pas s ed by the head teac her (on s c hool s taff notic e board) T he m anagem ent is looking for a m ature pers on to c ook (Donc as ter c afe) T ek Care! Lam s ont road (W ens leydale) Labrador for s ale. E ats anything, fond of c hildren (news paper advertis em ent) T oilet for s itting down c us tom ers only (S heffield c afe) P layground fine for littering (c hildren's playground in Halifax) Lions , pleas e s tay in the c ar (s afari park) Guillotine wanted for playgroup (news paper advertis em ent) Do not us e as a hair dryer (ins truc tion on heat gun) W earing this item does not enable you to fly (on c hild's S uperm an c os tum e) Caution! W ater on road when wet (A 1) For s ale B raille dic tionary. Mus t be s een to apprec iate (news paper advertis em ent) T he las t words m us t go to our A m eric an c ous ins . Os c ar W ilde onc e s aid that 'we s hare everything with the A m eric ans exc ept the language'. Here is P res ident George W B us h, on propos ed educ ation reform s : 'Y ou teac h a c hild to read and he or her will be able to pas s a literac y tes t.' B ut m y very favourite are the words reputedly s poken by David E dwards , head of the J oint National Com m ittee on Language in the United S tates , ans wering a ques tion about the nec es s ity for a c om m erc ial nation to be m ultilingual. 'If E nglis h was good enough for J es us Chris t,' he allegedly s tated, 'then it's good enough for m e.' Nic k names

I m et a c olleague of m y father-in-law rec ently. 'How is Legs thes e days ?' he as ked. My father-in-law has been known by the nic knam e 'Legs ' B entley s inc e the war, when, as a s printer in the RA F, he won m any a trophy. 'Do you know,' c ontinued the friend, 'in all the years I have known Legs , I never did find out what his real nam e is .' 'W alburga,' I told him m is c hievous ly. A nic knam e m ight be no m ore than a c ontrac tion of a given nam e: 'Holloway' bec om es 'Ollo', 'Doc herty' bec om es 'Doc ko', 'Montgom ery' bec om es 'Monty', 'P atters on' bec om es 'P at', 'Godfrey' bec om es 'Goff'. My friend, Ric hard Fairc lough, is c alled by all who know him (and that inc ludes his wife and daughter) 'Fairy', a nic knam e given to him when he was a pupil at S ilc oates S c hool. I s hould im agine when he was playing rugby, the c all down the bar of 'Oi, Fairy! ' rais ed a few eyebrows . A nic knam e m ight be bas ed on an as s oc iation with a fam ous (or infam ous ) c harac ter or televis ion pers onality. I rem em ber a boy at s c hool c alled Craddoc k, who was burdened with the nic knam e 'Fanny' (after the c elebrity c hef, Fanny Cradoc k), and another c alled 'P erc y' (after the televis ion gardener, P erc y T hrower). I never did dis c over what the firs t nam e was of a boy whos e s urnam e was Mos s . W e all knew him as S tirling, after the rac ing driver S tirling Mos s . My eldes t s on, Ric hard, attended the firs t form al dinner at Durham Univers ity in a new grey tight-fitting s uit with s m all lapels . T hereafter he was known as 'Reg' (after one of the notorious K ray brothers ).

Nic knam es are thrus t upon us by c olleagues , friends and fam ily, and s om etim es repres ent us as others s ee us . T hey c an s erve as thum bnail s ketc hes or s hort illus trations of quirks of pers onality, reflec ting our phys ic al and s oc ial endowm ents s uc h as bodily s hape and s kin c olour, ac c ent and m anners . Nic knam es c an be c los ely bound up with our s ens e of identity. A nic knam e is not always jus t a label or a m ere neutral referential devic e, it c an be ric h in c onnec tions and the effec t of the nam e m ay las t a lifetim e. S om e nic knam es given by pupils to their teac hers are very inventive. A teac her c alled Gardener was known as 'W eed', a Mr Canning as 'T in' and Mr Nels on as 'Horatio'. A head teac her, Mr A rrows m ith, was know as 'T wang', another, a Mr Lanc as ter, was known as 'B om ber' and a third, Dr Nottingham , as 'S heriff'. Many a head teac her, s wirling down the c orridor in his blac k ac adem ic gown, is known as 'B atm an'. S uc h nic knam es are rather affec tionate but others , bas ed upon s om e phys ic al c harac teris tic , are partic ularly unkind and hated by the rec ipients . Children c an be delightful but als o c orros ively c ruel in labelling others . I have c om e ac ros s c hildren in s c hools referred to as 'Dum bo', 'B eaky', 'Hippo', 'B lobby', 'B arrel', 'S queaker', 'S norter', 'Rabbit', 'A pe', 'P orky', 'Goggle-eyes ', 'A c ne' and 'B andy'. I c ould go on. W hen I onc e dis c us s ed, with a teac her, the us e of a deris ive nic knam e given to a boy by his peers , the reply s urpris ed and s addened m e. 'It's all part of growing up,' he told m e. 'It's not m eant to be hurtful, and c hildren, in m y experienc e, learn to c ope with it.' I wondered if he would have taken it in good part had he been given the nic knam e 'S not' or 'S c ab' by his pupils . T hos e unfortunate c hildren labelled with pejorative nic knam es realis e only too well that s uc h labels m ake them objec ts of deris ion, and are in them s elves s tigm as , prim ed for joking and taunting. On a m ore light-hearted note, I was told this anec dote by the em inent vulc anologis t, P rofes s or B ill Mc Guire, whom I m et at the Dartington Literary Fes tival. He was as ked to vis it E ton College to talk to the boys and, following his lec ture, was approac hed by a polite and good-hum oured young m an who wis hed to as k him a ques tion. He inform ed the profes s or that he was known in the c ollege as 'P rog', a nic knam e bas ed on his initials . 'A h,' s aid P rofes s or Mc Guire, 'you have rather a long nam e, do you? P eter Robert Oliver Gordon, or s om ething like that?' 'No, no, s ir,' replied the young m an. 'P rinc e Ric hard of Glouc es ter.' W hat's in a Name?

I was s peaking to teac hers on the them es in s om e of S hakes peare's plays in the town of S hrews bury. 'It's a pleas ure to be here in S hrews bury,' I told m y audienc e. 'It's pronounc ed S hrows berry! ' c horus ed the audienc e. 'T hank you for that,' I s aid, and c ontinued: 'I s hall be c ons idering in m y talk one or two of S hakes peare's plays , inc luding The Taming of the S hrow .' How foreigners c ope with s om e of our E nglis h plac e nam es , I have no idea. W ell, I do ac tually - m any of them don't. I was walking through Harrogate one day, at a tim e when I worked in that beautiful s pa town, and was approac hed by an A m eric an touris t. 'E xc us e m e, s ir,' he s aid, 'c ould you pos s ibly tell m e where W et Herbie is pleas e?' 'I've never heard of him ,' I s aid, thinking this m ay be the lead s inger in the lates t c hart-topping pop group - 'W et Herbie and the E vergreens '. 'No,' he s aid, 'the town near to here c alled W et Herbie.' It then dawned upon m e that he was referring to W etherby. A c olleague in the Harrogate offic e related to m e how he had been as ked, by a young m an with two s m all c hildren in tow, if the them e park - Flam ing Go Land - was near the town. He m eant Flam ingo Land. My brother, A lec , who lives in Galway, overheard a c onvers ation in the K eys Inn in that m agnific ent c ity, between two A m eric an touris ts who were poring over a s m all guidebook. 'Do you think we'll s ee any of thes e Lepreec ians ?' as ked one. I gues s he m eant leprec hauns . In m y tim e, I have been approac hed by a num ber of our A tlantic c ous ins at s tations , as king for direc tions to Logboroo (Loughborough), S tratford Y ouponovon (S tratford-Upon-A von) and S c arboruff (S c arborough). George W B us h was often held up to ridic ule for his m is us e of language. One laugh at his expens e has been the dis c overy that he has a phonetic is t (or, if you prefer, a phonetis t), who helps him pronounc e diffic ult words . On the pres ident's autoc ue are nam es like Mugabe (Mu-GA A -bee) and Harare (Haa-RA A ree), dis played to help him . I m us t s ay that I feel a c ertain s ym pathy with the form er pres ident bec aus e there, but for the grac e of God, go m any of us . Until we are told how to pronounc e a plac e nam e, we have to m ake a s tab at it and then, when we get it wrong, we are barrac ked by people in the know who m ake us feel s om ething of an idiot. I was s peaking at the village hall in Chopgate, in North Y orks hire, and rais ed a laugh with m y pronunc iation. 'W e s ay Chopyat up 'ere, love,' I was told by a wom an in the front row. S o let's s how a little toleranc e to thos e of us who get it wrong. I m ean, how m any people, unles s they have heard a loc al pronounc e it, would be able to get right firs t tim e s uc h towns and villages as Leom ins ter, B ic es ter, B ac up, Lewes , T owc es ter, Raws tons tall, T owton, T odwic k, W arwic k, A lnwic h, B ohuntine and B lenheim . How m any, I wonder, would gues s that Mous ehole in Cornwall is pronounc ed Muzzle, Mytholm royde in Lanc as hire is pronounc ed Mythem royd, S laithwaite in Lanc as hire is pronounc ed S lowitt or s om etim es S lathwaite, Lym pre in K ent is pronounc ed Lim and W oolfaris worthy in Devon is pronounc ed W oozy? A nd that's before we go north of the border to K irc aldy (K irc oddy), and into the P rinc ipality, with plac es an E nglis h pers on has little c hanc e of pronounc ing c orrec tly. In 'S hrows berry', the vote of thanks was given by a Mrs Cholm ondley, who inform ed m e that the nam e was pronounc ed Chum ley. Now, there's another thing - the way people pronounc e their nam es : S idebottom , Onions , Coc kburn, Denziel . . . Getting it W rite

Las t year, a fam ily friend died. His widow, a form er teac hing c olleague and c los e friend of m y wife's , was unders tandably devas tated, and viewed arranging the funeral and the rec eption with great trepidation. I agreed to read at the funeral, and for Chris tine, m y wife, to arrange the rec eption to be held at our hous e. T he dec eas ed had been a well-loved m an and there was a large turn-out at the c rem atorium and at the rec eption. One m an arrived at m y hous e and his firs t words were: 'I've read your book and did you know there was a m is take on page 69?' I felt like es c orting him to the door but, s inc e it was a s olem n oc c as ion, I m erely s m iled (not a pleas ant s m ile I m ight add) and thanked him s o very m uc h for pointing it out to m e. J ohn Hum phrys , in his exc ellent book, Los t for W ords , writes : P edants are the people who c an't pic k up a c opy of The Times without wanting to write about s om e s olec is m they s potted on page 17. T hey think there is only one thing that m atters : obs erving the rules . E very trans gres s ion is an outrage. T hey will avoid a s plit infinitive however c onvoluted the res ulting s entenc e m ay s ound. T hey will c ling to the rules until their fingertips bleed and believe that any other approac h will lead to anarc hy. T hey c annot s ee a dangling partic iple without wanting to hang it in the right plac e. S olec is m s are s c ars on their bac ks . Hum phrys defines good E nglis h: 'Clear, s im ple, plain and unam biguous . T hos e are the es s entials . It s hould be eas y to read and to lis ten to.' None would argue with this , but the fac t is that E nglis h is a tric ky and troubles om e bus ines s and we all of us , at tim es , c om e a c ropper. One reader of the Y ork s hire P os t took exc eption to m y m is us e of the word 'aggravate'. He inform ed the news paper in his letter that the c orrec t word I s hould have us ed was 'irritate', s inc e you c an only 'aggravate' a dis eas e, c ondition or s ituation and not a pers on. T he Collins dic tionary s tates that 'aggravate' is often us ed inform ally to m ean 'to annoy, exas perate, es pec ially a pers is tent goading'. The Ox ford E nglis h Dic tionary s tates that the word 'aggravate', whic h dates bac k to the s eventeenth c entury and c om es from the Latin word aggrav at - 'to m ake heavy' - is in wides pread us e in m odern E nglis h to m ean 'annoy' but that it is s till regarded as inc orrec t by s om e traditionalis ts . P rofes s or Lis a J ardine is one of the c ountry's leading ac adem ic s . Her writing is provoc ative and ins pirational, and s he m akes every s ubjec t s he writes about interes ting, inform ative and ac c es s ible. In P oints of V iew , s he s tates : I want to us e the m om ent as a s pringboard for s om e big ideas . I want to s tim ulate and c hallenge the reader and s educ e them into thinking differently. Does it really m atter that s he breaks the rule on agreem ent in a s entenc e? W e all know what s he m eans and, after all, s om e of the greates t us ers of E nglis h break the rules on oc c as ion. S weet B as s anio, m y s hips have all m is c arried, m y c reditors grow c ruel, m y es tate is very low, m y bond to the J ew is forfeit; and s inc e, in paying it, it is im pos s ible I s hould live, all debts are c lear'd between you and I . . . W onderful writing, but did the great S hakes peare really write 'you and I'? A nd what about Dic kens , in the opening of his m as terpiec e, B leak Hous e? London. Mic haelm as term lately over, and the Lord Chanc ellor s itting in Linc oln's Inn Hall. Im plac able Novem ber weather. W as one of the world's greates t novelis ts not aware that the rules require s entenc es to c ontain proper m ain verbs ? My form er E nglis h m as ter, K en P ike, quite rightly taught us the rules of s pelling and gram m ar bec aus e s uc h knowledge, he argued, helped the us er to write c lear and effec tive E nglis h. He als o pointed out that, s om etim es , rules do not apply. T his was m os t c learly illus trated when I obs erved a les s on in whic h the E nglis h teac her taught his c las s that a double negative always equals a pos itive. To illus trate his point, he wrote on the blac kboard: 'I c an't not go to the danc e.' 'T his m eans ,' he s aid, 'that you would be going to the danc e.' He c ontinued, 'T here is no oc c as ion in the E nglis h language where a double pos itive equals a negative.' One bright s park at the bac k m urm ured, 'Y ea, right! ' The Us e of E nglis h

