| |
Previous | Contents | Next
Bilborough 1957-2000
Portrait of a College
Part II - Bilborough Grammar School
Those early years -
Adrienne E Thompson
The English Department - Robert
Protherough
From HP to HJP based on conversations with
Alan Sanday
Bilborough Played Its Part - Roy
Downing
A Rare tabula rasa - D K (Ken)
Rowat
Early Drama based on correspondence from
Alan Gill
Four Very Happy Years - Arthur
Gilliver
A Reminiscence - Ian Bartlett
My appointment to Bilborough was a fiddle,
of course - John Pick
Top
Those early years
Adrienne E Thompson (Senior Mistress,
1957-69)
Schools are traditional institutions but
Bilborough gave us an opportunity to re-examine our
experience of school traditions and decide, if not
unanimously at least by consensus, what Bilborough's
could be.
The calm, orderly first day owed much to
detailed pre-planning by all involved, especially Harry
Peake, Ivor Williams and Bill Bristow. A timetable operating
smoothly before lunch was a matter of pride. Others watching
recent Station X programmes may have recalled the squared
paper, sharp pointed pencil poised . . . a good timetable
would always be in place to provide a sound structure in
which curriculum could develop and change
Although the colour and style of the
girls' winter uniform and PE Kit was decided well before
my appointment there remained that for summer. An appropriate
gingham was found, Junior and Senior dress styles considered,
with an open necked short sleeved blouse to offer as an
alternative for seniors. Students modelled them and gave
their views before a final choice was made. Balancing cost v
quality was crucial. The blazer badge was made available as a
separate item and a 're-cycling' scheme was set up.
The extent to which it was used bore witness to its value for
many parents, but perhaps an added bonus was to see the
pleasure of a soon-to-be First Former wearing our uniform for
the first time. The standard of grooming expected was high
but admirably achieved.
The door label read Girls Rest Room, but
that would only encourage girls to find reasons to use it - a
single Medical Room was deemed sufficient. Room 1.2 became a
base for the Service Group who spent lunch hours making
blankets and garments for despatch to a Displaced Persons
Camp in the then West Germany. Gifts of materials from
parents and friends encouraged us; the drawings and letters
from the Camp were reward enough.
High academic achievement was a prime
goal, but two early decisions ensured that other qualities
received recognition - there would be no football league of
promotion and demotion; prizes for Effort, based on regular
assessment in all subjects, would be awarded. Prize Days are
memorable, smooth running occasions. All prize winners were
primed to accept without demur the book handed to them, but
moving lines of students, however well managed, do not always
synchronize with static piles of books. I hope there were not
too many errors, but I did appreciate the smiling aplomb with
which a prize was accepted, even if the title was at best a
surprise, at worst deliciously inappropriate.
Sir John Hunt's presence at one Speech
Day reflected the boys' success in the Duke of Edinburgh
Award Scheme. The girls waited impatiently for it to be
established in the City for them. Colleagues, parents and
many others helped in running appropriate modules. The first
Gold Award winners attended the summer Presentation of Awards
at Buckingham Palace in 1968. Silver and Bronze holders were
close on their heels.
1960 would bring the first School leavers.
In good time, a Careers Library was set up in Room 0.2 -
chosen to allow students access when free of classes.
Subsequently, a second Careers Library was established in the
new Sixth Form Common Room, appropriate for those making post
A-level choices. There is no greater privilege than that of
working with young people at moments of crisis or key
decision points in their life. I know that Bilborough strove
in all it did to develop in them the academic, personal and
social skills needed to fulfil their aspirations and move
into adulthood.
I remember reading the lesson at the first
Assembly. It spoke of another venture to build a temple that
would endure and serve the community. Many will share my
sadness that Harry Peake and Ivor Williams cannot contribute
directly to Bilborough 1957-2000 . . .
circumspice.
Si monumentum requiris,
circumspice.
If you seek a monument, gaze around.
(Inscription in St Paul's Cathedral, attributed to the
son of Sir Christopher Wren.)
Top
The English Department
Robert Protherough (English, 1957-66)
I was at Bilborough for its first nine
years, was very happy there, enjoyed the teaching and
out-of-school activities and made many lasting friends. It
was only the awareness that I was in danger of becoming a
sort of Mr Chips figure and a nagging sense that the English
Department needed an injection of new ideas that persuaded me
to leave. Like many other Bilborough staff, I found that my
'career' moved in the direction of teacher education,
where I became equally happy.
Before Bilborough I had been teaching in a
very traditional country grammar school, King Edward VI at
Retford. An energetic young music master from Nottingham
University, David Gray, came to the school, and he and I
combined in a number of musical and dramatic activities,
including a school musical that we wrote called 'Round
the Mulberry Bush'. David moved back to Nottingham to
teach at Forest Fields, and it was he who urged me to
consider applying for a post at a new school just being built
on the west side of the city, so that we could continue
collaborating (as we did in the joint Nottingham city schools
opera of 'A Christmas Carol'). I'd just completed
my research degree and was looking for promotion, so I
visited David in Nottingham, looked around the
nearly-complete buildings, read the details and applied for
Bilborough. The interview - the first of three in a week to
which I had been invited - was held in the Council House and
conducted by Dr Peake (the appointed head) and by Ken Baird,
then deputy director, who did the bulk of the questioning. It
was a very professional and probing session, in which I was
given the opportunity to put a number of my own questions,
and when I was offered the post of Head of English on the
spot (scale C, I think it was at that time) I was happy to
accept - and never really regretted it.
There was a great deal to be done before
the school opened: not only framing a first English syllabus
and ordering books for class use, but stocking the library
from scratch and equipping the stage for theatre work. I
can't remember much about the preliminary meetings except
for the fact that we were anxiously aware that every decision
- however trivial - was going to bind us and others for some
time to come. Much was done quite informally in the staffroom
before school and over coffee, with Ivor Williams benignly
watching from his desk in the corner. It was his feeling that
a deputy should be in the staffroom, not shut away
separately, if he was to represent the views of staff to the
head (which he did very effectively). One of Harry
Peake's great strengths was his willingness to listen to
views that disagreed with his own, and I recall a number of
instances (one was over 'Lady Chatterley's
Lover') where he accepted my policy choices against his
own convictions. He and his wife, Christine, were very
helpful during the time when Margaret, I and our two boys
were settling in Nottingham. We got a house near theirs (in
what is now a distinctly rough part of the city) and he and I
normally travelled to and from school together, at first by
bus, changing at Canning Circus (a sign of the times that
hardly any of us, including the head, owned a car). The days
were long, because lunch-times were always filled with
activities, and I never got away in the evening before 5.15
or 5.30 pm, sometimes having to placate the caretaker.
