(I) Campbell College (2) 1964-1969

I am very grateful to mum for preserving my school reports from Campbell.

Perusing them has been fascinating for me. In lower secondary I seemed to start off with glowing comments like ‘Genuine enthusiast’, ‘always cheerful’ and ‘lively’ ‘dependable’. When I showed these reports to my colleagues forty years later as I was doing the research for this book they were a source of much amusement .

“What happened?” they said.

Even my students said recently “You sir, always enthusiastic?”

Such comments made me start thinking about retirement.

My English teacher in form one damned me with faint praise with

“ He is a lively and enthusiastic boy who compensates with effort for what he lacks in ability in this subject”

How mean! Even worse because he probably wasn’t even aware he was being mean.

Even though B R was a useless teacher he was actually a very nice person.
I’ll bet the bastard doesn’t know I’ve been an English teacher for the past twenty years.So the moral of the study is: ‘Don’t let your teachers stereotype you’ I suppose.

One of the most fascinating things for me about schools is their durability as institutions. They are the insects of modern civilization-they seem to have survived famines , natural disasters modern technology-even wars. I think ‘cockroaches’ might be a better metaphor because I have really come to doubt whether they are in fact of any positive value to society at all other than to socialize and manipulate the young mind. One of the first things to spring up after a nuclear conflagration would surely be a school. It worries me.


School management at Campbell? I kept well away from it. The headmaster was rarely even seen. He was a ruddy –faced, Oxbridge graduate who was famous for his combed back greasy hair and his almost total physical absence from the school corridors. On one famous day when he did venture out sweeping along the corridor with gown and tails flying, he collided with the hapless ‘Jacko’ J. ‘Jacko’ was a school prefect and senior Head of house. He wielded considerable power, but was mild-mannered and even tempered. This made him popular with the boys. He had a stammer. The collision must have been Jacko’s fault as he was promptly given twelve ‘Copies’ by The Head! A “copy’ was a punishment. The poem, ‘Upon Westminster Bridge’, by William Wordsworth was a punishment prefects and teachers could give to miscreants to be copied out meticulously in old English script without error. Occasionally, if the misdemeanour was serious two copies would be given out. The hapless Jacko famously received twelve copies form the Head. Wordsworth would turn in his grave if he knew what his lovely poem was used for at Campbell. It certainly put me off poetry for decades life. I associated it with crime.

Not that I was often in trouble. No, I was too cowardly and avoided confrontation with the authorities. Besides, I myself was a junior ‘house’ prefect, opened the batting and was first change bowler for the first XI, and was generally still pretty well regarded by the establishment in those days. But it was my peers’ attention I really wanted.

My first taste of how to abuse power was as House Captain of Music. In my defence, I was appointed to the position, without being consulted, and did not want it at all. The worst part was having to organize the house singing competition after classes. In the afternoons after school, two music teachers would listen to each and everyone of ‘Dobbins’ House from 13 to 18 year olds-over a hundred boys and give them a mark for singing a folk song.

Honest to God! Can you imagine the humiliation of a teenage boy being forced to do that? Well, I could and I was the only one in Dobbins House that didn’t sing. I remember making some lame excuse to the teachers for not singing "Courtin in the kitchen' myself. With a name like that anyone could be excused for not singing it. But I was the House Captain and to my eternal shame I chickened out. I can still remember the damn tune because I practised it so many times, even though I never sang it on the day.

I learned to lead from behind at Campbell. I have tried very hard not to do it since when in a position of responsibility.

On the positive side, B M , the history teacher , was a real human being in the place. The rugby coach, and the stereotypical ‘Macho Man” ex Royal Navy , he was, paradoxically, one of the few teachers who had a genuine sense of humour and talked to us like human beings. He took me seriously-and that’s all I ever really wanted really as a teenager. But this was too much to expect form most of the other teachers. They were too wrapped up in themselves in one way or another to give a damn about individual students-or at least me anyway.

At Campbell, I was obsessed by a teacher who was sincere and kind to all of us lower sixth wastrels. T C was the only one, apart from BM who spoke to us as if we were human beings (Yes, there were two human teachers now that I come to think of it). And because I admired him, I became interested in his subject-geography. He used to take us in his car to visit the remote parts of the countryside and housing estates in Belfast. As a teacher myself now in my thirty third year I really admire him for giving up his afternoons to drive around some of the grimmer housing areas of Belfast in silence with myself and two other “Geography” nerds. Trevor was an example of leadership by example . I even became convinced that his subject, geography was interesting simply because he thought it was and I admired him. It was only when I got to Trinity College that I realised that Geography was crushingly boring and I that I wasn’t interested in it at all.