T he c om edian who s poke after m e at an after-dinner event 'entertained' the audienc e with the us ual s tories about the thic k Iris hm an. I s m iled, not bec aus e I thought this m aterial was in the s lightes t bit am us ing, but bec aus e it s eem ed to m e ironic that this as inine individual had perhaps never read a book in his life, and had c learly never heard of B rendan B ehan, W B Y eats , S ean O'Cas ey, George B ernard S haw, J am es J oyc e, Dean S wift, J M S ynge, Os c ar W ilde, Oliver Golds m ith, Frank O'Hara and the m any other dis tinguis hed Iris h writers . I am a regular vis itor to Ireland - North and S outh - and am fas c inated by the way thes e im m ens ely hos pitable people have s uc h a wonderful c om m and of the E nglis h language. Ireland is a paradis e for the c onnois s eur of the c olloquial, where the idiom has qualities no les s s triking than thos e whic h c harac teris e our own great c ounty of Y orks hire. T here is a unique quality of s peec h in Ireland - lively, c olourful and expres s ive. My Grandm a Mullarkey was a great us er of the m os t im aginative phras es and c om paris ons . Here are a few exam ples : 'S he's s o good s he bites the altar rails .' 'S ue, he hadn't a leg to s tand on when they found the arm s on him .' 'Could you lend m e a wee c olour of m ilk?' 'He'll not las t long, s o he won't, for there's the s m ell of c lay on him .' 'S he has a tongue that would c lip tin.' 'Y ou s hould get down on your knees and thank God you're on your feet.' 'He's s o quiet he c om es into the hous e like a drop of s oot.' 'He has a m outh on him like a torn poc ket.' 'S he has a s m ile like las t year's rhubarb.' 'S ure didn't I know a fella with exac tly the s am e c om plaint as you God res t his s oul.' On a vis it to a s m all s c hool in Galway s om e years ago, I m et little B ernie. T he c hild, aged s ix or s even, approac hed the head teac her and m e. 'It's s till there, Mrs Callaghan,' s he inform ed the head teac her. 'In the girls ' toilets .' 'Is it, B ernadette?' replied the head teac her c alm ly. 'It is s o, and it's got bigger.' 'W ell, I s houldn't worry about it too m uc h. It won't hurt you.' 'B ut it's got great c urved c laws and gigantic jagged jaws and it's turned a m ouldy green.' Mrs Callaghan s m iled. 'It c an't harm you, B ernadette.' 'B ut, Mis s , it puts the very fear of God into m e every tim e I looks at it.' 'W ell, don't look at it then.' 'S ure aren't your eyes jus t drawn to it?' I c ould not res train m ys elf. 'W hat is it?' I as ked, fas c inated by this exc hange. 'S ure is n't it a m ons ter, a great, dark, green, frightening m ons ter with popping eyes and s harp teeth,' s aid the girl, without s eem ing to draw breath. 'A m ons ter! ' I exc laim ed. 'In the girls ' toilets ,' s he added. 'A m ons ter in the toilets ?' I repeated. S he patted m y arm . 'S ure it's not a real m ons ter,' s he c huc kled. 'It's a great dark s tain from water leaking through the roof, but it gives m e the s hivers right enough jus t to look at it.' T he head teac her explained that the flat roof always leaked after heavy rain, and that the water had left an ugly s tain on the walls of the girls ' toilets . It had grown in s ize. 'Is it a very bad leak?' I as ked the c hild. B efore Mrs Callaghan c ould res pond, the s m all girl piped up: 'A bad leak? S ure it'd baptis e you! ' S pelling it Out

T he c hairm an of governors tut-tutted as he looked through the applic ations at the interview for the heads hip of the s c hool. 'It's a great pity, Mr P hinn,' he s aid, 'that the s tandards of s pelling have dec lined s o m uc h s inc e I was at s c hool.' He pointed to a letter of applic ation in whic h the word 'liais on' had been s pelt inc orrec tly. 'E ven head teac hers c an't s pell thes e days ,' he bem oaned. '"Liais on" is a diffic ult word,' I s aid, in the applic ant's defenc e, 'and I think you will agree that we all have problem s with c ertain words at one tim e or another.' I was rec alling the tim e when I got m y new laptop and s ent a letter to a s c hool whic h s hould have begun, 'Dear Headm as ter', but inadvertently went out beginning, 'Dear Headam s ter'. Fortunately, the rec ipient had a wry s ens e of hum our and replied, 'Dear Gerbil'. 'Mr P hinn,' s aid the c hairm an of governors , pom pous ly, 'I don't have any diffic ulty. I pride m ys elf on being a very good s peller. I have no problem with s pelling.' W ell, bully for him , I thought, but I bet he does . He, like m any I have m et who think they are exc ellent s pellers , s uffered from s om ething of a delus ion. None of us is a perfec t s peller and oc c as ionally even the bes t of us has a problem . I was tem pted to give him m y 'little tes t' of thirty c om m only us ed words , whic h I have s et on m y E nglis h c ours es to teac hers to dem ons trate the loveable lunac ies of the E nglis h s pelling s ys tem . S hould that be 'loveable', 'lovable', or c an it be both? Y ou s ee what I m ean. If every word in E nglis h were s pelt (or s hould that be 's pelled', or c an it be both?) the way it s ounds , it would be s o m uc h eas ier, but this is not the c as e. One in ten words is not s pelt the way it s ounds , and m any of the non-phonic words are am ongs t thos e m os t frequently us ed in the language - words like 'the', 'of', 'one', 'two', 'c ould', 's hall', 'ought', 'wom an', 'wom en', 'write' and 'people'. One c ould never s olve the s pelling of 'c ould' by trying to relate its letters to its s ounds . I rec all a c lever c hild onc e as king m e, 'S o why is the word "phonic s " not s pelt the way it s ounds ?'

Onc e, in an infant s c hool, I c am e ac ros s a m os t inventive little s peller who had written 'E GOG' at the top of the page. 'W hat does this s ay?' I enquired (or s hould that be 'inquired', or c an it be both?) 'Can't you read?' s he as ked. 'I c an,' I replied, 'but I am not s ure about this word.' S he s ighed. ''E dgehog,' I was told. G B S haw fam ous ly dem ons trated the wild phonetic inc ons is tenc y of E nglis h by pointing out that if E nglis h s pelling were phonetic ally c ons is tent, then the s pelling of 'fis h' m ight be 'ghoti': 'gh' as in 'laugh', 'o' as in 'wom en' and 'ti' as in 's tation'. E nglis h is a ric h and poetic language but is m ore c om plex, irregular and ec c entric than m os t other written languages and is arguably the m os t diffic ult E uropean language to read and write. T his is what m akes it s o fas c inating. Now, I gues s you are wondering whic h thirty tric ky and troubles om e words m ake up m y 'little tes t'. W ell, here they are. Y ou m ight like to try them out on fam ily and friends , but be warned - the exerc is e is likely to c aus e s om e argum ent, s o have a dic tionary handy. A s inine, liquefy, purify, rarefy, pavilion, verm ilion, m oc c as in, inoc ulate, im pres ario, res us c itate, s upers ede, roc oc o, m ayonnais e, c em etery, titillate, des ic c ate, s ac rilegious , im pos tor, c ons ens us , m inus c ule, bureauc rac y, c anis ter, predilec tion, tranquillity, ps ittac os is , haras s , unfores een, linc hpin. Changing the Canary 's W ater

I onc e vis ited a c onvent high s c hool. B efore leaving I enquired of the headm is tres s , a s m all bright-eyed little nun, if I m ight was h m y hands . S he direc ted m e to a room with nothing m ore than a row of hooks and a s m all was hbas in in it. I returned to her s tudy. 'A c tually, S is ter,' I s aid, rather em barras s ed, 'I was wanting the toilet.' 'W hy didn't you s ay you needed the lavatory, Mr P hinn?' s he s aid, with a wry s m ile. I am c ertain s he knew what I m eant in the firs t plac e but was jus t being m is c hievous . T here m us t be hundreds of euphem is tic des c riptions for the toilet: 'the little boys ' room ', the plac e where one 's pends a penny', 'powders one's nos e', 's ees a m an about a dog'. It's c alled the 'c onvenienc e', 'c om fort s tation', 'res t room ', 'c loakroom ', 's m alles t room in the hous e', 'fac ility', 'loo', 'nec es s ary'. W hen I was in A m eric a, I heard it frequently referred to as 'the john' and the 'W C' and onc e, interes tingly, as 'the honey buc ket'. I am reliably inform ed that, when m em bers of the royal fam ily wis h 'to pay a vis it', they inform their hos ts that they 'wis h to retire'. Mark, m y editor at the Dales man, tells m e that in S pain a c us tom ary phras e is : 'M e v oy a c ambiar del aqua al c anario' ('I am going to c hange the c anary's water'). P erhaps the m os t elegant of euphem is m s for vis iting the lavatory is , s urpris ingly, a naval one. T he offic er would exc us e him s elf from the table with the phras e: 'I am going to s hed a tear for Nels on.' T he m os t interes ting euphem is tic des c ription was told to m e by Nigel Rees , who devis ed and c hairs the Radio 4 program m e, Quote . . . Unquote. W e were s peaking at the Y ork s hire P os t Literary Lunc h las t year, and he am us ed the audienc e with the s tory of the rather prec ious wom an, who, when s he wis hed to vis it the s aid plac e, would tell her c om panions that s he was 'going to turn the vic ar's bike around'. I was onc e ins pec ting a prim ary s c hool in Harrogate, and the form idable infant head teac her, a wom an of great expertis e and long experienc e, inform ed m e that s he had onc e been approac hed by a m other of two c hildren in the s c hool who was the very m is tres s of the euphem is m . T he parent in ques tion had been in to s ee her, c om plaining that her daughter had told her there was only trac ing paper in the girls ' toilets . It was , in fac t, the good old-fas hioned s hiny IZA L paper that I rem em ber well as a c hild. Her daughter, explained the m other, liked the 's oft tis s ue variety'. W hen the girl's s m all brother s tarted in the infants , the parent had appeared again. 'E xc us e m e, Mrs S m ith,' the parent s aid. 'Could I have a word?' S he explained that s om etim es , when her s m all s on went 'for a little tinkle', he 'got his little nipper c aught in his little zipper'. T he teac her arc hed an eyebrow. 'S o I was wondering,' c ontinued the parent, 'if you c ould overs ee his "perform anc e".' T he teac her explained that were s he to 'overs ee' all the c hildren's 'perform anc es ' when they went 'for a little tinkle', s he would be there all day and s ugges ted that the c hild be s ent to s c hool in trous ers without a zip. 'I hope you don't m ind m e m entioning it,' went on the parent undeterred. 'My hus band s aid it was a bit em barras s ing to bring it up with you, but as I s aid to him , Mrs S m ith m us t have had a lot of them through her hands in her tim e.' W atc h Y our Language

I rec kon I got a grade B in 'A ' level Geography, and not the predic ted grade A , bec aus e of the wretc hed ques tion on c otton. Mr Taylor was adept at predic ting what m ight c om e up on the papers . One topic he rec koned we s hould revis e thoroughly was c onc erned with the c otton indus try in the s outhern s tates of the US A . Mr T aylor looked pretty pleas ed when we c am e out of the exam ination room , and announc ed: 'I had an idea that c otton would c om e up.' 'W here?' I as ked, holding up the paper. I had s earc hed for the ques tion but never found it. T he exam iner, rather than s im ply as king the c andidates to dis c us s the reas ons for the dec line in the c otton indus try in the s outhern s tates of the US A , phras ed the ques tion thus : 'K ing Cotton is dead! Dis c us s .' I was unfam iliar with this expres s ion; the only Cotton I had heard of with the c apital 'C' was B illy Cotton, who had a variety program m e on the televis ion. P erhaps this K ing Cotton, I thought, was s om e ric h A m eric an indus trialis t. A nyway, I had never heard of him s o opted for another ques tion. W hen exam iners fail to us e words and phras es whic h are not part of the s tudents ' everyday language and are not likely to be enc ountered in a s c hool s ituation - language whic h is c om plex, form al and m etaphoric al - problem s aris e. S om etim es , the wording of the ques tion on a paper c aus es diffic ulties in a totally unexpec ted way, in that it c om es between the exam iner's intent and the c andidates ' perc eption of that intent: thos e s itting the paper think they unders tand what is required but they get it wrong. In the following s tatem ent: 'S ugar is a m ixed bles s ing', the c andidate thought 'm ixed bles s ing' was a kind of des s ert like A ngel Delight. A nother c andidate tac kling the ques tion: 'W hic h loc hs afford deep water berthage?' wrote: 'T he ones near the ric hes t towns and c ities .' W hen c andidates m is unders tand the ques tions , there c an be am us ing res ults . Many ans wers of this type are publis hed annually as 'howlers '. Y ou know the s ort of thing: W hat is a s eiz ure? A Rom an em peror. Under w hat c irc ums tanc es are s teroids us ed? T hey keep c arpets from s lipping on the s tairs . E x plain w hat y ou unders tand by the term 'artific ial ins emination'. It's when the farm er does it to the c ow ins tead of the bull. W hat is a 'Caes arean S ec tion'? It's a dis tric t of Rom e. In a democ ratic s oc iety how important is it, do y ou think , to hav e elec tions ? B ec aus e if m en didn't have them they c ouldn't have s ex and produc e c hildren. W hat w as Hitler's s ec ret w eapon? He us ed the dreaded Gas pac ho. W hat is a terminal illnes s ? It's when you are s ic k at the airport. It is im portant to rem em ber that the s tudents are us ually not trying to am us e; their ans wers are hones t attem pts to m ake s ens e of the ques tions . Of c ours e, s om etim es the c andidate deliberately tries to m ake the exam iner s m ile. One boy, required to write the es s ay, 'Im agine you are a new-born baby and des c ribe your firs t week in the world', wrote a s ide of: 'Glug, glug, glug, glug.' A nother, as ked to dis c us s the dis as trous effec ts of global warm ing, wrote: 'A m I bovvered?' T he guidelines for thos e s etting GCS E papers are c lear in s tating that 'the language us ed in ques tion papers (both rubric and ques tions ) m us t be c lear, prec is e and intelligible to c andidates '. P erhaps s om eone s hould have a word with the exam iner who s et the ques tion, 'T rac e the events leading up to the birth of Henry V III' and the one who inform ed c andidates at the top of the exam ination paper that: 'T his option is c om puls ory.' It's the W ay I S ay it

