Flying Free Read Online Free PDF Page B

scared. Of non-existent frogs.
    We had heard what Ted did to slackers. He led them, it was asserted, to a deep, steep, mud-streaked trench close at hand. ‘Right!’ he would bawl. ‘Seeing as you gentlemen ’ave not seen fit to exert yourselves to the uttermost, you will now crawl up and down this ’ere ditch until you ’ave found a frog, whereupon you will be permitted to return to the school and an ’ot and soothing shah. Trouble is, unless I am much mistaken, there ain’t no frog!’
    At a later PE lesson, when asked to project myself at the vaulting-horse, I grew windy and kept nipping back in the line. In my defence, I was tiny and the horse seemed a veritable Clydesdale. Ted spotted my backsliding and asked me what my problem was. ‘I can’t do it, sir!’ I gulped.
    ‘Do you know who the last person was who said to me, “I can’t do it, sir?”’ demanded Ted.
    ‘N-no, sir.’
    ‘It was ’Edley Verity,’ he said (Hedley Verity was a famously unflappable Yorkshire and England left-arm spinner who had been killed during the Allied invasion of Sicily). ‘“I can’t do it, sir! I can’t do it, sir!”’e said. And I said, “You will do it, Verity.” And ’e did. And ’e broke ’is leg. Now, off you go!’
    This was just the start. Almost all the teachers at Dulwich when I arrived were veterans of World War II, tough, opinionated, cavalier, articulate, outspoken and very good at their jobs. That is, they amused and inspired. They made their lessons memorable.
    They knew the value of red herrings and, so far from resisting our attempts to distract them, encouraged ventures into byways because they provided context for highways. Their terms of reference were not restricted to their own subjects. English lessons were enriched by references to French and history, say, and maths enlivened by reference to horseracing odds. They expressed personal opinions, which meant that we came right back at them with our own. Debate was encouraged.
    Of course, I subsequently learned that such broadcast teaching is efficient only for us fertile sods, if you see what I mean, and not for stonier soils, but Dulwich, as I say, did not tolerate fools gladly or slow its pace to match that of the sluggard. Like ‘Ted’ Day, it simply encouraged you to catch up with the leaders and gave you the means to do so.
    Occasionally we had supply teachers, fresh from university, who relied upon endless Xeroxed notes. We scorned them, yawned through their classes and did badly in the exams for which they were meant to be preparing us. It was noticeable, however, that those habitually at the bottom of the class fared far better when imagination was curbed.
    Today, the pendulum has swung entirely towards the college-trained spoon-feeders to the detriment of those who prefer to hunt and to forage for themselves. Personality and personal experience are no longer considered assets in the teaching profession nor originality in exam candidates. Target-led , production-line education is the norm.
    Again, diversity is reduced and the world, for all the levelness of its playing-fields, thereby diminished.
    Anyhow, the system suited me down to the ground. I was recently invited back to Dulwich as a guest-speaker and was delighted to encounter a new breed of teacher who corresponded to neither of these models yet possessed the best attributes of both. It is still a very fortunate school.
    A week after I arrived there, the Master, David Lloyd, addressed the school. ‘There are those,’ he warned, ‘who do not realise how fortunate they are nor how seldom if ever they will again have such an opportunity to feast on knowledge and experience as during these few short years. They drift through their years at Dulwich and only afterwards realise that they have wasted a great gift. Do not drift through your days at the whim of the breezes…’
    I remember thinking, ‘Dear God! He’s right! I’ve been here ages and have achieved nothing. I’ve