Out of the Woods But Not Over the Hill by Gervase Phinn Page B

senior partner at Hart, Moss and Copley, Chartered Accountants. I had presented myself at the plush offices on Moorgate Street, in a new suit, white shirt, school tie, hair short and slicked back and highly polished black shoes, and sat before one of the senior partners. He appeared every inch what I imagined an accountant would look like in his dark pin-stripe suit and waistcoat and with a pair of half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
    Having satisfied himself that I had the necessary qualifications, he sat back on his chair and asked me a few general questions before leaning over his desk.
    â€˜Well, young man,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘Go ahead. Sell yourself.’
    I must have acquitted myself reasonably well because he nodded approvingly after each answer.
    â€˜Can you can start in September?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Welcome to Hart, Moss and Copley,’ he said, smiling.
    I never did train as an accountant. Three days after the interview, I received a letter inviting me to attend Rotherham Education Office to see Mr Bloomer, the Director of Education. I had never met Mr Bloomer, but knew him to be a very important man, in charge of all the schools in the town. I reported to the reception desk at the Education Office, on the appointed day and at the appointed time, and waited in the outer office. I couldn’t understand why he would wish to see me. After a short wait, I was shown into Mr Bloomer’s office. I entered a large, dark-panelled room. Great glass-fronted bookcases full of leather-bound tomes lined one wall and framed pictures and prints, no doubt drawn and painted by the town’s children and students, were displayed on the other.
    The Director of Education had been contacted by my headmaster, Mr Williams.
    â€˜Your headmaster,’ said Mr Bloomer, ‘has had a word with me, and he is of the opinion that you ought to stay on and do your ‘A’ levels. He thinks you would make a very good teacher.’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ I replied, not really knowing what to say.
    At the time, I didn’t think it was particularly unusual for the Director of Education to take a personal interest in just one student, to summon him to his office and give him the benefit of his advice, but now I know that it was. I took the advice, stayed on for ‘A’ levels, and then trained to be a teacher.
    Fun and Games
    When training in the profession, I went on teaching practice to St Augustine’s Roman Catholic Secondary Modern School, in Huddersfield. Being young and reasonably fit, I was given two lessons of games to teach each week. The head of the PE and Games department, a large, amiable Scot I shall call Gus, told me to buy a tracksuit and football boots and report to the boys’ changing rooms the following week. I duly did as I was told.
    Forty-five large, gangly adolescents were waiting outside the changing rooms when I arrived. Gus, attired in an old tracksuit heavily decorated with various colourful athletic badges, was standing at the head of the queue, jangling a huge bunch of keys.
    â€˜Right lads,’ he shouted, ‘get changed quickly and quietly, quickly and quietly.’
    I accompanied him into a small teacher’s office, where I was presented with a whistle. He poked his head around the door.
    â€˜Keep it down, lads, keep it down!’ he shouted, and the hubbub immediately subsided.
    Out on the fields, he told me he would lead the pack on a jog around the perimeter and that I should follow up the rear.
    Having all ‘limbered up’, Gus ordered: ‘Get the poles!’ Was this some sort of arcane ritual in which the boys attacked their Polish peers? Four boys appeared, with large white poles, and were instructed by the teacher to stick them in the grass, spaced out evenly for skills practice. ‘Balls!’ shouted Gus, and four more boys appeared with the footballs. The pupils dribbled and