I s till rec all with great pleas ure the oc c as ions when, as a s m all c hild, I s tood with m y father at the kitc hen s ink as we was hed and dried the dis hes (whic h we c alled the 'pots '). He would launc h into a funny poem or a m onologue; I thought m y father m ade them up. T he following week, after hearing a partic ular m onologue - whic h I dis c overed later was the fam ous The Lion and A lbert by Marriott E dgar - I was lis tening with the other c hildren to Mis s W ilkins on, headm is tres s of B room Valley Infant S c hool, telling us in the as s em bly to s it up s m artly and rub the s leep out of our eyes . 'Y ou are a lot of s leepyheads this m orning,' s he told the s ix-year-olds s itting c ros s -legged before her on the hall floor. T hen s he as ked: 'Does anyone know another word for "s leepy"?' I im agine s he was looking for a word like 'tired', but I rais ed m y hand. 'Y es , Gervas e?' s he as ked. 'S om yoolent,' I replied, with all the prec oc ious c onfidenc e of an infant. T his was a word us ed in the m onologue to des c ribe the 'pos ture' of the s leepy old lion, W allac e. It was years later, after m any rec itations of the m onologue, that s om eone pointed out to m e that the word was ac tually pronounc ed 's om nolent'. I have to adm it, I s till have problem s with the word. It is a fac t that m any of us have trouble getting our tongues around bothers om e words . I had an educ ation lec turer at c ollege who got in a great tangle trying to pronounc e 'pedagogy' (ped-a-go-gee), 'ethnic ity' (eth-nis -i-tee), 'phenom enon' (fi-nom -uh-non) and 'philos ophic al' (fil-uh-s of-i-kuhl). A t an interview for a teac hing pos t, a c andidate as ked what the 'rem uneration' (whic h he pronounc ed 're-noo-m er-a-s hun') would be, and, in a rec ent m es s age from a c all c entre, a young wom an s aid a repres entative would be in the area in February (whic h s he pronounc ed 'Feb-yoo-ary'). I was tem pted to c orrec t the m is pronunc iations - 'rim yoo-nuh-reys hun' and 'Feb-roo-er-ee) - but res is ted. T here but for the grac e of God . . . Res earc h on pronunc iation was rec ently undertaken by S pinvox (a voic em ail-to-text-m es s age s ys tem , whic h c orrec ts the inac c urate pronunc iation of words ). It was dis c overed that there are a s urpris ing num ber of c om m only us ed words that we get wrong, words like 'anaes thetis t', 's tatis tic s ', 'provoc atively', 'anonym ous ', 'thes aurus ', 'regularly' and 'alum inium '. Mis pronunc iation, of c ours e, is no laughing m atter, for when we get it wrong it is deeply em barras s ing, partic ularly if s om e helpful pers on points it out. My friend A lban, who farm s near W hitby and is a plain-s peaking Y orks hirem an with a wry s ens e of hum our, tells the s tory of when he was at s c hool. 'I'll tell thee what,' s aid his brother, 'I jus t c an't get m i 'ead round all this s tuff abaat s peykin' proper. W e s ay "path", and t'teac her s ays "paath", we s ay "gras s " and s he s ays "graas ", we s ay "luc k" and s he s ays "loook", we s ay "buc k" and s he s ays "boook". It's reight c onfus in'.' 'T ha dooan't wants to tek no notic e,' his brother told him . 'Nay, we've got to prac tis e it for t'next week. Dus t thy know then, dus t tha s ay "eether" or dus t tha s ay "ayether"?' His elder brother thought for a m om ent before replying. 'Dun't m ek no differenc e 'ow tha s ays it. T ha c an s ay owther on 'em .' W ords to M ak e Y ou W inc e

T he S unday Times c onduc ted a s urvey to dis c over what people thought were the m os t beautiful words in the E nglis h language. T he top ten words were: Melody/velvet, gos s am er/c rys tal, autum n, peac e, tranquil, twilight, m urm ur, c ares s , m ellifluous and whis per. A fter this was publis hed, I as ked readers of m y own news paper c olum n for their favourite words , and thos e words whic h they thought to be the uglies t. I rec eived quite a pos t bag about the latter. I gues s it was the unpleas ant c onnotations whic h were the reas ons for the appearanc e of words like 'gizzard', 's lop', 'c arbunc le', 's c rawny', 'ganglion', 'ins ipid', 'tyrannic al', 'inc arc erate', 'haem orrhaging', 'bulbous ', 's lim y', 's not', 'c lot' and 'prig'. It is unders tandable that words that bring on naus ea like 'vom it', 'gobbet', 's putum ' and 's c um ' were high on the lis t, but there were s om e idios ync ratic and s om etim es s urpris ing offerings . T hes e inc luded 'gus s et', 'hubby', 'panties ', 'poppet' and (predic tably from the two teac hers who wrote) the ac ronym OFS T E D. P oets at the Ledbury Literary Fes tival were as ked whic h word they thought was the uglies t in the language. Geraldine Monk dis liked the word 'redac ted' (to have written out in literary form or edited for public ation), a word I have to adm it I had never c om e ac ros s . 'It's a brutis h s ounding word,' s he s aid. 'It does n't flow, it prods at you in a nas ty m anner.' P hilip W ells had an intens e dis like of the word 'pulc hritude' (whic h paradoxic ally m eans 'beautiful'). W ells was vehem ent in his avers ion to the word. 'It violates all the m agic al im puls es of balanc ed onom atopoeic language,' he s aid, 'being s tuffed to the brim with a brutally Latinate c udgel of barbaric c ons onants .' W ow! T hat's a bit s trong. A c tually, I quite like s aying the word. It's from the Middle E nglis h and has fallen out of us e. I think it s hould be m ore c om m only us ed, partic ularly the adjec tival form of 'pulc hritudinous '. My pet dis likes are the jargon words and phras es that have c rept invidious ly into the language. I winc e, when lis tening to a lec ture on m anagem ent, when the s peaker em ploys the lates t buzzwords and phras es . I partic ularly bris tle when I am exhorted to 'run that extra m ile', 'give it 110 per c ent', 'get on board', 's uc k it and s ee', 'bounc e ideas around', 'throw it into the ring', 'pull in the s am e direc tion' or 'give it m y bes t s hot'. I dis like having things 'flagged up' for m e and I don't feel inc lined to 'get up to s peed', 'think outs ide the box', 'c lim b aboard', 'have a thought s hower', 'pus h the envelope' and 'find a window in m y diary'. I don't want to 'touc h bas e', 'run it up the flagpole', 's quare the c irc le' or engage in 'blue-s ky thinking'. I do not like 'no-brainers ' and 'bullet points ' and I don't want to 'c hill out' or 'have a c om fort break'. B uzzwords reveal nothing that c ouldn't be m ore effec tively c om m unic ated us ing s im ple language. T here are am ple words in E nglis h to expres s one's feelings c learly and ac c urately without res orting to this gobbledegook. Of c ours e, buzzwords are des igned to m ake the s peaker (s orry, 'fac ilitator') s ound go-ahead, up-to-date and s om ething of a s pec ialis t. One word I do find rather ugly is 'galim atias '. It s ounds like a dis eas e of a very pers onal nature or a s pec ies of paras itic al plant. However, it is a word whic h thos e who us e that m anagem ent term inology whic h infec ts the language like bac illi s hould know. It m eans a s tyle of writing whic h is c onfus ed and full of s om ewhat m eaningles s jargon. S o There! Our E nglis h teac her Mr S m art S ays writing E nglis h is an art, T hat we s hould always take great c are W hen s pelling words like w ear and w here, W itc h and w hic h and fair and fare, K ey and quay and air and heir, W het and w et and flair and flare, W ring and ring and s tair and s tare, Him and hy mn and their and there, W hine and w ine and pear and pare, Chec k and c heque and tare and tear, Crew s and c ruis e and hare and hair, M eet and meat and bear and bare, K not and not and lay er and lair, Loot and lute and may or and mare. W ell frankly, I jus t c ouldn't c are! S o there!

'Are You Anybody?'

B ec oming Famous

Do Y ou K now W ho I A m?

I was onc e as ked by a s elf-im portant c ounc illor with whom I had c ros s ed s words : 'Do you know who I am ?' I wis h I had s um m oned up the c ourage to reply, 'No, and frankly, I c ouldn't c are les s who you are,' but I bit m y lip and m erely replied that I did not. I really have to s m ile when I hear that ridic ulous ques tion. A Mr Don Mudd of Nantwic h was waiting patiently in the queue at the c hec k-in c ounter at A uc kland A irport. T he s ingle attendant was attem pting to deal with a long line of exas perated pas s engers when one loud and angry m an pus hed his way to the front, s lapped his tic ket on the c ounter and inform ed her, haughtily, that he was in firs t c las s and ins is ted on being dealt with before the res t. T he attendant explained that there was a queue of people before him and as ked if he would m ind waiting his turn. Undeterred, he s houted at her: 'Do you know who I am ?' W ithout hes itating, the young wom an pic ked up the public addres s s ys tem m ic rophone and announc ed: 'May I have your attention pleas e. W e have a pas s enger who does not know who he is . If anyone c an identify him , c ould they pleas e c om e to Chec k-in 14?' T here's the s tory of Margaret T hatc her who, when P rim e Minis ter and at the height of her power, vis ited Yorks hire with B ernard Ingham and a handbag. S he was touring a res idential hom e for the elderly and, of c ours e, the res idents were keen to m eet her. T here was one exc eption; one lady c ontinued reading her book, apparently oblivious of all the fus s . T he P rim e Minis ter, intrigued, approac hed her. 'Hello,' s he s aid. 'Hello,' replied the wom an. 'A nd how are you?' 'I'm all right. How are you?' 'I'm fine,' replied the P rim e Minis ter. 'A nd are you enjoying it here?' 'Mus tn't grum ble,' c am e the reply. 'A nd have you any c hildren?' 'T wo - a boy and a girl. Grown up now, of c ours e. Have you?' 'Have I?' as ked Mrs T hatc her, rather s tartled. 'Children,' repeated the wom an. 'Have you any c hildren?' 'Y es I do,' s aid the P M. 'I too have a s on and a daughter.' 'A nd what are they c alled?' enquired the elderly lady. 'Mark and Carol. T ell m e dear,' s aid Mrs T hatc her, looking the wom an in the eyes , and as king, with a s ym pathetic s m ile on her lips : 'Do you know who I am ?' 'No love,' replied the old lady, 'but Matron will tell you.' A s a vis iting profes s or of educ ation, I lec ture at various univers ities . A t one univers ity, when the exam ination period c am e around, lec turers were told to be extra vigilant and keep a keen eye out for any c heating or 'flouting of the rubric '. One of m y c olleagues , invigilating an exam ination, explained to the s tudents s itting their finals that, when he told them to s top writing, they m us t put down their pens im m ediately. One young m an c ontinued writing after the order had been given and, when he c am e to hand in his paper, the invigilator refus ed to ac c ept it. 'Y ou were s till writing,' he told the s tudent, as he c ollec ted together a huge pile of papers . 'I was m erely writing m y nam e,' explained the s tudent. 'Nevertheles s , you were writing and your paper will have to go to the Dean of the Fac ulty for his dec is ion.' 'Do you know who I am ?' dem anded the s tudent angrily. 'No, I do not,' replied the invigilator. 'T ake a c los er look,' s aid the s tudent. 'Do you know to whom you are s peaking?' 'No! ' s napped the invigilator. 'I do not know who you are! ' 'T hank goodnes s for that,' s aid the s tudent, and pus hed his paper into the m iddle of the pile. Celebrity S tatus

I was rec ording m y fourth Dales book in B ath, and booked into the hotel near the s tudio where the readers us ually s tayed. B ehind the rec eption des k, s igned photographs of fam ous ac tors and c elebrities who had s tayed there were dis played, eac h with various c om plim entary c om m ents s c rawled ac ros s them . 'Y ou have a s tudio booking?' the pleas ant young rec eptionis t enquired. 'Y es I do,' I replied. 'A nd you'll be at the rec ording s tudio all day tom orrow?' 'T hat's right.' 'Could I as k you a favour?' 'Y es , of c ours e.' S he ges tured behind her, to the hall of fam e. 'It's jus t that we us ually have s igned photographs of the fam ous people who read at the s tudio dis played on the wall.' A bove her were s igned photographs of dis tinguis hed ac tors and politic ians , broadc as ters and televis ion s tars . 'I s hould be delighted--' I began. S he c ut m e s hort. 'W e've got Greg W is e s taying at the hotel.' 'W ho?' I as ked. 'Y ou know, Greg W is e, the ac tor. He's m arried to E m m a T hom ps on.' 'Y es , of c ours e,' I s aid, rec alling the das hing, darkly hands om e Mr J ohn W illoughby in the film vers ion of S ens e and S ens ibility , the m an who res c ues Marianne Das hwood (K ate W ins let) when s he gets c aught in the rains torm and s prains her ankle. He turns out to be a bit of a c ad and later des erts her to m arry for m oney. 'W ell,' c ontinued the rec eptionis t, 'he's s taying here and he's rec ording at the s am e s tudio tom orrow. Could you as k him if we c ould have a photograph? I jus t went weak at the knees when he booked in. I was los t for words .' 'I'll s ee what I c an do,' I replied. It was c lear that there was little c hanc e of m y photograph joining the great and good on the wall behind rec eption. Greg W is e was a m os t c harm ing and unas s um ing m an, and readily agreed to the reques t to have his photograph taken. In fac t, he was extrem ely c ourteous when people approac hed him for his autograph or to tell him how m uc h they enjoyed the film s and televis ion program m es in whic h he had appeared. 'I s uppos e it's part of having an eas ily rec ognis able fac e,' he c onfided in m e. 'A little tires om e at tim es when you want to get about your bus ines s and people keep on c om ing up to you. B ut I don't m ind really.' One evening, as we ate a m eal in the hotel res taurant, I was c ons c ious of people s taring, pointing and dis c us s ing him and, as we got up to go, s everal approac hed him for his autograph. 'A re you his agent?' one m an as ked m e. 'No, I'm not,' I replied, rather peevis hly, 'and I'm not his father either.' It was the las t day of rec ording and we were s etting off for the s tudio when two elderly wom en c aught s ight of us c ros s ing the s m all s quare to the front of the hotel. I s aw one of them point at us and another s c rabble in her handbag for a pen. 'Here we go again,' s aid Greg. 'I'm really s orry about this .' T he elderly c ouple approac hed, but looked pas t m y c om panion and s traight at m e. 'It's Gervas e P hinn, is n't it?' s aid one of the wom en. 'It is ,' I replied. 'I thought it was you. I s aid to m y friend, that's Gervas e P hinn.' 'W e heard you s peak at the W om en's Ins titute A GM las t year,' s aid her c om panion. 'A nd we've read all your books ,' added the other. 'Do you think we c ould have your autograph?' I turned to Greg W is e. 'A h, what it is to be fam ous ,' I s aid s m ugly. Didn't They Do W ell?