As I think back, my chief impression is
how busy we all were - students as well as staff - on a huge
range of activities. In my own area, I feel that the school
owed a great deal to those student-librarians who cheerfully
worked at lunch-times and after school cataloguing and
marking new stock, tidying the shelves and maintaining order.
The school magazine, with Ken Rowat's cover design based
on the architects' plans, drew on the work of many young
writers, artists and editors. Students gave up time,
sometimes at week-ends, to rehearse for plays and operas, to
design and build sets and to create costumes. In the course
of one school year, I remember, we worked out that over three
hundred people had worked on stage or backstage in Bilborough
productions. Nottingham itself was a splendid resource. In
addition to the free Playhouse visits provided in those
enlightened days by a generous education authority, we were
able to organise trips to the two theatres (usually in the
gods at the Theatre Royal, only one and sixpence), to the
Theatre Club (now in the Lacemarket) which then had an
innovative programme, and to the classic and foreign films at
the Cooperative Arts Centre.
It's very difficult now, forty years
on, to be precise about the chemistry that made Bilborough
fizz. There was a sense of something new and exciting among
the students and staff - most of whom were young and
generally idealistic. The English Department seemed to
attract some strong personalities whose teaching styles and
methods were unconventional but popular and effective (when I
left there were seven A-level English groups in the
sixth-form). We were keen to challenge the assumptions that
had labelled nearly a hundred of the first intake
'failures' at 11+, and certainly the examination
results supported us. We believed that education could make a
radical difference to people's lives, and - most
important in those days - we naively believed that it would
change society. We were lucky to be working in the days when
teachers' professionalism was assumed, and before there
were too many external pressures on the curriculum and
methodology.
Top
From HP to HJP
based on conversations with
Alan Sanday (Chemistry, 1957-64)
Mr Gilbert Potter, MA (Oxon), head of the
Department of Applied Mechanics and Physics, and Director of
the Instructional Workshops at Oundle School, Northants., was
appointed as Headmaster to High Pavement School in 1929, and
made public his intention of raising the standard of academic
achievement in the school as measured in terms of the number
of Oxford Scholarships awarded each year to 'his
scholars'. It was into this atmosphere of academic
pressure that Harry Peake stepped in 1934. In September,
1941, when I moved into Form 1B and Forest House, housemaster
Oliver Barnett, Harry was appointed School Captain. By the
time I reached the sixth form Harry had completed his degree
at Oxford and returned to teach at Pavement, and I attended
his physics classes. In my turn, I completed four years at
Keble College, including a year of research, a year which
convinced me that my future did not lie in that field, and I
applied for a National Service Commission in the Royal Air
Force.
There must have been at least 100 Officers
on the Appointment Board, and in my interview I was asked two
questions, the first, 'What is your name?' and the
second, 'What do you know about Post-impressionists?'
I had an answer to both questions, and in due course, in my
two years with the RAF I taught fitters and mechanics, and
also completed a Teacher Training course. In my main teaching
practice at Claremont Boys School*, at that time under the
Headship of Oliver Barnett, my former housemaster, I recall
doing some 'research' on the frequency of use
[abuse?] of the taws. My rather startling conclusion was that
this means of maintaining discipline was used in some part of
the school every 13 minutes!! This was not part of my style,
and neither did I adopt the '1. Lecture, 2. Copy notes
from the board, 3. Test' lesson plan which was the
recommended practice of the day. Shortly after I introduced
such elements as 'discussion' and 'practical
work', I was called upon to give a demonstration lesson
to the permanent staff. My stock was high with the pupils,
but with the staff . . . . .
In my third year of teaching, this at King
Henry VIII, Coventry, I spotted an advertisement for Head of
Chemistry at Bilborough Grammar School, to be opened shortly
under the Headship of Dr H. J. Peake. I made enquiries; yes,
it was the Harry of my previous acquaintance. He, together
with an officer of the Authority, carried out the interview,
and against an opposition of one I was appointed.
I spent many days during the summer of
1957 ordering (in triplicate copy) apparatus and chemicals,
and many hours unpacking and storing, and on the first day of
term we were ready for off. In my memory, I am sure we were
in full teaching mode by mid-morning. Which Examination
Board? Which syllabus? We started with the Cambridge Board,
for reasons which escape me, but possibly to do with finding
a Board which could take us or, and more likely, abiding by a
decision taken by the Head. As far as I know, the 6-day
timetable, the blue of the uniform, the house system, were
all ideas which HJP 'borrowed' from one or other of
the Public Schools.
I think it fair to say that HJP ran a
benevolent dictatorship, the practice of the day, except that
in some schools there was rather less benevolence than at
Bilborough. The Head was always prepared to listen and to
discuss, he collected all points of view, and then he made
the decision. (I wonder if many of our teachers today would
prefer it to be this way?) He decided the content of agendas
of staff meetings, though staff were free to add items.
Classroom practice was the responsibility of the head of
department, and to my knowledge, the Head did not observe any
classes being taught.
In the timetable, prepared by the Head, we
were given an average of one period per 7-period day
non-contact time. In the very early years, classes came over
from William Sharp School, in science, always the boys
separately from the girls. When someone noted that I had no
discipline problems with the girls' groups, I pointed out
that most of the girls were in my wife's Guide Company,
and the girls would not want to 'lose face' there!!
This overlap came about because the Parish of St Johns, where
I was a churchwarden and lay preacher, mapped very closely to
the Bilborough catchment area, and in one sense, we were a
'community school' before the term came into regular
use.
