an evening with
MR RICHARDSON
I
first met the infamous character that is Mr Richardson at the Gunwharf bowling alley nearly two years ago - a rather banal and demeaning location for a man of such flamboyant distinction. Nonetheless, as someone new to the Sixth Form, the image of a man gliding across the varnished floor in a pair of brogues with hair slicked back, wearing a floral print shirt that had been through the Cath Kidston factory at least twice, was certainly an interesting one. As he knocked down pin after pin, putting his new tutor group to shame in the process, I thought to myself: if Elvis was an English teacher, he was standing right in front of me. Mr Richardson was my tutor through Lower Sixth and an encouraging figure when it came to keeping me, a scientist, writing - as he was to anyone. An interview with him way back in October 2018 was my first blog post, and he has subsequently read all of my drafts for the magazine in their various states of completion. I recall that, after one of his and Mr Doyle’s frequent table football clashes in Latter Common Room, he shook my hand and congratulated me on my first article. We all know Mr Richardson as a caring figure who sent out cards to all Point editors after a successful issue and whose contributions will be greatly missed as he retires. Mr Richardson has been a stalwart of Portsmouth Point since its inception in 2009, a founding member and icon of the school’s writing community. He is unmistakably one of ‘the Godfather’ figures at PGS, so I came to him on the day of his retirement from teaching to ask him for forgiveness, and for a favour an interview to chronicle his time here in his own exuberant words.
4
Matt Bryan YE AR 13
Where do you think you will be and what do you think you will be doing this time next year? That’s a great question. When you thought of this question neither you nor I could have guessed what would happen in March, so what next year will look like is very hard to predict. I shall be retired, though, and I hope, at the moment, that all will be as it was before, except that we clean our hands more often and make the most of being in groups of as many as we like! How far back does your connection with Portsmouth go, and for how many years have you regretted living here? Ah, Pompey. I’m a recent convert. It can be an acquired taste. I will never warm to Commercial Road, for instance. I first visited the city in the 60s, I think. Dad was in the Merchant Navy during the war and he took us all to a Navy Open Day in the dockyard. We walked around inside a couple of ships but it was so crowded (ah, remember them, crowds?) that we went into the city and I sketched the Guildhall. I wish I had sketched the Tricorn Centre instead. Far more iconic and a lot easier to draw, too! And now it’s all gone. But there is so much to love here too. The stretch from the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour to Langstone is a great glory, and to be able to walk every day along the front there is a great joy. I come from the heart of the heart of Sussex, land of oak and (once) elm, of secluded dells and little woods, small fields and few people, a hidden land of the Weald, where iron was forged and footpaths linked villages and beamed pubs,
P O RT S M O U T H P O I N T. B LO G S P OT.CO M
dotted with spires and towers, nothing to quicken the blood, no dramatic heights or sweeping plains, no majestic falls or broad lakes, no quaint harbours or imposing monuments, perhaps its finest gift to the world being a little bridge in the Ashdown Forest across a tiny stream where once for real but, much more importantly, in fiction a few tiny sticks and then a large heffalump floated downstream. A land of lost content, of quiet and small pleasures, nothing showy or puffed up with self-importance. But here in Southsea are the wide-open spaces, the huge skies, the sweep of the Solent and history at every turn, with (well, once, at any rate) bars and restaurants in all directions. The pull of the tide was always there back in Sussex, 20 miles from the coast. but always whispering to me, and now I am right by it and so happy. You are well known about PGS for being a man of impeccable taste, so which Star Wars prequel is your favourite? Dear old Star Wars. Is that still going? Bless it. The simple answer is: none of them. The utter beauty of the very first film back in 1977 was that it was total tripe: a hodge-podge of ancient serials that used to be screened incessantly every Saturday morning in local cinemas, with preposterous special effects, derring-do heroes swashbuckling their way across immense space and encountering aliens in ludicrous costumes, with satisfying exotic weapons and a huge explosion at the end. It was, therefore, marvellous and completely disposable. Even the gentle fade to black between scenes was pitch perfect.