I was greeted at the entranc e of the exc lus ive S im ps on's in the S trand by a m em ber of s taff, a young wom an in a s m art grey s uit. 'Mr P hinn?' s he enquired. 'Y es ,' I replied, s urpris ed to be rec ognis ed. 'T he m anager would like to s ee you in his offic e, s ir, if you would like to follow m e.' I was at this s um ptuous hotel to s peak at the 'Oldie Lunc heon' for Ric hard Ingram , along with B arry Cryer and J ohn J ulius Norwic h, and c ould not for the life of m e think what the m anager wanted. 'Me?' I as ked. 'He wants to s ee m e?' 'Y es s ir,' s he s aid. 'Do you know what it is about?' 'No s ir. He jus t s aid it was im portant that you s ee him .' In his plus h offic e, the m anager ros e from his c hair and s m iled warm ly. He was elegantly dres s ed in a dark jac ket, pin-s tripe trous ers , c ris p white s hirt and grey s ilk tie. 'Mr P hinn,' he s aid, holding out a hand. 'How very good to s ee you.' 'T hank you,' I s aid, intrigued. 'Do s it down,' s aid the m anager. He s m iled. 'Y ou don't rem em ber m e, do you?' he c ontinued. 'No,' I s aid. 'I'm afraid I don't.' 'S tephen B us by. Y ou us ed to teac h m e.' 'S tephen B us by,' I s ighed. I s aw in the m an's fac e the c hild I taught s om e thirty or s o years before - that s m all, bright-eyed, good-natured little boy who s at at the front des k. It's a c lic he, I know, but I knew he would go far. 'I always enjoyed your les s ons ,' he told m e. 'My s is ter A nn is c om ing down later this m orning to s ee you. Y ou taught her as well.' I rem em bered A nn, m y s tar pupil, whos e work was im aginative, beautifully neat and ac c urate. S he went on to get top grades in her exam inations . 'S he works for the B B C W orld S ervic e now,' m y form er pupil told m e. 'S he's really looking forward to s eeing you again.' T eac hers always feel that s m all tingle of pride when m eeting form er pupils who have done well in life. T hey feel perhaps they have had s om e s m all part in their s uc c es s es . I have to adm it that I gues s I have not had s uc h a pos itive influenc e on s om e of m y other form er pupils . S om e weeks later, I was s hopping in Rotherham when I was approac hed by a bear of m an with a tangle of c urls and a great bus hy beard, s porting a s elec tion of aggres s ively c olourful tattoos on his arm s . He was holding the hand of a s m all boy of about eight or nine. 'Hey up, Mes ter P hinn,' he s aid. 'Does tha rem em ber m e?' I rem em bered this form er pupil only too well. He was often in trouble for fighting, ans wering teac hers bac k, failing to do his hom ework, truanting and being generally a real nuis anc e. Teac hers tend to rec all the diffic ult and dem anding youngs ters and I c ertainly rec alled this partic ular wayward and dis obedient young m an. 'I do, it's J ohno, is n't it?' 'A ye, that's reight. Does tha rem em ber when I ans wered thee bac k and I got c aned?' Oh dear, I thought, this m ight get ugly. 'I don't,' I s aid, feebly. 'A ye, well I do, and it bloody well hurt.' 'W ell, you s ee--' I began to try and explain. 'I des erved it, reight enough,' he interrupted. 'Oh aye, I des erved it, all reight. I were allus in trouble for one thing or t'other and I'll tell thee what, Mes ter P hinn, if teac hers today were like t'ones I 'ad when I were at s c hool, s tric ter like, then we wunt 'ave all this yobbis h behaviour. It never did m e no 'arm .' 'P erhaps you're right,' I agreed. I was not inc lined to argue with the giant. 'A nd who is this young m an?' I as ked, s m iling at the glum -fac ed little boy s taring up at m e with large wide eyes .

'Him ? T his is our K yle,' I was told. 'Mi grands on.' 'Grands on?' I repeated. 'A ye, I've got eight.' 'E ight,' I m outhed. I s uddenly felt very old. Digging the Garden

I was pos itioned at the very entranc e to a m as s ive books hop, s itting at a s m all table, s urrounded by towers of books and feeling not a little em barras s ed. P eople pas s ed and glanc ed in m y direc tion but not a s oul s topped to talk to m e or to buy. T hen an elderly c ouple approac hed. T hey obs erved m e for an inordinate am ount of tim e, as if I were s om e rather s trange s pec im en in a m us eum c as e. 'A re you anybody?' as ked the wom an eventually. S he was dres s ed in a thic k blac k c oat with a m ultic oloured heads c arf wrapped around her head and tied in an enorm ous knot under her c hin. 'I beg your pardon?' I as ked pleas antly. 'A re you anybody? 'A ve you been on anything?' 'No,' I replied s im ply. 'Do you know who he is , Ron?' the wom an enquired of her c om panion, a s m all m an in a flat c ap with the fac e the c olour and texture of a m ouldering rus s et apple. 'No, I don't,' he replied. 'W hat's it about?' as ked the wom an, pic king up m y book and flic king through the pages . 'It's about m y life as a s c hool ins pec tor in the Y orks hire Dales .' S he s c rewed up her fac e. 'It's a hum orous ac c ount of the c hildren and teac hers I have m et - s ort of gentle, life affirm ing, obs ervational writing. T here's no s ex and violenc e and bad language,' I added. 'Does n't s ound m y c up of tea,' rem arked the wom an, putting down the book. 'Cookery books s ell,' the m an told m e. 'A nd gardening books ,' added the wom an. 'P ers on they 'ad 'ere las t tim e wrote one of them gardening books and there was a queue right out the door and round the c orner.' 'Mind you,' s aid the m an, 'it were s om ebody.' 'Really,' I s ighed. 'W ho was that then?' 'Charlie Dim m oc k,' the wom an told m e. 'A nd what's he got that I haven't?' I as ked, m is c hievous ly. T he wom an s hook her head. 'It's a wom an,' s he told m e. 'A nd s he digs the garden without a bra,' added the m an. 'S o do I,' I s aid. T he m an threw bac k his head and laughed. 'A ye, but you 'aven't got what Charlie Dim m oc k's got.' My m other always advis ed m e never to try and be c lever with people. It never pays off. I s hould have heeded her advic e. 'S o, is that the m ain c riterion for writing a book then?' I enquired. 'W hat?' as ked the wom an. 'Digging a garden without a bra?' S he thought for a m om ent before s haring her thoughts . 'It m ight not be, love,' s he told m e with a s m all s m ile playing on her lips , 'but I rec kon s he s old m ore books than you're ever going to s ell. Com e on Ron.' A nd with that they departed, leaving m e s itting by m y lonely s elf am ids t the piles of uns old books . The Curs e

W hen m y firs t Dales book, The Other S ide of the Dale, was publis hed I was unders tandably very exc ited to s ee it in the s hops and to read the reviews in the papers . Chris tine and I were s taying at a hotel in the Yorks hire Dales and were joined for dinner that evening by m y editor, J enny Dereham , and the writer and broadc as ter, Mike Harding, and his wife. In the c orner of the lounge s at an elderly wom an, engros s ed in reading the very book. 'W hy don't you tell her you've written it,' urged m y dinner c om panions . 'I'm s ure s he'll be thrilled to m eet the author.' I took little pers uading and approac hed the wom an. 'E xc us e m e,' I s aid pleas antly. 'Y ou perhaps aren't aware but that is m y book that you are reading.' 'I think not,' s aid the wom an tartly. 'I borrowed it from m y s is ter. A nd if you do find your c opy I wouldn't bother reading it - it's not up to m uc h.' B orrowed books are a s ens itive s ubjec t for m e. My brother-in-law, K eith, is s om ething of a bibliom aniac - his nos e is forever in a novel or a biography and his hous e has wall-to-wall s helving in virtually every room , all c ram m ed with books . He has one golden rule when it c om es to his treas ured books : never ever lend them to anyone. 'Invariably,' he s ays , 'thos e who do never s ee them again and if the books are returned they are s tained with s un-tan lotion or c offee or have the c orners of the pages turned down or the s pines hanging off.' I do wis h m y dear wife Chris tine would take a leaf out of K eith's book, if you will exc us e the m etaphor. I have a s tudy at hom e whic h has its fair s hare of tom es but tim e and tim e again I will be s earc hing the s helves for a partic ular book and, having been uns uc c es s ful and enquiring of Chris tine if s he has s een it, m y dear wife will s ay: 'Oh, I lent The K ite Runner to Margaret', or: 'If you're looking for the B as il Hum e biography, Mum 's got it', or: 'I let A nne borrow the Mic hael Dobbs .' 'Chris tine,' I s ay with exas peration in m y voic e, 'will you pleas e, pleas e as k m e firs t when you lend people m y books , and if you feel c om pelled to loan them out will you as k for them to be returned?' Of c ours e, the books rarely are returned and I have to go out and buy another c opy, whic h, being a thrifty Y orks hirem an, does not go down well at all. T he pas ting of a bookplate at the front of m y books , with E X LIB RIS printed in red and, jus t for good m eas ure, s tating that the book is the property of Gervas e P hinn and c ould it pleas e be returned, I am afraid has had little effec t. I have now res orted to plac ing in eac h loaned book a c opy of the s plendid S panis h Curs e on B ook Thiev es , dis c overed in the library of the m onas tery of S an P edro in B arc elona, and I have to s ay that now m y books are returned pretty prom ptly. For him that s tealeth or borroweth and returneth not T his book from its owner, Let it c hange into a venom ous s erpent in his hand and rend him . Let him be s truc k down with pals y and all his m em bers blas ted. Let him languis h in pain, c rying aloud for m erc y A nd let there be no s urc eas e to this agony 'til he s ing in dis s olution. Let bookworm s gnaw his entrails A nd when at las t he goeth to his las t punis hm ent, Let the flam es of hell c ons um e him forever. A Charac ter of Fic tion

'W e've been having a little c ontretemps about you,' s aid the very elegant elderly wom an at a literary lunc heon. S he turned to her equally elegant c om panion. 'Have we not, P atric ia?' 'Indeed,' agreed her friend. 'Could you s ettle our differenc e of opinion?' s he c ontinued, res ting a heavily bejewelled hand on m y s leeve. 'If I c an,' I replied. 'W here did you ac quire your s oubriquet?' 'My what?' 'Y our c ognom en, your pen-nam e, your nom de plume?' 'Obvious ly, Gervas e P hinn is c learly not your real nam e,' added her c om panion. 'It's s o very literary, like a c harac ter from Dic kens . I s aid to Doris that I think it c om es from T rollope - P hineas Finn - but m y friend here thinks you ac quired it from E dm und Cris pin's novel, Lov e Lies B leeding, in whic h the m ain protagonis t is the s leuth, P rofes s or Gervas e Fen.' 'It's m y real nam e,' I told them , s m iling. Doris arc hed an eyebrow. 'How very s ingular,' s he s aid. 'However did you m anage, growing up in Rotherham ?' enquired her friend. I was relating this c onvers ation to another s peaker at the lunc heon. My fellow writer gave a wry s m ile. 'W ell, c an you im agine what I had to put up with?' replied David Nobbs . Gervas e is a nam e whic h appears quite frequently in his toric al rom antic fic tion, but he s urfac es as a thoroughly bad lot. T he nam e is us ually given to aberrant aris toc rats , narc is s is tic , dandified pos eurs and devious , upper-c rus t and well-c onnec ted villains . Rather than the Regenc y buc k, with his c oal blac k c urls , s warthy s kin, dark s m ouldering eyes and tight-fitting britc hes , the Gervas e of literature inevitably turns out to be a bloated, raddled old roue with quivering jowls , a wet hands hake and extrem ely ques tionable habits . In S lightly Tempted (a s tory of 's parkling c ourts hip, s c andalous pas s ion and all-c ons um ing love') by Mary B alogh, Lord Gervas e A s hford is the notorious rake, intent on ravis hing the beautiful Lady Morgan B edwyn. In The Faun's Folly by S andra Heath, Lord Gervas e Mowbray, Duke of W roxham , is only m arginally better. Georgette Heyer, in The Quiet Gentleman, had a c entral c harac ter c alled Gervas e, E arl of S t E rith and, in The Queen's M an, by S haron K ay, Gervas e Fitz Randolph is no better than he s hould be. In M is tres s W ilding, by Rafael S abatini, portly S ir Gervas e S c ores by is not s om eone to be trifled with and, in M r Cas tonel, the eponym ous hero is Mr Gervas e Cas tonel: 'It was a prepos s es s ing fac e; it was s ilent, pale and unfathom able with grey im penetrable eyes that dis liked the look of you; and dark hair.' Mary J o P utney, in her rom antic s aga, Dearly B elov ed, paints a pic ture of a c old and brittle m an who prefers his own c om pany to that of others : In s pite of their phys ic al c los enes s , Gervas e was rem ote from her, his expres s ion hars h and withdrawn. Diana leaned ac ros s the narrow gap for a light kis s , as king s oftly, 'Is s om ething wrong?' His eyes were s hadowed and he was s ilent for too long. S o, I think I have m ade m y point: the Gervas es in literature are well c onnec ted, but not very nic e. W hen I m et the third s peaker at the literary lunc heon, the bes ts elling novelis t Margaret Dic kins on, author of s uc h c rac king reads as W is h M e Luc k , The M iller's Daughter and Chaff Upon the W ind, I s ugges ted rather fac etious ly that s he m ight like to nam e the hero of her next novel, S uffragette Girl, a Gervas e, and us e m y s ec ond nam e, Ric hard, as his s urnam e. T o m y s urpris e and delight, s he agreed. T rue to her word, the novel features a young, das hing m ilitary hero c alled Gervas e Ric hards . The Critic

