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Temporary bio page -- to be
sorted out |
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| The Boss - George Bernard
Swaine: He was our greatly revered head master. I have an abiding
memory of this man as being exquisitely fair, intensely caring and
completely devoted to the task of running the school and nourishing the
boys to fit them for life. He always seemed like a frail old fish, yet
was undoubtedly tough and resilient. More to follow ... |
| Mr. Topliss: He was my
form master in the 4th Form. My personal bête noir. In my very first
year he taught me French and used to embarrass me in front of the class.
"Why are you blushing, Buss?" he boomed. Since he always taught German
as well as French I thought he looked very like a Nazi!
In the 4th form we had the Art Room as our base classroom and Topliss
was our form master. He would bend over to inspect each boys' work - and
I (along with others) would flick my pen down his back as he tended to
some kid up front. In time his jacket looked as though he had been bike
riding in the rain with no rear mudguard! But Topliss was a Nazi -
remember? One morning he grabbed Baz Perry down at Abbey Street and
grilled him to let on who did the ink flicking. Perry told four names:
Apart from mine I think he nailed Rog Finney and David Jackson and one
other boy. Maybe Jasper Stevens? (Memory failing here.)
The next day Topliss kept the us back in the Art room when the rest
of the form went for assembly and confronted us with the crime. I recall
his grinding his heel on to my toe as he looked me in the eye. Now I
knew he was a Nazi! We all confessed; hell, hadn't we all done it? We
were wheeled off to the Boss who fined us all 2/6 (half-a-crown) to pay
for the cleaning and then gave us six of the best. I stood up after 4
swipes of the came, and the Boss kindly said, "I haven't finished yet."
I bent over for the last two swishes. The debt was paid. I dropped
French.
The Boss gave me a total of 10 swishes in all my school years - never
once with anger; only kind justice. Honour required that I fight Perry
on the park. The cry of "Fight" went up and both of us were pushed,
somewhat unwillingly, into the middle of the ring of boys. We flailed
around for a few moments - then the bell went! Nobody landed the killer
punch. I hated fighting.
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| Joe Hawksby: This dour,
Count Dracula-looking man, was the Art Master. We either hated him or
loved him, but we never forgot him!
Neville Foster
detested him because he "couldn't (and
wouldn't) draw a bloody tree freehand."
Peter Eyre had
a bad time with him, too. On the other hand I grew to appreciate him
enormously. But then I was good at art. Under his tutelage I learned how
to draw horses' feet - which are not easy. He showed us the horizontal
proportions of the human face, gave us mini lessons in art history, and
taught us to use pencil, pen and ink, pastels and water colours. I still
recall some of the pictures I painted in the mid-50s, though I long
since gave them away.
Joe's biggest projects must have been
the amazing scenery he painted for the school plays. I have dug out some
old photos of shows depicting his artwork. For my second year my
classroom was the room that contained the stage (overlooking the Rose
Garden). I remember Joe quietly painting the grey clouds and the curved
balustrades of the set for Julius Caesar.
Most of all I appreciate Joe for
teaching me French. Under Topliss I grew to loathe the subject because I
disliked him. But I knew I needed a language if ever I was to go to
university, so in the lower 6th (when I had moved to Henry Cavendish)
Joe took a special series of French classes for me and a boy called
Tunnicliffe. He was patient and kindly and took us step by step though
all those blessed tenses and conjugations. I passed fairly comfortably
the next summer and my pathway to higher education was open. Thank you
Joe.
Joe Hawksby was a good art technician,
but not blessed with a charismatic personality. I don't think he proved
inspirational to many boys unless they just happened to like art. (He
taught English as a secondary subject.) His art room as just about all
that remains of the old school after its stupid demolition in the
sixties. Now it is a cafeteria, with its walls festooned with pictures
of the school when it stood proud and erect. The staff keep a visitors
book on the counter where Old Boys can sign. Being the Art Room -
Hawksby's room - we don't easily forget him! |
| Ron Cook:
Everybody seemed to like Ron Cook. He spent all his life with the school
having been a boy in the early days at Hastings Street. When he returned
as an English Master he remained until his retirement even after Central
School morphed into Henry Cavendish. He was generally amiable. "Take out
your Ridout" he would say, referring to our English textbook. Elsewhere
this site talks about
Ron the stage director, and some of his
memories appeared
in the Derby Evening Telegraph. He always seemed patient even when we
must have pushed him to the limit. He had good reason to tell me off one
evening when he waited for me to turn up at Pear Tree School to rehearse
a piece of Shakespeare for the School Play. I was late because I must
have spent well over half an hour trying to pick up some local wench
(without success!) He also supervised the school cross-country programme
and I remember his tall, gangly frame legging it over fields near
Allestree and Darley Village. His constant companion seemed to be Miss
Waring and I wondered why they never hitched up. |
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