My interview for and subsequent
appointment to the post of Science Advisor in Coventry came
extremely late in May, 1964, and gave HJP very little time to
resolve the problem of finding a replacement - for which he
did not thank me, but these things happen, and I'm sure
things worked out for the best.
[*From the Annual Report of 1918-9,
we learn that the site on which Clarmont School stands was
bought in 1918-9; 26,066 sq yds at 6/- per sq yd, costing
£7,819-16-0 in all. Ed]
Top
Bilborough Played Its Part
Roy Downing (History, 1957-87)
Memories tend to fade with age. Events of
no consequence, small details, often remain fixed in the mind
while large and important events disappear into oblivion. One
of the fixed images in my mind of the early days of
Bilborough was of Colin Rains (Head of PE) marching up and
down in the gym a pupil (whose name I can't remember) who
was swinging his left arm and leg forward together and found
it impossible to march correctly - it was hilarious and
gymnastically nearly impossible for anybody else. Yet,
although I was there, all I can remember of the official
opening of Bilborough Grammar School by Hugh Gaitskell was
standing outside the main entrance to school with a group of
pupils waving goodbye to him and his entourage as they
disappeared up the drive! Memories are idiosyncratic, often
eccentric, even prejudiced but a wonderful comfort when
remembered in tranquillity!
However, the beginnings of Bilborough
Grammar School in September, 1957, will always remain with
me. I responded to an advertisement in the TES in the Spring
of 1957, for the post of Head of History (SRA Grade B) at
Bilborough Grammar School which was to be opened in
September, 1957. The interview was held in Nottingham at the
Mansion House in Town Hall square and I was interviewed by
the prospective Head of the new school, Dr Harry Peake, and
two city administrators. I was offered the post and promptly
accepted. The new school was to start with the first three
forms, who previously had been accommodated at Forest Fields
Grammar School, plus two forms of 13+ transfers from other
city schools. The school was to be selective, taking 12-15 %
of the 11+ population plus 13+ transfers. (This compared with
40 % in my previous school.) The 'parity of esteem'
of 1944 hadn't worked and Crosland wrote at about the
time Bilborough opened that 'the school system of Britain
remains the most divisive, unjust and wasteful of all aspects
of social equality'. At least Bilborough started in a
little way to correct this. Many of the 13+ transferees
seized the second chance enthusiastically and went on to be
successful at university. At a later time the Sixth Form
College that developed out of the Grammar School also played
its part. One student, I remember, had to sit English
Language twelve times in order to enter university and now
has a Ph D. Another entered College with no O-level
qualifications and is now a barrister.
After appointment the new Heads of
Department had to devise syllabuses for their department in
preparation for September. The History syllabus was a fairly
standard chronological one for the first three years with
nineteenth century British and European History for the
Cambridge O-level in years four and five. The sixth and
seventh years were to study the Tudor and Stuart periods with
the equivalent European History for the same exam board. It
was intended to be as flexible as possible to allow for some
project work and local history within the framework to
accommodate individual enthusiasms. Text books also had to be
ordered and I received an allowance of £300 to start off the
History section of the library (it had been £15 at my
previous school!) We were consulted about our subject rooms -
hence the wash basin and draining board and the large number
of pinboards on the walls in 1.4 (the then History room)! We
also looked round the new school buildings and met Ivor
Williams on one visit (against the left-hand lion in Market
Square!) The first day of the new school was, it seemed to
me, a culmination of a miracle of organisation. At 9
o'clock the pupils all assembled on the broken car park
in front of the school and form teachers called out their
form and led them to their form room. All the administration
was then done (register, timetables, etc) including
giving the pupils a map so that they could find their way to
classes. After break at 11.00 am we were teaching our first
classes! Everything was available - sufficient desks and
seating, books, exercise books, chalk, etc. School
uniform had been designed and was obtainable - this was one
area it seemed to me where discipline was strict especially
for the girls under the control of Miss Thompson. Attendance
at morning assembly was also strictly enforced by Dr Peake.
The timetable had been prepared by Dr Peake and worked, as
far as I was concerned, without any hitches. Gradually
members of staff got to know one another. It seemed to me
that they were all very young, very knowledgeable and
enthusiastic about their subjects and the school. Harry Peake
had a very strong and strict personal Christian ethic and
Ivor Williams was a very gentle humanitarian - an ideal foil
in the hierarchy. Miss Thompson kept a strict control on the
discipline and welfare of the girls.
Staff enthusiasms and loyalty to
Bilborough showed quickly on the sports field as well as in
academic work. Staff mostly gave up free time for coaching
and Saturday matches and Bilborough became a force in local
sport. We produced County players at both rugby and cricket
and a junior rugby international. I well remember when the
U15 rugby team beat the High School 65-3 (Bilborough had five
County players in the side). As rugby developed we were able
to tour Cumberland and Westmoreland successfully.
The early Speech Days remain in my mind.
Since numbers were still small it was possible to hold them
as pleasant family gatherings in the school assembly hall.
One of the early ones had David Sheppard as the guest speaker
and presenter of prizes. At one Speech Day Dr Peake turned up
in his gardening shoes and had to borrow Ivor Williams'
shoes for the evening. One later Speech Day was nearly a
disaster but for the good-heartedness of some parents. The
main guest was Sir John Hunt of Everest fame. The demand for
seats was so great that an overflow was planned in the gym
with extension speakers wired from the main hall.
Unfortunately the swing doors at the top of the gym stairs
cut the cable just before the meeting began. Parents in the
gym couldn't hear a thing. Some crowded onto the
promenade at the side of the hall; some stood at the back of
the hall; some sat in the gym throughout and some went
quietly home! Soon after that, as numbers grew, Speech Days
had to be moved to the Albert Hall.
Top
A Rare tabula rasa
D K (Ken) Rowat (Art, 1957-61)
The four years I spent at Bilborough
Grammar School following its opening in 1957 proved to be
among the most interesting and rewarding of my 23 years in
education. With new, purpose-built premises, newly-appointed
staff and a three-stream intake comprising forms 1, 2 and 3
only, it was a rare tabula rasa. The first forms were
drawn from primary schools as is normal, the second and third
from existing grammar schools in the city. I was interviewed
early in the Summer of 1957 at the city education offices
(Market Square) by the deputy director of education and the
headmaster elect, Dr Harry Peake; no one else was present.