'I think Mr P hinn will agree with m e that his books won't win a B ooker or a P ulitzer prize for literature, but if you want a light-hearted, entertaining, eas y holiday read you need go no further.' T hat was the introduc tion to m y talk at a rec ent literary fes tival. Dam ned with faint prais e, I thought. I know none of m y books will ever rank am ongs t the great works of literature or bec om e s et texts for 'A ' level, but the c om m ents did, I have to s ay, rankle a little. T hos e who write books , however, have to ac c ept that s om e c ritic s will be les s than generous in their opinions and s hould not get too ups et about it. If you pres ent your work for public s c rutiny, you have to take the rough with the s m ooth. A uthors and poets s hould follow the advic e of Lord B yron, in his c lever and am us ing E nglis h B ards and S c otc h Rev iew ers : 'T o s purn the rod a s c ribbler bids m e kis s , Nor c are if c ourts and c rowds applaud or his s .' Of c ours e, authors s om etim es entertain wic ked thoughts about their c ritic s but to enter into a s langing m atc h with a m ean-m inded reviewer c an do a deal of harm to that writer's reputation. If I rec eive a letter c ritic is ing s om e as pec t of m y work, I never reply. It will irritate the s ender to think that their efforts have been was ted and their opinions ignored. Rec ently, the philos opher A lain de B otton bec am e apoplec tic when he read the review of his book, The P leas ures and S orrow s of W ork , by the c ritic , Caleb Crain. He ac c us ed Crain of being 'driven by an alm os t m anic des ire to badm outh and pervers ely deprec iate anything of value'. He went on to wis h his c ritic 'nothing but ill will in every c areer m ove you m ake,' and to dec lare, 'I will hate you till the day I die! ' He really was ups et. Nic c i Gerrard, writing about the novelis t J eanette W inters on, wrote s om ewhat c ruelly that: 'S he has c om e a long way from playing tam bourine in a m is s ionary tent in Lanc as hire; s he's the ultim ate s elf-m ade wom an - s elf-taught, s elf-im proved, s elf-produc ed, s elf-invented and oh-s o s elf-c onfident.' Mis s W inters on was s o angry s he turned up one evening on Gerrard's doors tep and c onfronted the c ritic with the words : 'Never c om e near m e or m y writing again, do you hear?' In reviewing P iers Morgan's book, God B les s A meric a, Giles Hatters ley, rather than foc us ing on the c ontent of the book bec am e rather pers onal in his attac k when he wrote that 'being P iers Morgan thes e days s ounds exhaus ting - naff parties , D-lis t s quabbles and pic tures of your wobbling m oobs s plas hed ac ros s tabloids '. Morgan's retort to Hatters ley was equally pers onal, branding his reviewer as 'a Norton-es quely c am p, pint-s ized toe rag.' Let us hope they don't m eet eac h other at one of the 'naff parties '. If writers m us t res pond to c ritic al reviewers it is bes t done with hum our. I was s peaking at another literary lunc h with a very popular and s uc c es s ful author of rom antic fic tion. T here is a great deal of c ritic al and patronis ing c lap-trap about what are dis m is s ed as 'pot-boilers ', that the c harac ters are s hallow and the plots predic table and far fetc hed, but thos e who write thes e m as s ively popular s tories know their audienc e, res earc h their s ubjec ts and produc e entertaining reads . T hos e quic k to c ritic is e s hould have a go at writing one of the novels . I as ked the author at the literary lunc h if s he felt ups et and angry with the c ritic al reviews of her work. S he s m iled. 'I s ell m ore books than any B ooker prizewinner,' s he told m e, 'and laugh at m y c ritic s - all the way to the bank.' T hen s he added, 'A nd after all, c ritic s are like eunuc hs , aren't they? T hey like to tell you how to do it but are inc apable of doing it them s elves .' The Campbells A re Coming

I was as ked to s peak at the S c ottis h E duc ation Conferenc e in Glas gow. T here was a s tipulation: tartans will be worn. I was rec om m ended 'S c otland's P rem ier K iltm aker' in Glas gow, and duly paid the s hop a vis it to get kitted out. T he delightfully friendly and s om ewhat m ature lady enquired of m y c lan. I explained that m y paternal grandm other was Margaret Helen Mac donald, a fears om e and zealous m atriarc h who hailed from S outh Uis t. My grandm other m aintained s he was a direc t des c endent of the fam ous Ranald Mac donald, who fought for B onnie P rinc e Charlie. I gues s m any have laid c laim to this but, if m y turn c om es to be on the televis ion program m e whic h trac es anc es try, I will know one way or the other. 'I'm m inded to have a pair of trews rather than a kilt,' I told the proprietor. 'T urn roond,' s he s aid, and proc eeded to exam ine m y nether regions . 'A ac h no! ' s he exc laim ed. 'Yev no the buttoc ks for the trews . T hey have to be s m all and well form ed - like two duc k's eggs in a handkerc hief. You s ee, the s hort B onnie P rinc e Charlie jac ket expos es everything at the rear. Yours are far too big and flabby.' S he was nothing if not blunt. 'B etter a kilt to c over things up.' W hen I tried on a kilt s he was rather m ore c om plim entary. 'A ye, that's better. Y ou've the legs for a kilt.' My Granny Mac donald m arried an Iris hm an, J ohn Finn, but, wanting to retain her proud S c ottis h nam e, and being a bit of P atric ia Routledge's Mrs B uc ket aka B ouquet, c hanged the nam e to P hinn, and s tyled hers elf, rather grandly, Mrs Mac donald-P hinn. Like m any a Mac donald, s he had little tim e for anyone bearing the perfidious nam e Cam pbell. It was they, s he rem inded anyone inc lined to lis ten, who m as s ac red the poor defenc eles s m em bers of her c lan at Glenc oe. S he would never c ountenanc e anything in her hous e with the word 'Cam pbell' on - c ans of s oup and m eatballs bearing the dreaded nam e were banned.

I gues s Granny Mac donald s pun in her grave when I went to work for a head teac her c alled Mr Cam pbell. One February m orning I arrived at s c hool wearing a blac k and white tartan tie of the Menzies Clan. S is ter B rendan, a teac hing c olleague, c om m ented how nic e it looked. 'I don't wear this to look nic e, S is ter,' I s aid m is c hievous ly, 'I wear it on this day in m em ory of thos e who died at Glenc oe, thos e m em bers of m y grandm other's c lan who were m as s ac red by the Cam pbells .' 'Good grac ious ,' s aid the nun, vis ibly s hoc ked, 'whenever was this ?' 'T he thirteenth of February, 1692,' I told her. 'T hat was a terrible long tim e ago, Gervas e.' 'It was , S is ter,' I s aid, 'but we have long m em ories and when Mr Cam pbell, the head teac her, s ees this tie, he will feel s uitably as ham ed of what his c lan did.' 'S urely it's tim e to forgive and forget,' s he s aid. A fter as s em bly that m orning, Mr Cam pbell approac hed m e about s om e inc ons equential m atter. S is ter B rendan watc hed with interes t. 'W hat did he s ay?' s he as ked in hus hed tones as I headed for m y c las s room . 'He apologis ed,' I s aid loftily. A n Interpretation

'I hope you don't m ind,' s aid the Direc tor of E duc ation, 'but we have s om e foreign vis itors with us this evening.' I was the after-dinner s peaker at a large educ ation c onferenc e entitled: 'E duc ation: W here are we going from here?' Frankly, when I s aw the foreign vis itors , a pretty large delegation of E as tern-looking princ ipals , educ ation offic ers and univers ity lec turers , I felt like going hom e. 'T hey do s peak E nglis h, don't they?' I as ked, trying to reas s ure m ys elf. 'V ery few of them ,' s aid the Direc tor of E duc ation, s m iling. 'I am afraid they won't unders tand a deal of what I s ay,' I ventured. 'T hey won't unders tand a bloody word,' s aid the helpful head teac her on m y right, 'not if you s tart talking about all thos e Y orks hire c hildren and the things they s ay. I have diffic ulty with s om e of your m aterial m ys elf and I'm from Lanc as hire.' T hat's unders tandable, I thought to m ys elf, but I didn't s ay anything. 'Don't worry,' s aid the Direc tor of E duc ation, 'there's an interpreter. He will trans late what you s ay.' I felt m y heart begin to s ink. 'I've told them you are a very am us ing s peaker and that they are in for a m os t entertaining evening.' My heart had now s unk into m y s hoes . I joined a group of head teac hers at one of the tables . 'Do you s peak J apanes e then?' as ked one, a large bearded individual who would have looked at hom e as a bounc er outs ide a c lub. 'No, I don't,' I replied. 'I'm going to enjoy this ,' he s aid, 'watc hing their expres s ions when you get going. T heir fac es will be a pic ture.' 'I don't think your m aterial will eas ily trans late into J apanes e,' another J ob's c om forter told m e. 'A nd the J apanes e s ens e of hum our is very different from our own,' added another. I c an't s ay that m y addres s was a res ounding s uc c es s . T he foreign vis itors s at politely, with bem us ed expres s ions on their fac es , while the interpreter s truggled valiantly to trans late m y anec dotes . A fter the firs t five m inutes , he threw in the towel and joined his c olleagues in obs erving m e with the s am e ins c rutable expres s ion on his fac e. A fter twenty m inutes or s o, I too threw in the towel and dec ided the poor J apanes e vis itors had endured quite enough of m e rattling on about c hildren and s c hools in Y orks hire. 'Mos t enjoyable,' s aid the Direc tor of E duc ation, in a rather lukewarm tone of voic e, as I prepared to m ake a has ty exit. 'Do c om e and s ay hello to our foreign vis itors . I am s ure they would like to m eet you.' 'My s on Matthew lives in J apan,' I told a m os t dis tinguis hed-looking m an in thin gold-rim m ed s pec tac les . T he interpreter inform ed him what I had s aid with an expres s ionles s fac e. 'He loves J apan,' I c ontinued, 'the people, the c ulture, the s c enery, the food.' T he interpreter trans lated. 'Matthew has been there for five years now, in Hiros him a. He's an artis t in res idenc e there.' T he interpreter trans lated. 'He has fallen in love with your c ountry.' I was now getting rather effus ive. T he trans lator gave a s m all s ym pathetic s m ile. 'W e are from China,' he told m e. 'A ah . . . s o,' I s aid, s m iling weakly. 'China?' I hoped that the floor would open and s wallow m e up. A ll eyes were foc us ed upon m e. 'My s on Dom inic lives in China, you know,' I s aid c heerfully. 'He is the General Manager at the E uropean Cham ber of Com m erc e in Nanjing. He loves your c ountry, the people, the c ulture, the s c enery, the food . . .' A fter the B rigadier

I like Rotarians . T hey are invariably friendly, good-hum oured and kindly people with a great s ens e of fun and, after the W om en's Ins titute and the T owns wom en's Guild, they are m y bes t audienc e. One bright S unday m orning, I was in B ournem outh to s peak, at the Dis tric t Governor's autum n c onferenc e, to over a thous and Rotarians and their wives or partners . I was greeted warm ly at the entranc e of the venue by the S ergeant-at-A rm s , a jolly red-fac ed m an dres s ed in a s triped blazer and s traw boater, and s porting a large yellow s as h. 'Y ou're s peaking after the B rigadier,' he told m e. 'Really,' I s aid c heerfully. 'Have you heard the B rigadier s peak before?' he as ked. 'No,' I replied, 'I haven't.' 'Y ou are in for a real treat. I've been c om ing to thes e c onferenc es for years and I've never yet heard a better s peaker - am us ing, inform ative and c hallenging and not a note in s ight.' My heart s ank. 'I wouldn't like to be in your s hoes ,' he vouc hs afed. I was taken to m eet the Dis tric t Governor, a dis tinguis hed-looking, heavily bem edalled individual. 'Y ou are s peaking after the B rigadier,' he told m e. 'S o I believe.' 'Have you heard the B rigadier before?' 'No, I haven't,' I s aid. 'T he B rigadier was s peaking at our c onferenc e a c ouple of years ago, and is bac k by popular dem and. Quite a brilliant pres entation.' My heart was now thum ping away in m y c hes t and m y s tom ac h was doing kangaroo jum ps . I have followed m any dis tinguis hed, c haris m atic and am us ing s peakers in m y tim e - S im on W es ton, B arry Cryer, S ir J ohn Mills , Lord S nowdon, George Galloway, P D J am es , David Mellor, A ndy Mc Nab and others - and it is a frightening experienc e bec aus e the audienc e feels s o let down if you are not as good, whic h invariably you are not. Now here I was , s peaking after the B ritis h A rm y's ans wer to a c ros s between Os c ar W ilde and W ins ton Churc hill. B ac ks tage, the s ound tec hnic ian, fiddling with m y lapel m ic rophone, whis pered, 'Have you heard the B rigadier before?' 'No, I have not! ' I s napped irritably. 'A nd before you tell m e, I do know what a brilliant s peaker he is .' My outburs t was overheard by an attrac tive wom an, a little younger than m ys elf, dres s ed in an elegant grey s uit and pris tine white blous e. S he was s tanding in the wings . 'Good m orning,' s he s aid, giving m e a dis arm ing s m ile. 'Morning,' I m uttered. 'A re you one of the s peakers ?' s he as ked. 'Y es I am ,' I told her. 'Y ou m us t be the s c hool ins pec tor.' 'T hat's right. I'm following this bloody B rigadier when he deigns to s how up.' T he wom an s m iled even wider. 'I'm the bloody B rigadier,' s he s aid. Him Off the Telly It is you, is n't it? Him off the telly? I thought it was . I s aid to m y friend Look, I s aid, there's that m an off the telly, T he one with the hair and the fanc y ties . T he c om edian, T he one who m akes people laugh. I jus t knew it was you. I s aid to m y friend, I s aid, it's him all right, I rec ognis e him , Him off the telly, T he one with the jokes and the c heeky s m ile, T he c om edian. T he one who m akes people laugh. I'll pop over, I s aid A nd have a word. No don't, s he s aid. I am , I s aid. I s aid, he'll be us ed to people P ointing him out and going up to him . It's part of being a c elebrity, Of being on the telly. A nyway, I jus t thought I'd have a word. A nd tell you T hat I don't think you're all that funny.