I also remember how T behaved one day when he had to look after some form four students sent in to our sixth form class presumably because the teacher was absent. The contrast was remarkable. With us he was mild, tolerant and put up with my attempts to keep M entertained at the back of the class. But with the form fours the change was draconian. He bellowed and roared at them cowing into submission within seconds. I was fascinated by this Jekyl and Hyde - like behaviour.

Perhaps, I became interested in education at this stage. But it seems unfair to blame T for it all –he was such a sincere man and I wouldn’t like to burden him with the guilt. Before we leave Campbell it is worth mentioning “The Major” Major was the Deputy Principal and the cricket coach. In some ways he was remote from the boys but he was calm and fair-minded. ‘The Major’ actually accompanied us into a pub on the Cricket tour to England. This was 1969. Even today, almost forty years later, it would surely not be politically correct to do such a thing. He didn’t like it –but he did it. In retrospect I really admire him for having the courage to do it given his position in the school.

The Head was not the only candidate for whom I have sufficient evidence to indict to appear before the Educational War Crimes Commission.

There was ‘shiner’ T who taught me ‘A’ level Chemistry by lecturing to the ten of us non-stop with only the occasional stop to allow us to copy down what was on the board-but certainly not to ask any questions. At the beginning of the course the penalty for asking questions was the humiliation of revealing one’s ignorance. As the weeks passed the fear of looking foolish increased until nobody asked any questions at all as we were more and more afraid of looking foolish. The result was that I endured the two years without understanding a word he said. To my surprise I achieved a grade C in my Exam –which was a credit to me perhaps. But it only proved how ineffective the exam was in assessing any Chemistry skills I was supposed to have. I say this because after that two year course I did not have the most basic understanding of Chemistry. I learned this myself several years later when I was asked to teach chemistry at Wa Secondary school in Ghana. I had to start from first principles again and learn the subject. So, sorry shiner! You stand indicted for your refusal to encourage simple questions. He bored me to death. It was obvious he didn’t enjoy the whole thing at all either.

Then there was ‘Laddy’ E –the Physics teacher. A cold fish if ever there was one. Shiner did occasionally crack a smile or grin –usually at his own joke. But ‘Laddy’ was always grim and irritable. Laddy’s ‘M.O’ was to enter the physics lab ten minutes late, tell off everyone who was not in their seat and then say

“Ok page 25, Practical Number 12”

Pause…

and then to the first unfortunate boy he laid eyes on…

”Well..what are you waiting for Laddy?.

He would then leave the room and go into the prep room to do god only knows what only to reappear ten minutes before the end of the class to make sure we had tidied up all the apparatus. I don’t think Laddy ever addressed a single word to me eye to eye on a one to one basis in the whole two years of the course. I don’t know how he went on to become a headmaster of another school. Apart from being a slack and lazy bugger, he had no personality. He must have got the job because of the fact that Campbell was regarded as the ‘number one’ college in terms of status in Northern Ireland.

‘Woody’ S was another waste of space. Also a physics teacher, Woody clearly felt teaching was beneath him. He always had a curled lip. He would address us in desultory northern English tones with his hands in his pockets. He seemed always to be looking at us barely disguised contempt as if to say “What did I do to deserve to be here teaching you Irish bogtrotters?” Woody specialized , like many ‘Masters’ at Campbell in not saying hello or acknowledging your existence in any shape or form when he passed you in the corridor. How times change. Were a teacher to do this today he might be subject to legal action for harassment –or neglect.

I’ve already mentioned Bob M the large jovial history teacher. A farmer from Devon and Ex-Royal Navy he was a hopeless history teacher. ‘Big B’ as he was affectionately called by his devoted followers –and there were many because of his likable personality and the status afforded him as Rugby coach, spent the first twenty minutes of every class ribbing us-but only in a friendly way. After that he would tell us to get out our notebooks and proceed to dictate word by word the notes which needed to be learned in order to write the required history essays in the exams. But even this most boring of tasks he managed to make interesting for us by distorting the pronunciation of words in amusing ways. What made him different from the others was he took a personal an interest in us. I remember him doing me a favour once. He drove me to Ballycastle –a two hour drive from Belfast because I wanted to go on the geography field trip there but I had to play cricked for the first eleven on the Saturday. It was a really decent thing for him to do as it was out of his way. I remember I made very few runs and was hit all over the place including for a six that day! So, although Bob was a plum useless teacher he was a kind and generous human being.

Another bright light was J, the geography teacher. He was a young and good natured Englishman –a graduate of Durham University. He wasted no time in settling in Campbell. He very quickly courted and married M, one of the maids in the Kitchen. Bumph was I hope unaware of our snobbery because we we derided this choice as we somehow thought he was marrying beneath him. Northern Ireland was, and still is riddled with the class system and its associated snobbery. For that is what it was – pure snobbery. Understandable maybe, but all the more insidious because we were unaware of it, having absorbed it from our surrounding culture. He had a sense of humour and made us laugh. He relieved the tedium. He was young and that made a difference. He was also a pretty ordinary Geography teacher letting us make our own notes on everything and rarely doing any real teaching.