The deputy director asked: "Whenever I visit an art
class in progress I find either complete silence or absolute
chaos; what would I find in yours?" They must have
approved my evasive laugh.
Newly-appointed staff in Nottingham
schools were invited to a reception in the education offices.
A tall man standing next to me was surveying the throng
speculatively; he said "Now - where is there an
attractive young lady to whom I can make improper
remarks?" It was Robert Protherough, Head of English,
and I felt reassured to know that at least one of my new
colleagues had a sense of humour. At the first staff meeting
(all of us sitting comfortably in brand new armchairs) Dr
Peake took command at once, making clear his intention to
pursue excellence and outlining his proposal to adopt a
six-day timetable. He was a meticulous organiser, a big
factor in getting the school off to a good start (though some
saw him as a bit too zealous for comfort in his eagerness to
get everything to his liking). Less well organised,
hyperactive, friendly and very helpful was deputy head Ivor
Williams (a viola player as well as a classics scholar, he
took charge of music throughout the first year). Following my
appointment Ivor not only showed my wife and me over the
barely-finished school building but took us on a tour of
Nottingham in his car, calling at Wollaton Hall.
For several members of the staff it was a
first appointment, but for those of us with experience in
other, long-established schools, that first term was
exhilarating. The staff-room was refreshingly free from
cliques, most of the appointees were young and all were
enthusiastic. My first encounter with the new pupils was a
delight too good to be true. I had been teaching in a tough
technical school for boys near the dockland area of
Portsmouth where severe caning by senior masters was rife;
after that experience teaching at Bilborough was a piece of
cake. When, on the first day, an orderly queue of sparklingly
clean boys and girls dressed in fetching turquoise-and-black
uniforms filed into the art studio I could hardly believe my
luck. Teachers of today will envy the amount of money
available to us; I could literally order anything I fancied
in the way of materials and equipment, and when I suggested a
built-in display cabinet outside the art studio Dr Peake
approved my design with enthusiasm; it was constructed and
ready for use within a few weeks.
From the start Robert Protherough was a
prime mover on the arts side: we collaborated in editing the
school magazine, rejecting dull, conventional reporting in
favour of creative writing and illustrations by the pupils.
The mag. received very favourable comments in the press. (My
cover design incorporates a ground plan of the school as it
then was.) When John Pick arrived to join the English team a
big fillip was given to the arts side; he got his kids to
present a performance of Romeo and Juliet that was close to
professional excellence and genuinely moving. As designer of
the school prospectus and art editor of the school magazine I
knew that I could always count on Harry Peake to find money
for expensive professional printing including the
reproduction of pupils' art works. Plays and other events
were presented regularly for which I'd design posters,
programmes and tickets, often incorporating art work by the
pupils. The studio was well-equipped for pottery and I made
coffee mugs for all members of staff, having pinned up a
notice asking each to nominate a size. John Pick impressed me
favourably by writing "I'd like a small, beautiful
one please". Do any of those mugs (each with the
owner's initials) survive, I wonder?
As an alternative to morning assembly for
the whole school, once-weekly house assemblies were held in
classrooms or laboratories. In the case of my house, Welbeck,
I shared this responsibility with Housemistress Dr Anne
Pennell and we used her biology lab. Anne was young,
spirited, ready for (almost) anything and we quickly agreed
to make our assemblies as lively as possible - to get the day
off to a cheerful start. Surrounded by aquaria and vivaria
we'd conduct the obligatory prayers as quickly as
possible without appearing irreverent, then play jazz
records. No doubt the pupils would have preferred Cliff
Richard (then appearing over the pop horizon) but mainly we
played my vintage 78 recordings from the New Orleans/Chicago
eras or jazz by revivalists like Acker Bilk and Chris Barber.
I also played jazz records during my weekly after-school art
club meetings. Hearing old recordings of the MJQ or Roy
Eldridge's lazily driving mainstream trumpet on the radio
always reminds me of those life-enhancing hours when the
volunteer pupils would be engrossed in their painting, clay
modelling or potting to the sound of Softly as in a Morning
Sunrise or Tin Roof Blues. Sterner stuff was offered at
school assemblies when I'd sometimes collaborate with Ian
Bartlett to present classical music with visuals,
occasionally featuring 20th century composers like Schönberg,
Berg and Webern - much to the discomfiture of some members of
staff.
I think it was in 1959 that Ivor Williams
organised an Easter trip to Italy for senior pupils.
Unfortunately, having made all the bookings he fell ill
shortly before the departure date and asked me to take over.
Rashly, I agreed. Not having been to Italy previously and
having seen our pupils only in their school uniforms I was
unaware of a factor that was to cause me considerable anxiety
throughout the trip: no one had foreseen the electrifying
effect that our now nubile girls in their summer dresses
would have on the youth of Italy. Lads with scooters would
wait outside our Rome hotel literally all night, then follow
us all day. My wife and I were awakened one night by an
urgent banging on our door. "There's a man in my
room!" screamed a distraught girl. One of the budding
lotharios had somehow got hold of a key and was calmly
sitting on her bed.
One member of staff fell ill and senior
mistress Miss Thompson stayed in Rome to look after her while
the rest of us went on to Naples. Groups of youths followed
us at close range through Pompeii and since our excited girls
were inclined to disappear into the labyrinthine ruins I was
usually in too anxious a state to contemplate the scene of
ancient devastation properly. After that, being propelled
into Capri's Blue Grotto in rough seas (the cave entrance
was only briefly visible at intervals in the heavy swell)
seemed relatively stress free. On the return train journey
soldiers in a stationary troop train responded to the waves
of a couple of our girls by jumping down from their carriages
and running across several tracks to climb ours. Later I had
to man-handle a Sicilian soldier from a girl's
compartment: fortunately he was a stoic and just shrugged in
incomprehension. The girls loved it all of course. I kept a
photographic record of the trip and some pupils may still
have prints.