'It's a Funny Old World'

Health, Life and Death

The Fac ts of Life

T he c leaner at Y ork T eac hers ' Centre was pulling a fac e when I arrived to direc t a poetry c ours e. 'T hey've got s om eone talking to the teac hers on s ex educ ation in Room 4 this m orning,' s he told m e, s haking her head. 'W hy in the world do c hildren need to know about that? It will give them ideas . T here's too m uc h s ex on televis ion as it is . I m ean, when we were young we knew nothing about that s ort of thing.' 'No, we didn't,' I agreed, rec alling that 'the fac ts of life' when I was growing up in Rotherham was s om ething of a s oiled phras e. 'No one ever talked about it.' P erhaps they s hould have, I thought. 'I m ean,' c ontinued the c leaner, 'I didn't know what a hom os exual was until I m arried m y hus band.' T he Governm ent is now bringing in guidelines on s ex educ ation whic h all s c hools will be required to inc lude on the already c rowded c urric ulum . E ngland has one of the highes t rates of unwanted pregnanc ies in E urope, and this initiative is to warn youngs ters of the dangers of unprotec ted s ex and the loom ing m enac e of HIV . Of c ours e, ideally it s hould be the parents who take on the res pons ibility of explaining things to their offs pring. Chris tine and I tried, but with little s uc c es s . W hen Dom inic was s even he as ked the ques tion we were expec ting. He was always a very inquis itive c hild s o when he as ked c as ually, one day, 'Daddy, where do I c om e from ?' I was not s urpris ed. 'I'll get your m other,' I told him . Chris tine and I s at him down between us on the s ettee. 'Y ou know, Dom inic , that Daddy loves Mum m y,' I told him . 'Y es ,' he replied, his little brow furrowing. 'A nd that Mum m y loves Daddy?' 'Y es .' 'W ell, you are here bec aus e we love eac h other.' 'How do you m ean?' 'Over to you Chris tine,' I s aid. 'No,' replied m y wife, 'you are doing very nic ely.' I took a breath. 'W ell, Dom inic , ins ide Mum m y's tum m y is an egg.' 'A n egg! ' he exc laim ed. 'It's not a big egg. In fac t it's a tiny little egg and you c an't s ee it.' 'I've got m ore than one,' interrupted Chris tine. 'Y ou have a go,' I told her. 'A nd down there,' s aid Chris tine, vaguely ges turing to m y nether regions , 'Daddy has a s ort of little tadpole.' 'I have 400 m illion,' I told her. Dom inic 's eyes widened. 'W ow! ' 'A nd when Mum m y and Daddy have a very c los e c uddle,' c ontinued Chris tine, and the little tadpole m eets the little egg, then a little baby form s .' W e c ontinued with our explanation until I finally as ked our wide-eyed s on: 'S o does that explain where you c om e from ?' 'No,' replied Dom inic s im ply. 'I jus t wanted to know where I c om e from . David c om es from Halifax.' W hen I was a s c hool ins pec tor, I obs erved a les s on where a young wom an teac her was explaining the fac ts of life to a group of eleven-year-olds . S he had inform ed m e, prior to the les s on, that s he found the tas k daunting, and predic ted that one notorious ly naughty boy would no doubt em barras s her by as king a tric ky ques tion at the end. S he pointed out the s aid c hild: a frizzy-haired boy with a fac e full of frec kles and a c heeky expres s ion. S ure enough, after the les s on the boy waved his hand in the air like a daffodil in a s trong wind. T he teac her s ighed. 'Y es Duane,' s he s aid. Her expres s ion betrayed the fac t that s he expec ted that, of all the c hildren, he would be the one to as k a ques tion. 'W hat is it?' 'Can I as k you s om ething, Mis s ?' he s aid. 'If you m us t,' replied the teac her, giving m e a knowing look. 'W ill we be having rounders this afternoon?' Getting up M y Nos e

I was onc e invited to c ontribute to a radio phone-in on the topic : 'W hat are the things that really wind you up?' 'Gervas e,' as ked the produc er, 'are there any things that really annoy you?' 'W here s hall I s tart?' I as ked. I will dis c los e what m y irritants are a little later on but s hall now reveal what the m any lis teners who phoned in found really annoying. T he s how had a quite exc eptional res pons e from grum py old m en and wom en who vented their fury on, am ongs t other things , litter louts , unhelpful s hop as s is tants , c hewing gum on s treets and s eats , autom ated greetings on c us tom er c are lines , s low drivers , s pitting, queue jum pers , dawdlers and ditherers , c yc lis ts and begging on s treets . Other pet hates inc luded s peed c am eras , loud pers onal s tereos on public trans port, white van drivers , IK E A , bac kpac kers on trains and s hoppers who fum ble for m oney at the c hec kout. One of the m os t unus ual c om plaints was from an elderly wom an who c om plained about m en and their 'genital adjus tm ents in public plac es '. I added to the lis t. Dog m es s on the s treets really really gets up m y nos e. Let m e rephras e that - it m akes m y blood boil. Many dog owners are res pons ible, of c ours e, and take the m es s hom e in a plas tic bag, whic h is the thing to do. B ut then there are the others . J ohn, a neighbour of m ine, was as tounded to s ee a s m all hairy dog perform ing direc tly in front of his gate while the owner looked on. B y the tim e he had put on his s hoes to c onfront the offender, m an and dog had s et off down the s treet. Not to be deterred, m y neighbour s c ooped up the depos it with a s pade and followed the c ulprit until he c aught up. 'I think this is yours ,' he s aid, holding the s pade at arm 's length. J us t as well the dog was n't a Doberm an. T he other people who get m y goat are loud m obile phone us ers on trains . T he whole of the c arriage is privy to the m os t pers onal c onvers ations , delivered at m axim um volum e. On one London to Newc as tle train, a bus ines s m an, who had c om m andeered the table with his Filofax, laptop, folder and briefc as e, was holding forth on his m obile phone oppos ite a wom an pas s enger who was c learly irritated. 'Yes , darling! ' he s houted down the phone, 'I'll be bac k in Donc as ter at eight. Yes , darling, the m eeting went fine. No, darling, Raym ond never m ade it. Really darling? W ell, bring the Range Rover to the s tation. Yes , I know you're not us ed to driving it, darling. W ell, get Robert to revers e it out for you, darling. Y es , darling.' T he wom an had had quite enough and, s natc hing the phone from his hands , s aid into it in a loud and alluring voic e, 'Com e bac k to bed, darling.' K eeping Calm

S o the s tory goes , Os c ar W ilde was dining at the Cafe Royal with a group of friends and adm irers . T hrough the elegant res taurant s trode the iras c ible and booris h Marques s of Queens bury, the father of W ilde's lover, Lord A lfred Douglas . Queens bury was c arrying a rotten c abbage, whic h he pres ented to W ilde with the words , delivered loudly enough for all to hear: 'T his , s ir, is what I think of you! ' T here was an expec tant hus h am ongs t the diners , and all eyes looked at the c elebrated wit and playwright to s ee his reac tion. Os c ar W ilde s m iled, nodded and held the foul-s m elling vegetable to his nos e. He s niffed it dram atic ally. 'T hank you, m y lord,' he replied s erenely. 'W henever I s m ell a s tinking c abbage, I s hall always think of you.' I have a great adm iration for people who c an keep c alm and c ollec ted in the fac e of a furious outburs t from a rude and angry pers on, and m anage to m ake a witty ripos te. I took Chris tine out for a m eal on her birthday to an exc lus ive res taurant. E verything about the evening was s uperb - the m eal, the pres entation, the am bienc e and the attention we rec eived from the friendly waiters - until the m an on the next table, a large, loud, red-fac ed and voluble individual c am e to s ettle his bill. 'I hope you enjoyed your m eal, s ir?' enquired the owner. 'No,' replied the m an, 'I c an't s ay as I have. It were far too fanc y for m e. I likes plain food not this nouv eau ric he s tuff. It were not m y c up of tea at all. A nd I have to s ay it were very pric ey for what it was . I don't want to get into an argum ent about it, but s inc e you as ked, I c an't s ay as how I enjoyed it.' 'Get into an argum ent?' repeated the owner, s m iling. 'No s ir, neither do I, but were I to c hallenge you to a duel, I s hould s elec t the E nglis h language as m y weapon.' It am azes m e how s hop as s is tants , waiters , polic e offic ers , rec eptionis ts and traffic wardens (yes , traffic wardens have a job to do) m anage to keep unruffled when fac ed with s uc h people. Las t year, I was s igning books in a delightful books hop in Cum bria. It was a veritable treas ure c hes t, with friendly s taff, s uperb dis plays and a wonderful s elec tion of fic tion, poetry and referenc e books . Into the s hop c am e a s tony-fac ed wom an with a narrow bony fac e and an equally m ardy-looking c hild in tow. 'W here are the bes ts ellers ?' s he dem anded. T here was no 'pleas e'. T he owner s m iled and s howed her to the appropriate part of the s hop. T he wom an pluc ked a tom e from the s helf and s niffed nois ily. 'T his is half pric e in T es c o's ,' s he c luc ked dis approvingly, before s tic king it bac k. 'P erhaps you m ight like to purc has e it from T es c o's , then, m adam ,' replied the owner. 'I don't like this writer anyway,' s he told him , s niffing again. 'Y our books ought to be alphabetic alis ed,' s he told him . T he owner's fac e s ignalled that he was getting rather irritated but he retained the forc ed s m ile. T he ill-tem pered c us tom er bought a guidebook, whic h was plac ed in a s m all brown paper bag. T hen s he departed. A m om ent later, s he returned with the whinging c hild. 'He wants a book,' s he s aid. 'W here's the c hildren's s ec tion?' T he owner took a deep breath and s howed her to the s helf. S he s elec ted a book. 'May I put it in with your other book, m adam ?' as ked the owner. 'It would s ave us ing another bag.' T he wom an exploded. 'Of c ours e I want a bag! ' S he s aid, outraged that the owner s hould s ugges t otherwis e. T he owner produc ed the larges t brown paper bag he c ould find. 'T hat's far too big! ' s he s napped. 'P leas e take it, m adam ,' he told her. 'I s aid it is too big,' s he repeated angrily. 'P leas e, I ins is t,' s aid the owner. 'I s aid it's too big! ' s napped the wom an. 'It's not for the book, m adam ,' the owner told her. 'It's for your head.' Tak e Care w ith Y our W riting

I was delighted to learn that one of m y pic ture books , Our Cat Cuddles , was to be publis hed ac ros s the A tlantic . I was told, however, that there had to be c ertain m inor alterations to s uit the A m eric an m arket: 'Mum ' would bec om e 'Mom ', the 'RS P CA ' would bec om e 'A nim al S helter' and the referenc e to giving the kitten m ilk needed to be c hanged. T hey wanted to c hange m ilk? It was Os c ar W ilde who obs erved that we B ritis h s hare everything with the A m eric ans exc ept the language, but I was intrigued, and as ked m y editor, s om ewhat naively: 'Don't they have m ilk in A m eric a?' 'Children are taught in s c hools that it's very bad to give c ats m ilk,' I was told. 'You'll als o ups et the powerful c at lobby.' It was then pointed out to m e that, when Hillary Clinton dum ped the W hite Hous e c at, S oc ks , on B etty Currie, her hus band's PA , when B ill's term as pres ident expired, s he c am e in for a deal of c ritic is m , and her abandonm ent of the pet c ould hinder her am bition to return to the W hite Hous e as the firs t wom an pres ident. T he s am e week, I rec eived a s harp letter from a head teac her who had heard m e s peak at a c onferenc e. S he inform ed m e, in a high-handed m anner, that the term 'brains torm ing', whic h I had us ed, was inadvis able. S he pointed out that 'people who have brains torm s would feel s ingled out and ups et, and the ac c eptable term to us e now is "thought s hower" or "c loudburs t".' S he c ontinued to inform m e that the term 'nitty-gritty', another term I us ed, was 'rac is t' and that 'it refers to the nits whic h c overed the holds in s lave s hips and is deeply offens ive to blac k people'. T hen s he m entioned that the bully in one of m y Roys ton K napper c hildren's s tories was 'a fat boy' and dis c rim inated agains t overweight people. A s m y father would have s aid: 'W ell, I'll go to the bottom of our s tairs ! ' I have to s ay that I get a bit hot under the c ollar when the 'language polic e' s tart flexing their m us c les . I c ertainly do not wis h to ups et or offend anyone, but s om etim es I do feel we go a tad too far with this c reeping c ens ors hip of what we s hould or s hould not s ay. W ell, I earnes tly hope that we do not go down the road of our A m eric an c ous ins . A c c ording to Diane Ravitc h, an educ ational his torian and form er US governm ent offic ial, s om e of the c ens ors hip im pos ed on books and on teac hers in A m eric a is often trivial, s om etim es ludic rous and, on oc c as ion, breathtakingly s tupid. In her book, The Language P olic e: How P res s ure Groups Res tric t W hat S tudents Learn, s he reveals that a s tory entitled The Friendly Dolphin was rejec ted by one s c hool c om m ittee bec aus e it dis c rim inated agains t s tudents who did not live near the s ea. A nother s tory, The S illy Old W oman,

was barred bec aus e it c ontained the s tereotype of an elderly wom an. Other banned words and topic s inc luded 'blind as a bat' (handic apis t), 'henpec ked hus band' (s exis t), 'pas t one's prim e' (ageis t), 'm other c leaning the hous e' (s exis t), 'bookworm ' (offens ive to hard workers ) and s o the lis t goes on. One s c hool board objec ted to a pic ture book about an old lady with too m any c ats . It was deem ed a s exual s tereotype. A h m e, I have an idea m y little pic ture book, Our Cat Cuddles , has little c hanc e of s eeing the light of day ac ros s the A tlantic , and m y book on dinos aurs has n't a c at in hell's c hanc e. You s ee, all books on dinos aurs are banned by s everal s c hool c om m ittees in the s outhern s tates bec aus e they im ply the theory of evolution, whic h is not univers ally ac c epted. Cus tomers A re Not A lw ay s Right