Then there was K L-a ‘Bertie Wooster’ type figure from Cambridge. What the hell was a man like that doing in Belfast? He was just too nice. It was the textbook example of the new teacher being too nice to the students and the students taking advantage and giving him hell. I’ve been there myself in my career. K was so nice that one day the class joker turned on the taps in K's classroom at break time when K was having his coffee in the staffroom. When K arrived for class the door was locked. By the time he got in the floor was under six inches of water. We all thought it was hugely funny. K lasted only a year.

T. P., the Latin teacher, inspired fear through the cruel use of sarcasm . He was a bully –but only if he didn’t like you. If he liked you, you were OK . I was terrified of him but he liked me because I was in his “house’ at school, and because I was good at cricket and ‘tried hard’ at Rugby. To give some idea of how much power he had over me I remember cycling to is home one night to give him an excuse note for the next day’s rugby! I was terrified of missing rugby but I learned how to lie to Tom P. I hated the rugby more than I was afraid of him. I suppose.I had forged my Dad’s signature on the note. The main thing with T. was to show enthusiasm. If you did you were OK. He hated slackers and humiliated them mercilessly. T kept his Bible on his desk and inside the cover was written the date on which he had been “Saved”-IE ‘born again’.

In spite of this life wasn’t all plain sailing for him. He refereed an international rugby match and went on , like most Campbell teachers, to be Principal of a Grammar school in Northern Ireland.. I met one of his students who later taught S and J French. He hated T as a student at that school. T's career came to an abrupt end when he was held responsible by his board of Governors for not detecting and dealing with the activities of his Deputy Head who was having an improper relationship with a student.

Another Cambridge Graduate teaching at Campbell was Mr. F. A young and intense man he took his teaching seriously. I remember being interested in his English class for the first time in the fourth form. He discussed a reading in a book called ‘The problem of suffering’. I remember being impressed. Why did good people suffer? –it was a damn good question. Although he was too highbrow totally to connect with the bog Irish lads he did make the effort. Another English Teacher, DBY. , also a Cambridge Graduate later on killed any interest I had in literature with his meaningless ‘non classes’ of English. DBY told us to read Richard the Second without explaining even when or where the hell the action took place. That was my memory of it anyway. Maybe I just wasn’t mature enough to understand Shakespeare at 13. I wonder why?

Donegal

Donegal was the family holiday destination. In 1955 we started going to a farmhouse in Port-na Blagh each August. There we met several families –mainly from Northern Ireland who had the same idea. Over the years many of these families became firm friends of Mum and Dad, and eventually they had reunions in the winter in each others houses. The adults had a rare old social life. Naturally, the teenagers tended to separate themselves from the parents but Donegal was very important for my social development as, in fact, it was almost my only exposure to the opposite sex before going to University at the age of seventeen. It was at Donegal where I had my first crushes and imaginary crushes: I had to fit my crushes for the entire year into those two weeks in Donegal.

At this age I began to realize that girls like strange boys. I couldn’t understand why they were turned on by unintelligent simpletons like my friend M and not by intellectual giants like myself. It wasn’t until thirty years later that I realized it was because M was handsome in a rugged sort of way and I wasn’t. These girls seemed so dumb-all they wanted to do was look at M and then tumble into the bushes with him for a quick grope. They did not want to discuss the meaning of the Universe and this was a devastating disappointment to me. Of course I wanted to tumble in the bushes as well-but they wouldn’t talk about the meaning of life before jumping into the bushes. They just seemed to want to go straight into the bushes with me.! I began to think that girls were just the same as boys.

This realization made me a very introspective young man. I intensified the search for other interesting to topics to discuss with young girls before before jumping into the bushes with them.

I never did discover the right topic. Maybe I should ask M wherever he is. It never occurred to me to do this at the time, because I knew M was dumb and I was intelligent. My crush was D. B. .I did have one snog with her when we played spin the bottle. I remember being quite surprised at how aggressive and sensuous her kiss was. D. seemed such a gentle soul but she kissed ferociously. I liked it. But like all the other girls she was more interested in bloody M of course. This drove me to distraction. Couldn’t she see M was thick! I began to conclude that either there was something wrong with girls or there was something wrong with me! A suspicion entered my mind that maybe it was me.

Anyway, to release my frustrations and get back at the world I smoked cigarettes like a train with M in the toilet of the Sheephaven hotel. To this day I don’t know whether Mum and Dad ever knew or not.