Photograph Quiz:
Photo no. 31:-What was this little fella used for? What was his name? How old is he?
Dear Blog,
Well this is a real treat for you Blog. I’m in a charitable frame of mind. To save you going to the expense and trouble of getting in touch with me to answer to my ‘Photograph Quiz:’ (not that you bother anyway), I thought it would show the generous side of my nature by giving you the answer. How’s about that, then?? His name is Watthey; did you guess correctly?? Sweet little name for such a creature don’t you think. NO WAY. NO, it isn’t and it’s not meant to be. In fact it shows the nasty side of my nature at it’s very worse. I used to use Watthey as a check marker in my run up approach to the steeplechase water jump barrier. Did you get that correct?? Were you close?? When I started running, I was initially interested in steeple chasing. Yes I was stupid in those days! All the advice from event coaches was that you had to have a check marker in the run up to the water jump barrier so that you got your stride length correct and hit the barrier with your best take off leg. Most chasers used a trainer in those far away days of yore. I thought I would be different and that Watthey would be easier to spot amongst a line of trainers. After my first two steeplechases using Watthey I realised what a complete load of bollocks that advice was. Coaches offering such advice had never run a steeplechase. Imagine. You are all running at the barrier in a race, approaching the first water jump barrier. ‘Oh, do please excuse me, old boy, you are getting in my way. I cannot see Watthey. You do happen to be impeding my run up approach, what? Could you just kindly step a little to one side so that I am able to approach the barrier correctly and without hindrance, thereby enabling me to take off on the recommended leg.’ Oh yes. And let me turn this bucket of water into a Chateau Mouton-Rothschild Jeroboam. Go back and retake your coaching badge matey boy. It don’t not work like that. Not nohow like. Let me tell you, Blog, because you are so knackered going into that last water jump, you hate everyone and everything. You would like a little rest. A tinsey winsey time out. Two steeplechases in and I hated that bloody check mark so much so that I called it by the thing, or rather the one person, I hated most. The person who almost cocked up my university place. WATTHEY! My old headmaster. I had two conversations with him in my school career. Otherwise I was invisible. The first was a stand up discussion in his study on the final morning(?) of the Christmas term when I was in the fifth form (I learned 20 years later there was a mention of it in the staff room). Where the courage came from I do not know... completely out of character. I had received my school report, and he had written on it ‘Wake up stupid, before it is too late!’ in his large scrawl at the bottom of the page. I had come near the bottom of the class but took exception to this personal comment, which I considered unfair and rude. Uncharacteristically, I went to see him so that I could point out a few facts about his school. I had always come near the bottom of the class in the Christmas Term as the mark for each subject was calculated on the term’s homework marks. I was one of the very, very few pupils who went home for lunch. Most pupils stayed to school dinners and concluded their break by working together on a group home work session ensuring that all got good marks. I did my home work at home at night with no one to help. My parents never had an education of any significance, so they were never in a position to offer assistance. I pointed out this fact to the Head to which he did not react kindly. I knew, come the school exams, everything would come out in the wash. He was not impressed, but his blood pressure was. I was truly terrified, the only thing stopping me fleeing in terror was an impressive piece of advice I’d been given by my uncle a few years before. (Unrepeatable here) Our next and only other encounter was caused by my indignation at being told at an the upper sixth meeting, that each sixth former was expected to support all school sports teams, that a card of attendance would be issued to pupils which was to be stamped by an appointed staff member who would be in attendance at all games for this sole purpose. Anyone not complying would not receive such a favourable reference as they might otherwise expect when applying for a University place. In those days each sixth former had to write their own letter of application, then the university contacted the school for a reference and you attended an interview if the university were interested in your application. None of this form filling business. I went to see him to offer him my view that I thought his proposal amounted to black mail and I would not be participating in supporting the school teams. His blood pressure took a bit of a battering and his vocal chords suffered not a little. I suspected that an upper sixth pupil was about to feel the cane. Again I was genuinely frightened! In the months that followed our second discussion, I could not understand why I was not being called for any interview at my chosen Universities when most of my form was making visits and being given offers. Although I suspected that I did not quite have the mathematical insight of a Newton, Einstein or a Carol Voldemort, I was a slightly mystified at the total lack of interest. I somewhat belatedly arrived at Cuthbert’s to be questioned by the Principal. Near the start of my interview, I was asked what my relationship was with my headmaster!!! The B*****d had been as good as his word and had given me a crap reference. Thanks, a thousand time thanks. Hence my lack of respect for my juju doll. If you didn’t know, Blog, Durham is a collegiate university; St. Cuthbert’s is a society there ... college to you!!
I soon gave up the steeplechase as I was always getting injured, as I have mentioned to you in an earlier missive, Blog, my bare footed attempts certainly didn’t help. Can you believe anyone could be so stupid?? Perversely (?), I kept Watthey with me to remind me what teaching was not about. He still sits on my desk in my study. He doesn’t look too bad considering I carved him 40 years ago. I used to like woodwork at school, but in the my second year, I was considered too bright for such mundane activities, Latin would do me far more good, so blogo-blogas-blogat-blogamus-blogatis-blogant to you Blogare.
If you do bump into my old Head while out doing your weekly shopping Blog, perhaps you will give him my regards and thank him for all he didn’t do for me. Tell him I shall never remain in his debt. So if you’ll now excuse me, I’ll just unstrap this heavy chip from off my shoulders and go for a trudge!!!
Colin
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