Dr Peake decided to opt for the Cambridge
Examination Board because he thought it the most rigorous and
wanted us to be judged by the highest standard. As the time
for the first examinations approached he invited me and the
headmistress of Nottingham Girls' High School to
accompany him on a trip to Cambridge in his new Austin car
(of which he was very proud) to study work submitted in
previous years. His propensity for working at full stretch
had a touch of schoolboy enthusiasm about it and he drove to
Cambridge and back flat out, a couple of times nudging me and
pointing to the speedometer: sometimes we approached 90
mph.
I can't answer for all subject areas -
I collaborated mainly with Robert Protherough, John Pick and
Ian Bartlett, all brilliant teachers in my view - but my
recollection is that everything went with a swing throughout
those first four years. GCE examination results were
excellent all round, but - more importantly - I feel that the
Bilborough pupils were extremely lucky in that they gained a
well-rounded education based on a curriculum interpreted
sensitively and imaginatively by a body of staff who were not
only emotionally involved in doing their best for their
pupils but were relatively free from the heavy burden of
administrative pressure that now appears to sap the
enthusiasm of most teachers.
Top
Early Drama
based on correspondence from
Alan Gill (1957-63)
From a mere glance through my souvenir
drama production programmes from those early days it is
apparent that a 'stock company' of artistes soon
established itself - the same names crop up time and time
again: Gillian Dennis, Frank Winter, John Chambers, John
Sterry, Dennis Smith, Michael Yard, Malcolm Gill (no
relation), Tanya White, Robert Boot, Robert Prew, Daphne
Place, Wendy Bignall, etc.
From the start the Headmaster, Dr Peake,
and the staff must have decided to 'hit the ground
running' because I have never known a school (and I have
taught in secondary education for 28 years) with such a
varied and lively outlook. For example, in 1960 there were
productions of 'She Stoops to Conquer', 'Toad of
Toad Hall' and 'Romeo and Juliet' and also a
Summer Concert. The following year saw productions of
'The Pirates of Penzance', a Junior Playbill, three
one-act plays, and 'Dido and Æneas' with 'Trial
by Jury', a double bill. This staggering list of
achievements was done by a school that did not have a lower
sixth-form until September, 1960, and this list does not
include sporting achievements and a myriad other clubs and
societies.
As you may have gathered, I was involved
in the drama productions. I started by helping to paint the
sets, then was allowed to design them. From the age of about
14 years, I and my pals Eric Tomlinson and David Cannon
haunted the art room and the stage every time there was a
production in the offing. The stage was quite large and very
well equipped. Sets could be built up to a height of 14 feet
and a width of about 40 feet. A stock of flats, weights and
braces was available from the start and there was (for that
era) a good lighting system.
We painted the flats on the patio outside
the art room. Sometimes we mixed the paint with size which
makes a very strong smell. Luckily the art room was large and
airy. The finished flats were carried round the side of the
school past the staff-room on their way to the hall. The
staff became used to the sight of flats that had apparently
sprouted legs going by. The sets were designed by the art
teacher, Mr Rowat, but when he realised I was hooked I was
allowed to design some myself including 'She Stoops to
Conquer'. I suppose the paint stains on the art room
patio have long gone, but I sometimes wonder about the large
black splodge on the floor of the stage near the back wall,
the result of a nasty accident during the painting of
'She Stoops . '. We never managed to remove it.
The production I remember most vividly is
'Romeo and Juliet', produced by John Pick. He was my
form master and taught English. Like all of the staff he was
enthusiastic and energetic and R & J reflected this. It
was a modern dress production which seemed to lean towards
'West Side Story' as much as it could. Mr Pick
designed the layout of the set; I and my gang constructed and
painted it, adding as much as we dare to the original design.
It was the biggest set we had attempted. On the
audience's left was Capulet's house. The front of the
house was partially removed to reveal Capulet's living
room complete with awful wallpaper and TV. Behind this, on a
raised section, was Juliet's bedroom. The balcony
projected into the street, built in the middle of the stage.
Capulet's newsagent's shop was there, with buildings
receding in perspective. On the right was a set of stone
archways that doubled as the church.
The action often spilled down the steps of
the stage into the audience. In 28 years of teaching I have
never seen a production which bettered this one, especially
as regards the acting. The review in 'Bilborough',
November, 1961, by A.G. (Mr Gilliver) states that 'Never
before had we seen a production in which the entire cast .. .
merged their own identities into the parts they were
playing'. The writer put this down to thorough rehearsal
and the transposing of the play into modern dress. I would
add that the personality of the producer, Mr Pick, was such
that he could make the plot resonate in the minds of young
people. That, in a working class grammar school on a housing
estate is a great achievement.
To single out one teacher, however, is not
wise because the entire staff of B.G.S. could not have been
better. We were all in the right place at the right time.
Everyone seemed to pull together. I'm sure this is not
rose-tinted spectacles. In the photographs of the school
interior in the Official Opening booklet can be seen
wallpaper in the library, entrance hall and even on the back
wall of the hall. That there was never a mark made on the
wallpaper says it all! In fact I remember the fuss made when
the initials B.J. were found on a geography room table. A one
off. Later, the same B.J. was punished for being seen smoking
in Nottingham, 3 miles away. He was in school uniform.
It came as a surprise to me when I began
teaching that not all schools were like Bilborough Grammar
School. It was very special. The deputy (later the Head) Mr
J.I.Williams (another teacher I could write pages about)
would stand on the stage in assemblies and talk about the
'Bilborough Spirit'. I wonder if others remember
this, and if they would agree that Bilborough definitely did
have a 'spirit'; a remarkable thing for a brand new
school with no history.
Top
Four Very Happy Years
Arthur Gilliver (Modern Languages,
1958-62)
"On the plains of muddy Strelley
Lie the play-fields of the school High Pavement"
When I first read these lines, which were
part of a poem (after Longfellow) which appeared in the
school magazine of High Pavement during my third or fourth
year there, I little thought that some time later, after one
year's service in Dad's Army, attendance at three
universities, nearly three years' service in the Royal
Navy and nearly 6 years working as a bank employee in South
America, I would begin my real teaching career on those
self-same plains, but now, in 1958, no longer 'muddy
Strelley' but the brand-new school, Bilborough Grammar
School, which had already been in existence for a year.