I took m y brother-in-law and m y s is ter out rec ently, to c elebrate a s ignific ant birthday. W e s at in the glorious s uns hine outs ide the Cliffem ount Hotel at Runs wic k B ay, overlooking one of Yorks hire's m os t m agnific ent vis tas : a c res c ent of pale yellow s and, great loom ing roc k fac es , s m all s tone c ottages with pantile roofs c linging to the c liff and tiny boats bobbing on a s m ooth and glas s y s ea. It was idyllic . 'W hat a wonderful view,' I s aid, s ighing and turning to the glum -fac ed c ouple on the next table. 'It's a bit too c hoc olate-boxy for m y liking,' obs erved the wom an. T his rem inded m e of an anec dote rec orded in the Country man m agazine when a S heffield c ouple was as ked: 'Did you enjoy your holiday in the Lake Dis tric t?' 'T here were nowt but watter and s c enery,' was the blunt reply. I related the s tory to the proprietor of the Cliffem ount when we went in for lunc h. 'T here's no pleas ing s om e people,' s he s aid. 'I have had gues ts who s eem to m ake a c areer of c om plaining. One res ident grum bled that the s uns hine was too bright in his room , another that the toilet was too nois y and a third that the birds s ang too s hrilly in the m orning and woke her up.' S hort of arranging an ec lips e, inventing a s ilent flus h and s hooting all the s eagulls , there was n't m uc h the proprietor c ould do. T he report on holidaym akers ' genuine c om plaints , by the travel agenc y T hom as Cook, m akes am us ing reading. T here are c om plaints about the beac h being too s andy, the loc al s tore in S pain that didn't s ell proper bis c uits like c us tard c ream s and ginger nuts , and the s ea being a different c olour from that in the broc hure. One traveller c om plained that the flight from J am aic a to E ngland took nine hours but it only took the A m eric ans three to get hom e. P erhaps you c an gues s whic h c ountry this next touris t had vis ited: 'T here were too m any S panis h people. T he rec eptionis t s poke S panis h. T he food was S panis h and there were too m any foreigners .' T here was the s ights eer on honeym oon with his new wife, at a gam e park in A fric a, who s potted a very am orous and vis ibly arous ed elephant and c om plained that the beas t m ade him feel inadequate. A gues t at a Novotel hotel in A us tralia grum bled that his s oup was too thic k and s trong, only to be inform ed that he was eating the gravy. 'My fianc e and I booked a twin-bedded room ,' c om plained another holidaym aker, 'but we were plac ed in a double-bedded room . W e now hold you res pons ible for the fac t that I find m ys elf pregnant. T his would not have happened if you had put us in the room we had booked.' A t the Cliffem ount Hotel, we had a m agnific ent m eal of fres h W hitby fis h, s itting at a table overlooking the bay and s erved by a s m iling and friendly waitres s . T he c hef em erged from the kitc hen to as k if we had enjoyed his efforts and, when s ettling the bill, I was as ked by the proprietor if everything was s atis fac tory. 'How c ould it be otherwis e?' I as ked. 'It was s plendid.' S he s m iled. 'Y ou would be s urpris ed. One gues t rem arked that s he felt the plac e had no atm os phere.' 'How do you m anage to deal with s uc h people?' I as ked. 'B y being polite,' s he s aid, s hrugging. 'W hat els e c an one do?' T here is the s tory (probably apoc ryphal) about the m an at the c hec k-in at the airport, who berated the poor m em ber of s taff for a c ons iderable period of tim e. T he young wom an behind the c ounter ans wered him c alm ly and politely and c hec ked in his bags . 'How do you s tand for this s ort of thing?' as ked the next pas s enger. 'It's dis grac eful the way that m an s poke to you.' T he young wom an s m iled. 'T he gentlem an is going to New Y ork,' s he replied, 'but his bags are going to B eijing.' The P hotograph

My s is ter, Chris tine, arrived for lunc h one S unday with the fam ily photograph album s , whic h s he had taken c harge of when our parents died and whic h had been in her loft ever s inc e. T hat afternoon, we s pent a good c ouple of hours looking through the c ontents and rem inis c ing. In one album there was a c ollec tion of photographs of our father, taken before and during the las t war, when he was a des patc h rider. I had never s een the photographs before and was intrigued. T here were two portraits , taken in a Cairo s tudio, of this s triking-looking, s erious -fac ed young m an, his hair neatly parted and his beret tuc ked in regulation fas hion under his epaulette, a c ouple of him s tanding to attention by a m otorbike and s idec ar, a group photograph of a s quad of fourteen s m iling s oldiers in full uniform , s itting s traight bac ked and c ros s -legged at Catteric k Cam p, and s everal of m y father as tride a hors e. 'W hat's he doing on a hors e?' I as ked m y s is ter. 'I never knew he c ould ride.' 'He was in the arm y eques trian team ,' m y s is ter c om m ented c as ually. 'I never knew that! ' I s aid, as tounded. It oc c urred to m e that S unday afternoon that I knew very little about m y father's war s ervic e. He never s poke of it. For that m atter, nor did m y Unc le A lec , who was a warrant offic er in the Royal A ir Forc e and flew bom bing m is s ions over Germ any, or m y Unc le J im m y, who s erved with the Iris h Guards . My Unc le Ted, a s ergeant in the A rm y Medic al Corps and a Dunkirk veteran, only onc e told m e about the panic and the horrors he had witnes s ed on the beac hes as the B ritis h A rm y retreated. P erhaps thes e m en had s een things that they wis hed to forget. I was very proud of them and s till am and their m edals are on the wall in m y s tudy. W hen I was a lad, m y father, a great s toryteller, am us ed and entertained m e with the exc iting exploits of the T hree Mus keteers and B iggles , Long J ohn S ilver and Rob Roy Mc Gregor, Huc kleberry Finn and Robins on Crus oe, but he never told m e anything about his tim e in the B ritis h A rm y. I gues s the s ubjec t was never rais ed. P erhaps it was too painful for him to rec all or that he jus t wanted to return to his hom e and fam ily and get on with his life; then again, he m ight have c ons idered it s uc h an ordinary, uneventful few years of his life and therefore of not m uc h interes t to a boy keen on adventure s tories . I do rem em ber m y father's las t Rem em branc e S unday, when I ac c om panied him to the war m em orial with m y three young s ons . He was in a thoughtful, s om bre m ood during the s ervic e, and s tood a little apart from us . Ric hard, m y eldes t s on, notic ed as the Las t P os t was being played that his grandfather was in tears . On that s pec ial S unday we s hould all, es pec ially the young, rem em ber thos e who fought and thos e who died in defenc e of our freedom . My poem is dedic ated to all thos e brave m en and wom en, m em bers of today's arm ed forc es , who are s till fighting in thos e 'far-off lands of blis tering heat and burning s and' in defenc e of freedom , jus tic e and hum anity. Remembrance S unday On Rem em branc e S unday Grandpa c ried For his two brothers , who had died In s om e forgotten far-off land Of blis tering heat and burning s and. He touc hed a m edal on his c hes t W hic h s parkled brighter than the res t: 'T he A fric a S tar,' he gently s ighed, 'A badge of honour, of thos e who died, A s ym bol of our T ed and J ac k W ho never m ade the journey bac k.' W e watc hed old s oldiers s tride on by, S traight of bac k and heads held high, A nd we c lutc hed our poppies of brightes t red A nd we wept for the brothers J ac k and T ed. A Real Hero

Like m any in this c ountry, I was appalled by the pic tures in the news papers and on the televis ion s c reen of the hom ec om ing parade of the s oldiers from the 2nd battalion, T he Royal A nglian Regim ent, returning from s erving abroad. 'B utc hers of B as ra! ', 'Cowards ! ', 'K illers ! ', 'E xtrem is ts ! ', the plac ards proc laim ed. I was deeply s addened by the s ight of the grieving parents at the funeral of their s on, S apper P atric k A zim kar, m urdered in Northern Ireland, a young m an who pulled his friend to the ground and s aved his life before he was killed. T hes e m en and wom en who s erve in our arm ed forc es are dedic ated to help bring peac e to war-torn lands and are abus ed and s om etim es m aim ed and killed for trying to do s o. T hat s am e week, I was privileged to s hare a platform with Doug B eattie at the Manc hes ter Literary Lunc heon. One of a tiny c ontingent of B ritis h troops , the Royal Iris h Regim ent c aptain went to help A fghan forc es rec apture the town of Garm s ir - known as the Taliban gateway to Helm and P rovinc e. For two brutal and bloody weeks , he and a few s oldiers , who s hrunk to jus t three m en, fac ed a feroc ious enem y in im pos s ible c onditions and with inadequate s upplies . For his repeated bravery, Captain B eattie was dec orated with the Military Cros s . T here was a s trange hus h in the audienc e, and a good few tears , as this brave s oldier told us with heartfelt hones ty about his experienc es and of the res ilienc e, c ourage and hum anity of the B ritis h s oldiers who s erved with him . A t one point, when s erving in Iraq, he was res pons ible for form ing and running the holding pen for 1,500 enem y s oldiers with a s m all defenc e platoon to c ontain them . 'It was a tens e period,' he s aid. 'I unders tood why m y m en's frus trations m ight s o eas ily boil over: the heat, the phys ic al exhaus tion, the real danger and the im agined danger. B ut I was c lear in m y own head. W e would treat the pris oners c orrec tly and with c om pas s ion. It was what I as ked of the m en under m y watc h. T he res pons e was fantas tic . Not only did they do what was reques ted but they often did m ore, giving up their own water and food s o at leas t s om e of our c harges c ould be s atiated. I was , and am , extrem ely proud of them .' T he m orning after the literary lunc h, I travelled to London with a heavy c as e in tow. A s I s truggled to lift m y burden off the pac ked luggage rac k, a young s oldier took it from m y hands . 'OK , pop,' he s aid, 'I'll give you a hand.' Doug B eattie would have been proud of him . S omeone at the Door

I have to s ay that I adm ire the s heer pers is tenc e and determ ination of J ehovah's W itnes s es . Near where I live, their bright m odern c hurc h has been built, and m any a weekend I have rec eived the attention of a c ouple of zealous m em bers of the c ongregation wis hing to debate their beliefs with m e. W ithout exc eption, I have found thes e vis itors s m artly turned out, c ourteous and good-hum oured but, s adly for them , s ingularly uns uc c es s ful in c onverting m e to their way of thinking. I was brought up to be polite to people who appear on one's doors tep s o have, unlike s om e, I s hould gues s , never been dis c ourteous to thes e dedic ated pros elytis ers . However, one weekend I was not in the m ood for any dis turbanc e. I had a deadline to m eet. My long-s uffering wife had departed on the Friday evening for a weekend with her parents in S hipley, to give m e s om e peac e and quiet to c om plete a book I had been s truggling to write. T he final m anus c ript had to be on m y editor's des k firs t thing T ues day. S o, nine o'c loc k S aturday m orning found m e on a roll in m y s tudy, rattling away happily at the keyboard, m aking real headway. T hen the doorbell rang. I dec ided to ignore it. T he wretc hed bing-bonging c ontinued s o, hair a m es s , uns haven, barefooted and in m y old green towelling dres s ing gown, I s tom ped down the s tairs and threw open the front door. On the doors tep were two well-dres s ed, s m iling individuals . T he m iddle-aged m an held a briefc as e and his young wom an c om panion held a c lutc h of papers . 'Good m orning,' s aid the m an c heerfully. 'Morning,' I grunted. 'B eautiful day, is n't it?' s aid his c om panion. 'Don't you feel glad to be alive?' 'Look . . .' I began. 'Might we interes t you in what we believe?' s aid the m an. 'No,' I replied bluntly. T hey both were c learly taken abac k. T his was s om ewhat s urpris ing to m e s inc e I s hould think they often rec eive s uc h a res pons e.

'I do not wis h to appear c hurlis h,' I told them , 'but I am exc eptionally bus y and have not the tim e, nor indeed the inc lination, to debate your beliefs this m orning.' 'W e would welc om e the opportunity of explaining our views ,' s aid the m an, undeterred by m y s harpnes s . 'A nd what we s tand for,' added the wom an. 'I am fully aware of what you s tand for,' I s aid. I pointed to the c lutc h of papers in her hand. 'I have read all about your beliefs and have debated them a num ber of tim es with your c olleagues on this very doors tep and I am not interes ted. I s hall never be c onverted to your way of thinking.' 'Really,' s aid the m an, looking very interes ted. 'A nd I have to tell you,' I c ontinued, 'that the only thing you and I have in c om m on is God.' T he m an looked at the wom an, s m iled weakly and then turned his attentions bac k to m e. 'S o I take it, then,' he s aid, 'that you won't be voting Liberal Dem oc rat?' Cons ulting the Doc tor

I have been having a bit of trouble with m y throat rec ently. 'It's bec aus e you talk too m uc h,' s aid m y wife. 'Y ou want to give your voic e a res t onc e in a while.' My doc tor was rather m ore s ym pathetic and I was s ent to the hos pital for an X -ray. S o m uc h is s aid and written about the failings of the NHS , but I have to s ay that I rec eived five-s tar treatm ent. I s at with m y book in an eas y c hair, in a c om fortable lounge area, with a c up of c offee, waiting for m y nam e to be c alled. It was n't long before a s m iling and c hatty nurs e took m e to have the X -ray. A week later, I was bac k. T hey had dis c overed s om ething. T hen followed a battery of tes ts , all done with c heerfulnes s and ac c om panied by an explanation of what was happening. T he s pec ialis t appeared and introduc ed him s elf, and I followed him into a room that s m elt of antis eptic . Leaning over m e with a long, thin piec e of tube-like equipm ent, he explained that the bronc hos c opy would be a little unc om fortable when the probe went down the bac k of m y throat and into m y lungs , but it would s oon be over. 'It s ounds quite fun,' I m anaged to m urm ur. I eyed the tube. 'I hope it's had a thorough was h,' I told him . 'I hazard to think what other orific es it's explored.' He s m iled, and as s ured m e this equipm ent was us ed s olely for lungs . It was the s peec h therapis t (a J oanna Lum ley look-alike) who did the endos c opy (the tube this tim e went up m y nos e and down the bac k of m y throat) - another fun experienc e. A ll was explained to m e, and I watc hed in fas c ination as the m iniature c am era dis played m y ins ides on a s m all s c reen. 'Y ou c an have a c opy of the photographs if you like,' s aid the s m iling nurs e, who held m y hand throughout. 'Great,' I c roaked. 'I'll put them in m y album next to the holiday s naps .' 'W ell?' s aid m y wife when I arrived hom e. 'I've got to go bac k for the res ults next week,' I told her, 'and in the m eantim e I have to try and res t m y voic e.' S he gave a hollow laugh. T he following week I was c alled into the s pec ialis t's offic e. He s at behind his des k, half-m oon s pec tac les perc hed on the end of his nos e, a wodge of papers before him . He tapped the des k with his pen for a m om ent as if c ons idering what to s ay. I feared the wors t. He took a deep breath. 'B efore I go through the tes t res ults , Mr P hinn,' he s aid, 'm ay I as k you s om ething?' I knew it, I thought, m y heart thum ping in m y c hes t and m y throat bec om ing dry. It's s erious . He's going to as k m e if I have m ade a will. I nodded. 'Y es , of c ours e,' I m anaged to m outh.

