Chapter Thirty Seven sometime and would always love me. I never did know whom I had captivated from a distance: my cynical self says it could well have been a send-up but I like to think that the card had a ring of naïve innocence about it and at the time I was deeply touched. No, that’s not quite true; looking back over all those years I’m still touched by the thought today. As was the tradition at the Grammar School, all pupils leaving at the end of term were assembled outside the headmaster’s office and individually wished bon-voyage and every success in their chosen venture. My last act at the school, therefore, was very much as it had begun, a lecturette by Mr Northover. Undoubtedly Mr Northover was a snob, an academic and not a sportsman and hadn’t been blessed with a sense of humour; it must be safe to say that when I entered his study our farewells were short and succinct. In fact I thought it somewhat unfair, perhaps I could and should have done better academically but I had brought nothing but credit to the school – and by definition, Mr Northover – on the sporting field, in particular my handling of the successful cricket team. By comparison those leaving to engage in academic pursuits, university, the civil service, music and the like seemed to spend an eternity in that study. On leaving the Grammar School that day as I rode out of the gates I never looked back either literally or metaphorically and never had a desire to revisit or join reunion gatherings.
Chapter Thirty Eight
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