What a place to begin a teaching career!
The place was bubbling with excitement. A dedicated staff
teaching pupils who were for the most part keen to learn. The
staff were not only dedicated, they were all highly qualified
and ready to give freely of their spare time to organise
out-of-school activities, especially, but by no means
exclusively in the realm of sport. And everybody was so
friendly! I think this was in no small part due to the way in
which we were appointed. Harry Peake, who knew exactly what
he wanted, conducted the interview, accompanied by one
representative from the local education committee. (My
subsequent interviews for other posts were quite a different
matter!)
During my first two years, I was
form-master of 4S and then 5S. S stood for Spanish. I had
been told that these pupils had made very little progress in
French during their third year. I said to Dr Peake, 'Any
chance of them starting Spanish instead of French?' He
said, 'There's a bit of money in the kitty. Yes. Why
not? They're not going to make GCE in French in two
years' time anyway'. I think they enjoyed their two
years' Spanish, even though none of the 15 pupils got a
GCE O-level in Spanish at the end of it. (One of them, Judith
Prat, eventually obtained one in the VIth form.)
Shortly after I began teaching at
Bilborough, my wife, Molly, gave birth to our first child -
stillborn. As a form a rehabilitation, we were able to join
Ruth Betts and Pat Butler on the skiing holiday Ruth had
organised in Kitzbühl in December, 1958. I think another
member of staff dropped out to let us in, but I'm not
sure about that. The main things I remember about the holiday
itself are that one girl broke her leg and had to be left
behind in an Austrian hospital when we came home and when the
kids asked for 'chips' in a restaurant in Munich on
the way there, they all got potato crisps (the Germans call
them 'chips').
On the subject of foreign visits, perhaps
I should mention the exchange visit with Ettlingen, an old
town a few miles south of Karlsruhe, which I organised in
Spring, 1962. I was accompanied by Ann Lee, who looked after
the girls. I think it was a successful exchange, although it
would have been better if more of our pupils had spoken
German. Still, they enjoyed it, and so did the Germans who
came to Nottingham in August. We are still in touch with the
two German teachers (a married couple) who came with them.
When they came back from Germany, I asked our pupils to jot
down their main impressions of life in Germany. One of them
wrote 'The Germans are more friendly than the
English'. Food for thought.
During my four years at Bilborough I
managed to teach French, German, Spanish and Russian. (My
degree is in French and German, although I did study Spanish
in my third year at Cambridge, and of course the work in
South America was mainly in Spanish.) The Russian I acquired
through evening-class work (Adult Education). Harry Peake had
sufficient confidence in my linguistic and teaching ability
to give me a class of 33 second-formers to teach Russian to
in 1961-62. They were first-class material and took to it
like the proverbial ducks to water. Non-linguists say,
'Oh, that funny alphabet. How can they learn that?'
Actually, the Cyrillic script has many letters in common with
the Roman alphabet, and, introduced gradually, it did not
present a problem. Unfortunately, I moved after one year, but
HJP was able to find a successor to continue the good work. I
trust none of the pupils were permanently scarred by the
experience. They seemed to enjoy it at the time.
I thoroughly enjoyed taking part in the
musical entertainments set up by Ian Bartlett, especially the
G&S. I still have the rubber boots I bought to help make
myself look like a pirate in 'The Pirates of
Penzance'. 'Dido and Æneas' was perhaps a little
over-ambitious, but, under Ian's expert tutelage, we all
set to with a will, and in the end we produced a quite
creditable performance. One of the best aspects of these
shows, as also in the amateur dramatics produced by Robert
Protherough and John Pick, was the intermingling of staff and
pupils in the cast. This surely contributed greatly to the
friendly atmosphere and the 'spirit of Bilborough'
which so dominated the school.
Another contributing factor was of course
the sportsfield. The school got off to an excellent start,
especially, dare I say it?, in rugby football. By the time I
left, in addition to the 1st and 2nd XVs, there were teams
representing all the age-groups who played in matches against
other schools most Saturdays. I helped Barrie Cholerton with
the under-12 team (although he did most of the work). How
proud we all were when we went to Twickenham to cheer on
Barry Johnson, who had been selected to play for the England
under-15 team.
Those were really four very happy years of
my life.
Top
A Reminiscence
Ian Bartlett (Music, 1958-62)
From my vantage point, seated as I was at
the piano on the left at the front of the hall, I glanced
upwards becoming acutely aware of the feet, encased in a pair
of robust, highly polished black shoes, visible beneath the
table positioned in the centre at the front of the stage. One
foot was awkwardly crossed over the other while both of them
moved about restlessly as if seeking a position of repose
which neither of them could find.
The occasion was a Monday morning assembly
at the beginning of one of those special weeks during which
the usual, and normally perfectly innocuous, 'music in
assembly' interlude would instead be devoted to the
presentation on records of a challenging piece of
contemporary music, preceded by a verbal introduction. The
shoes, whose image has remained to this day the most vivid
recollection of my time at Bilborough, belonged of course to
the headmaster, Dr Harry Peake. The music, which evidently
provoked such anxiety and tension was a then only recently
composed work by the Italian composer Luciano Berio called
Circles (1960) - now regarded as a classic of
twentieth-century music. The impact made by the innovatory
stylistic features of Circles, in particular the
fragmentation of the text by E E Cummings and the fractured
vocal line sung by Cathy Berberian, must surely have been the
consequence of 'the shock of the new' rather than
merely a confirmation of Braque's well known dictum that
'all art disturbs'. However, whatever the degree of
discomfort felt by the headmaster in being confronted by
Berio's music within the formalities of a school
assembly, his subsequent reaction was entirely
characteristic. Assembly continued to take place in the
normal way for the rest of the week while the five extracts
from Circles were taken to their conclusion - but Ivor
Williams, Harry Peake's deputy, who was later to succeed
him as Head and who had, as it happened, taught music as well
as Latin during the year prior to my arrival, was asked to
preside at assembly from Tuesday to Friday. No fuss, no
conflict, the perfect diplomatic solution!