He reac hed into a drawer and produc ed a c opy of m y lates t Dales book, whic h he pas s ed ac ros s the des k. He s m iled. 'My wife is a big fan of yours ,' he s aid. 'I wonder if I m ight trouble you to s ign this for her?' W ith trem bling hand, I wrote m y nam e. T here was s om ething on m y throat, he explained, but it was dam aged c artilage whic h was not life-threatening. He s ugges ted, however, that I m ight undergo a c ours e of s peec h therapy. 'I don't think I will find that too arduous ,' I s aid, thinking of the breathing exerc is es I would be doing with the J oanna Lum ley look-alike. The B es t M edic ine

T here's the s tory of the m an (no doubt from Y orks hire) who, c om ing out of a K en Dodd s how where the audienc e had been weeping with laughter, res ponded to his friend's ques tion, 'W hat did you think of the c om edian then?' with the obs ervation that: 'W ell, he was all right if you like laughing.' It is a fac t that s om e people don't like to laugh. Lord Ches terfield, for exam ple, thought it extrem ely vulgar to expres s am us em ent. 'T here is nothing s o ill-bred,' he wrote, 'as audible laughter, with its dis agreeable nois e and s hoc king dis tortion of the fac e.' He was c learly not a barrel of laughs . Queen Mary was als o a bit of a killjoy, by all ac c ounts , and ins truc ted her fam ily never even to s m ile in public . I feel s orry for thes e wet blankets , bec aus e laughter not only m akes you feel good, it does you good. A c c ording to Dr P ierc e J Howard, Direc tor of Res earc h, Center for A pplied Cognitive S tudies , NC, US A : 'Laughter inc reas es our im m unity to illnes s , im proves s leep, enhanc es natural growth and res ults in tes ts of problem -s olving ability im prove when prec eded by laughter.' A c olleague, Mic hael Miller of the Univers ity of Maryland, agreed that a c hortle a day c an keep the doc tor away and found, after extens ive res earc h, that laughter 'offs ets the im pac t of m ental s tres s whic h is harm ful to the endothelium '. He further dis c overed that, c om pared with healthy people of the s am e age, thos e with heart dis eas e were 40 per c ent les s likely to laugh in a variety of s ituations . Laughter, of c ours e, c an c om e in different form s . It c an be defens ive, c ynic al, em barras s ed or c ruel as well as good-hum oured. S om etim es we laugh to be polite or to c over up, to be part of the group or jus t to be s oc iable. A nd what m akes one pers on laugh m ight not am us e another. I rem em ber, as a c hild, gathering around the laughing polic em an in the glas s c as e on B lac kpool pier. T his large puppet c am e to life when a penny was put in the s lot. T hen he s hook and guffawed, and his infec tious laughter had thos e who watc hed doubled up with laughter. T here was always one, however, who looked on with a fac e like a death m as k, perhaps wondering why s o m any people found it funny. I have to adm it to having a c huc kle when I read about the hoax telephone c alls to Dublin Zoo. It c an't have been m uc h fun for thos e rec eiving them . 'Good afternoon, Dublin Zoo. How m ay I help you?' 'I'm res ponding to an urgent c all from Mr Rory Lion. If he's not available, A nna Conda will take the c all.' 'W e have not los t our s ens e of hum our,' s aid the m arketing m anager, 'but with the c alls c om ing in at a rate of thirteen a m inute, it's no laughing m atter.' In des peration, s he has rec orded the following welc om e m es s age on the ans werphone: 'If you are wanting to s peak to a Mr Rory Lion, C Lion, G Raff, A nn T Lope or E Guana, you are the vic tim of a hoax m es s age.' T his , of c ours e, m ight c aus e s om ething of a problem s hould Mr Don K ee or Mr J ac k Rabbit be appointed to the zoo. B eliev ing in M irac les

A lan, a friend of m ine, rec ently s pent a tim e in hos pital. He retired as head teac her on the Friday and on the T ues day he had a s troke. Fortunately he is on the m end and when I vis ited him he was c heerful and optim is tic , and s poke warm ly of the c are and attention he had been rec eiving from the doc tors and nurs es . I had arrived at the hos pital rather too early for vis iting tim e, s o had retired to the c afe for a c up of tea before s eeing A lan. W hen I c am e to pay, I enc ountered in front of m e a large, tattooed wom an in fluffy bedroom s lippers and s hoc king pink dres s ing gown. S he was berating the poor wom an at the till. 'T here's not m uc h flipping c hees e in this s andwic h and it's flipping expens ive as well and I don't like the flipping tea either,' s he c om plained. Needles s to s ay 'flipping' was not part of her voc abulary, but the other 'f' word was . A s the vis ion in pink s huffled off, the wom an on the till s ighed. 'Y ou c ertainly get to s ee life in here,' s he told m e. 'T hink yours elf luc ky,' I replied. 'Y ou don't have to treat her. Can you im agine her as a patient?' I was c learly m is taken for a m em ber of the m edic al team , for the wom an on the till nodded and s aid, 'Y ou're quite right, Doc tor. I don't know how you and the nurs es have the patienc e.' T hen s he s m iled. 'I've taken off the s taff dis c ount.' T he m an in the bed next to m y friend, who had als o s uffered a s troke, was in a c ons iderably wors e c ondition than A lan, and lay prone and s peec hles s , his body s tiff as a plank. On his s ec ond day in the hos pital, A lan was vis ited by a form er c olleague, a devout Rom an Catholic , who brought with him s om e holy water from Lourdes . T his he s prinkled liberally on A lan's arm and leg, and s aid a s hort prayer of healing. T he vis itor of the m an in the next bed watc hed proc eedings in interes ted s ilenc e and then as ked: 'W hat are you doing?' A lan's form er c olleague told her the s tory of how a young wom an c alled B ernadette s aw a vis ion of the V irgin Mary in 1858 and, s inc e then, the grotto at Lourdes , where s he appeared, s pouts s pring water that pos s es s es healing properties . 'Can m y hus band have s om e of that?' as ked the wom an. 'Is he a Catholic ?' s he was as ked. 'No.' 'Does he believe in m irac les ?' 'I don't s uppos e he's ever thought about it but he's gam e to try anything if it helps him get better.' S o the holy water from Lourdes was s prinkled on the prone individual who, s uc h was his c ondition, really had no c hoic e in the m atter and looked s om ewhat bem us ed. T he next m orning, when A lan awoke, his neighbour had gone. Oh dear, he thought, the m an has s uffered another s troke. He did look very ill. 'Has the m an in the next bed died?' as ked A lan of a nurs e. 'Oh no,' s he s aid, 'he's having a s hower. He's going hom e later today.' A m irac le, thought m y friend. He had witnes s ed a m irac le. Later that day the doc tor c alled and, after hearing A lan's ac c ount, inform ed m y friend, with a wry s m ile, that the m an had not, in fac t, had a s troke but had s uffered a partic ularly bad m igraine. Tric k s in the Hos pital

W hen m y m other was a theatre s is ter, young doc tors s om etim es played tric ks on the nurs es . T hey were harm les s enough, but m y m other warned the trainees to be wary of being s ent for 'a Fallopian tube' or a box of 'B ower's Caps ules ' or to get the doc tor's 'anatom ic al s nuff box'. One young nurs e, attending her firs t operation, watc hed nervous ly as a form idable s urgeon perform ed in the theatre. He was known for being hum ourles s , rude and iras c ible, a m an who never s aid 'pleas e' and 'thank you'. W hen he turned to the young nurs e and s napped, 'Fetc h s is ter's c oat! ' the poor young wom an jum ped. 'P . . . p . . . pardon?' s tuttered the young nurs e. 'Y ou heard m e, nurs e,' s napped the s urgeon, s peaking through his m as k. 'Fetc h s is ter's c oat! ' 'Is this a joke?' s he as ked feebly. 'A joke! ' exploded the s urgeon. 'Fetc h s is ter's c oat! Now! ' T he young wom an s c urried off, returning a m om ent later with m y m other's c oat. T he s urgeon s ighed deeply and artic ulated, 'I s aid, "Fetc h the c ys tes c ope".' On another oc c as ion, a bubbly, good-hum oured W es t Indian nurs e was obs erving the s elf-s am e s urgeon. In thos e days when the patient was anaes thetis ed, his or her arm was plac ed on what was c alled an 'arm board'. T he s urgeon turned to the nurs e. 'A rm bored! ' he s napped. 'P ardon, Doc tor?' as ked the nurs e. 'I s aid "arm board",' repeated the s urgeon. 'W ell I's e bored too, Doc tor,' s he replied pleas antly, 'but we'll s oon be going hom e.' The Funeral

My s is ter Chris tine taught an art c las s in K invara, a village on the wes t c oas t of Ireland where s he onc e lived. In the group was an elderly m an who found, late in life, that he had a real talent for painting, and bec am e prolific in turning out the m os t beautiful and s ought-after waterc olours . S adly, on his ninetieth birthday, he died. My s is ter, along with m em bers of her art group, attended the funeral in a s m all c hurc h in rural Connem ara. P rior to the requiem m as s , the dec eas ed m an's daughter invited m y s is ter to view the body, whic h lay in an open c offin in the front room of her s m all c ottage. On the walls s urrounding the c offin were her father's paintings . T he artis t him s elf rec lined in the c as ket, c lutc hing a s et of paintbrus hes and a palette. One aged aunt, leaning over the c offin, s tared for a m om ent at the c orps e before rem arking to the daughter: 'Y ou know, B ridget, s ure your father's never looked better.' Death c om es to all of us but people in the c ountry c an s till find hum our in this m os t s erious s ituation. T hos e in rural c om m unities s ee life and death at firs t hand every day and perhaps , therefore, have a better unders tanding and indeed apprec iation of s uc h things . S om e of m y favourite s tories , whic h I am as s ured by the tellers are true, inc lude the following. T he c ortege was leaving the c rem atorium . It was a bitterly c old day and the ground was dangerous ly ic y. T wo elderly wom en, ins tead of us ing the s teps , dec ided that they would exit via the ram p, up whic h the c offin had been wheeled. One of the wom en los t her footing, s lipped and nearly fell, but, gras ping the handrail, m anaged to right hers elf. 'Dear m e! ' s he s aid to her c om panion. 'I nearly went full length.' 'W ell, it's very s lippery,' replied her friend. T hen s he added: 'I m ean, you would have thought they would have put s om e as hes down.' S om e years ago, in a m ining village in S outh Yorks hire, a veiled figure in the deepes t blac k arrived at a c inem a, followed by what appeared to be a funeral party. S he handed the us herette a s heaf of tic kets , and, noting the look of s urpris e on the young wom an's fac e, s aid s olem nly: 'E e, las s , m y J ac k never did c are for funeral teas and s uc h but he did enjoy a good c owboy pic ture.' T he owner of a butc her's s hop in North Y orks hire died. His friend, a lugubrious c harac ter c alled T om m y, attended the funeral tea along with the other m ourners . A m ongs t the s pread on the table, he obs erved s om e s aus ages on c oc ktail s tic ks . 'Com e along, T om m y,' s aid the widow, 'will you not have a s aus age?' 'No thank you,' c am e the reply. 'I'd s oon as not.' 'Don't s aus ages agree with you then?' as ked the widow. 'W ell,' s aid T om m y, s haking his head, 'I've got nowt agains t s aus ages as s uc h, but I think blac k pudding would have been m ore s eem ly at a funeral.' T he undertaker, having been ups tairs to m eas ure the c orps e, joined the s ilent and s orrowful fam ily group in a W ens leydale farm hous e. He waited for a m om ent before as king in a s olic itous voic e: 'A nd when would you like the funeral to take plac e?' T here was a long paus e. 'Might I s ugges t S aturday?' 'A ye, that'll be all right,' s ighed the widow, s adly. A nother long s ilenc e ens ued, then the eldes t s on announc ed: 'Nay, that'll not do.' 'May I as k why?' enquired the undertaker. 'It's t'bull s ale at Hawes on S aturday,' c am e the reply. A P recious Gift (a S mile) It c annot be bought or borrowed It c annot be s tolen or s old B ut this prec ious gift W hen freely given Is a pleas ure to behold. For it reas s ures the frightened, It s oothes thos e who are s ad, A nd c om forts the dejec ted, A nd m akes the m ournful glad. It brightens up this weary world A nd lightens up our life B rings s uns hine to the s hadows A t a tim e of pain and s trife.

Acknowledgements W ith thanks to the Y ork s hire P os t news paper, the Dales man and the Country man m agazines in whic h public ations s om e of thes e artic les appeared; to m y editors Rowena W ebb and David Moloney for their advic e, patienc e and enc ouragem ent, and to m y long-s uffering wife and c hildren who have heard thes e views expres s ed and lis tened to the anec dotes s o m any tim es around the dinner table. 'S ee W ith My E ars ' by Ruth Meac hin. Reproduc ed with Ruth's kind perm is s ion. 'On a Fros ty Morning' by T hom as Hood. Reproduc ed with T hom as ' kind perm is s ion. Ric hard Mc Cann's teac hings reproduc ed here with his kind perm is s ion. 'W hen I W as a Y oung Lad'. A traditional Y orks hire folks ong.