This episode may be seen as symbolic of
the best features of the school in the early period of its
history under Dr Peake's leadership. Concerned to adhere
to the finest traditions of the English grammar school, at
the same time it looked forward to the future. Among other
equally laudable aims, it sought to offer its students
opportunities to widen their cultural horizons through direct
contact with the literary, dramatic, visual and musical arts,
both within the formal curriculum and through a wide range of
extra-curricular activities. Above all, not only was it clear
that Harry Peake was committed to doing everything that he
could to ensure the success of the new school as a whole, but
he was also prepared to encourage and support his staff and
pupils alike whole-heartedly in their individual endeavours
and ambitions.
As a young teacher in my first post, I too
was able to benefit greatly and in many ways from the
environment in which I found myself at Bilborough. A single
incident will serve to illustrate this. Through the benign
but stimulating influence of my colleague, friend and
'best man' (and one time landlord), Ken Rowat, a
founder member of staff in 1957, I was brought into closer
contact with the art world. When I was later being
interviewed for a new post and pressed by a member of the
panel to substantiate the broader interest in the arts which
I had professed, I found myself claiming some acquaintance
with the action painting of the then newly emerging young
abstract expressionist, Jackson Pollock. This chance and
unpremeditated reference seemed to stop the panel in its
tracks, for after a silence that seemed an eternity, they
returned to safer ground (safer for them but more difficult
for me) such as who my favourite composers were! As it
happens, nearly forty years later, as I write these words, a
retrospective exhibition of Jackson Pollock's works is
being shown at the Tate Gallery. A review of this event by
Laura Cumming published in The Observer (14 March
1999) opens: 'There are some things you may only catch
once in a lifetime - a comet blazing across the heavens, a
total eclipse of the sun, a meteor crashing to earth. Jackson
Pollock has been compared to all three.' I rest my case
there.
As for more generalised recollections of
Bilborough, the musical events which I still remember with
particular pleasure are the junior choir's singing of
Bartók's 'Breadbaking' and the recorder
group's rendering of Benjamin Britten's 'Alpine
Suite'; the performances of Handel's 'Zadok the
Priest' at one Speech Day and of his 'Foundling
Hospital Anthem' at another; the school's first
operatic production of The Pirates of Penzance and the
later double bill which brought together Trial by Jury
with Purcell's Dido and Æneas.
Finally, I am delighted to have the
opportunity, belated as it is, to record with gratitude the
great support and active collaboration I received from so
many colleagues and pupils in the various musical enterprises
we embarked on together. I cannot mention them all, but in
particular I shall always remember two pupils, Catherine
White and Wendy Smith, an inseparable and insuperable pair of
singers. Where colleagues are concerned, I would like to
refer to Ivor Williams, an able pianist and viola player,
ever supportive; Robert Protherough, erudite producer, actor,
singer; Bill Bristow, exuding infectious enthusiasm for G and
S whether as producer or participant; Terry Newcombe, an
outstanding clarinettist and singer; Brian Carlson, a fine
pianist and singer; and last but not least, Ruth Betts, Pat
Butler and Margaret McFarlane who sang with skill and zest
and played leading roles on the stage. Many of these
colleagues supported 'The Bilborough Singers' and
some also joined 'The Nottingham Singers', an
independent choir which grew out of the various vocal
activities which took place in the school itself. Those were
the days!
Top
My appointment to Bilborough was a fiddle,
of course
John Pick (English, 1959-61)
The ancient grammar school which I had
attended just after the war was, like many another,
down-at-heel, staffed by venerable old codgers, some reputed
to be old boys, and smothered in ivy (the buildings, that is,
not the codgers). It is fair to say that up-to-date
scholarship and a keen interest in contemporary events
generally ranked low in the staff's interests - but I
nevertheless acquired an education there. This unlikely
outcome was due in large part to the fact that during my
second year, there arrived on the staff a new young teacher,
a non-smoker (itself sufficiently rare to bestow on the
newcomer a mildly Messianic status), a man who had chosen to
do his National Service as a Bevan boy rather than join the
colours, and who therefore didn't drone on about his war
experiences (another unusual quality in schoolmasters of the
early fifties). Most startling of all he seemed to have read
a number of books by people who were still alive. He
endeared himself immediately to the school by walking
nonchalantly into school assembly wearing a pair of bright
yellow socks to set off his dark red shirt. In the faded grey
ranks of King Edward VIth School, the young Robert
Protherough - almost literally - shone like a beacon.
We have to fast forward a bit here. I went
on to University, completed a degree and in 1959 was well
into my postgraduate year of teacher training. Doing the
training was of course a way of extending my University time,
but I had long suspected that teaching, if not quite the
romantic life I had dreamed of, was at least much easier than
any of the other ways in which a highly-educated arts
graduate - inevitably lacking any sound practical skills -
might conceivably have earned a living. Moreover teaching
gave you long evenings, and even longer holidays. So by the
Spring of 1959 I had more or less resigned myself to joining
the staff of Leeds Grammar School (a post which my tutor had
kindly set up for me). By day I was ready to join the fogies,
to become in due course indistinguishable from the other
chalky old gits that shuffled about its corridors, ready to
be pointed out each autumn to the new boys: 'There goes
poor old Picky - no, not him, the one next to him, the one
that's just bumped into the milk crates'. By night, I
had privately decided, I would emerge, like Count Dracula,
and pursue my own interests.
It was then I saw the advert, and
everything got more complicated. It seemed that this
Bilborough Grammar School required a teacher of English. My
eye was drawn to it not just because I had suddenly
remembered that I liked the city of Nottingham rather better
than Leeds, but because the name of the school struck a
chord. Surely it was to this place that Robert Protherough
had gone and - if memory served - had written glowing
accounts of to all of his acquaintance. Bilborough was, by
all accounts, a newly-built school, innovative, interested in
the contemporary scene, with lively arts teaching, and - a
point on which Robert laid some emphasis - it not only taught
girls, but had a large number of young women on the staff
against whom, so to speak, one could daily rub.
It was the work of a moment to tell my
tutor that I had thought again about giving my fresh young
self to any ancient masculine piles ('I hope you
won't live to regret it, Pick'). Surely not! I now
saw myself swinging into the sixties as a very model of a
modern interlocutor: long hair, corduroy jacket - yellow
socks even - dazzling classes with raw modern literature,
staging challenging plays, arguing fiercely about modern art
with lively colleagues in the pub in the evenings, going with
school parties to the playhouse and the latest films, later
on inviting one or two of my more nubile colleagues back to
my comfortable bedsitter to listen to my jazz records . . .
And in truth life in Nottingham did turn out to be
much like that - except that no female colleague was ever
persuaded to enter the shadowy cellar in which I actually
took up residence. The only one who ever got as far as the
doorway sniffed meaningfully, muttered 'I thought
you'd live somewhere like this', and scuttled back to
the safety of West Bridgford.
I winged off my application. Shortly
afterwards I received a careful letter from Robert, in which
he said that although he had welcomed my interest, he could
not of course show any special favour to me at the
interviews. At them I should be grilled by the formidable
headmaster, Harry Peake, who was a man of great insight,
whose eyes could not have the wool drawn over them.
Fortunately, this turned out to be hogswash. Far from seeing
through the callow youth who presented himself (in a rather
dashing red shirt) for interview, Dr. Peake pronounced me
eminently suitable. Moreover - and it is here that the fiddle
comes in - when Robert was asked if he was satisfied with my
appointment he kept judiciously silent about all that he had
known of me in my teenage years. No word of my laziness, weak
will, moral prevarication or filthy personal habits - all of
which he knew at first hand.
It was a fiddle for which I soon had
reason to be grateful. I had two happy years as a schoolie
(and I have kept the memory intact: I have never worked in a
school since). Robert's main English-teaching colleagues,
the demure Eileen Lynch and the Falstaffian John Lowe, were
wonderfully welcoming. In those early days when you could
still smell the cement drying under the rubber tiles, when
the door handles were still razor sharp and shredded the
newly-purchased gowns of the young staff, it soon became
clear to me that the school was really run, not by the
all-seeing Harry Peake or by his kindly lieutenants, but by
the caretaker, Mr Beadsworth. This tidy-minded man preferred
the school equipment, if it were to be used at all, to be
used sparingly. I recall that the moment an evening rehearsal
finished on the stage, he would appear with his high-powered
polisher to restore its brilliant gloss. The result was that
when they took their places at the following morning's
assembly, the staff would advance in a curious slow shuffle,
nervously clutching each other, like novices venturing on to
treacherous ice.
Apart from that, I remember little about
the building and even less - just as well - about my actual
teaching, but the rest of the staff I do remember. An
institution is always made by its people, not by its
buildings nor its rules, and some of the old Bilborough staff
became friends for life. Robert, of course, still as
patrician, and as tolerant of youth's follies, as he ever
was. Then there was the indefatigable Ian Bartlett, in
perpetual motion with teeming choirs and orchestras, record
recitals, instrumental classes (with a stern part-time
teacher whose name was, I'm nearly sure, Gertrude
Schmid). Ian filled every break and lunchtime with music, and
then there were the evening classes, and the musical weekends
. . . Once, in a Nottingham pub, eyeing the sheets of music
bulging from his huge briefcase, the landlord asked him if he
would care to play for his customers in the saloon bar in the
late evenings. I started to laugh, until I saw that Ian had
actually got out his diary and was looking, quite seriously,
to see whether he couldn't fit a few extra sessions
in.
So many memorable people. Bill Bristow -
whose arrival down any corridor was heralded by long exerpts
from Gilbert and Sullivan, whose entire works he seemed to
have committed to memory. Jenny Daibell, who would
unnervingly whisper 'I saw you in Slab Square last
night' as we solemnly sat in assembly. Norman Kirton,
pipe percolating noisily, doing little deals about the
scenery. And of course the remarkable Ken Rowat.
My first encounter with Ken was in its way
a useful pointer to the future. Behind Ivor Williams'
desk, in the corner of the staff-room, ran a shelf, which in
those early House and Garden days was generally kept brightly
polished (Mr Beadsworth again) and clear of clutter. However
one morning we saw that Ken had propped up on it an elegantly
inscribed notice. This announced that he intended to fire
some more staff coffee mugs in his kiln, and invited
colleagues to put down their names if they wanted one. A
second column invited the would-be recipients to stipulate
what kind of vessel they would prefer. Some wrote 'With
strong handle'; other, greedier souls, wrote simply
'Big'. I took a bit of a punt when I came to my name,
and wrote that I should like 'A beautiful one'.
The keyword with Ken is always
'quiet'. He will do things powerfully, decisively,
dramatically, nay terrifyingly - but he will always do them
quietly. So, when I glimpsed his black crepe shoes moving
stealthily over the staff room to collect his notice, I
looked on from behind my marking. In the old type of grammar
school it might have been seen as a bit of a pansy remark,
something to be ignored. It might not register as a coded
gesture of friendship, even with Ken. I watched his shrewd
eyes pass down the list until they lighted on my entry. A
quiet smile came to his lips. He sidled over and murmured in
his gentle Gloucestershire burr 'All depends on what you
mean by beauty of course. Shall we talk about it over a drink
tonight?' That is more or less what we have been doing
ever since.
For almost two years Bilborough seemed too
good to be true, but there was a growing thuggish tendency
abroad. Increasingly, as he glanced in my direction, Peake
seemed to be indicating that the wool had now fallen from his
eyes and that something would have to be done about all this
blatant artiness. One became aware of a sinister thump of
medicine balls, a rise in preachiness, ever more fussing over
hemlines and well tied ties. Smoking, like drinking, started
to be a secret activity. One or two senior pupils
mysteriously disappeared from the school roll overnight. Then
one Spring day I was suddenly accused of one of the most
terrible of Harry Peake's crimes - wilful scruffiness.
One day, as he sat with me in the sunshine on the little
patio outside the staff-room, a twitchy Ivor passed on to me
Peake's final judgement - I must get my hair cut
forthwith if I were to remain on the staff. I left Bilborough
at the end of the Summer Term.
Top
Mike Robinson
18th September, 1999
URL:
https://bilboroughgrammar.tripod.com/1957-2000/part_ii_thompson_et_al.htm
|