The masters during the 50s were Bailey, Gray and Brougham (pronounced Broom). Eric and Geoffrey always referred to and called them by their surnames. This seemed strange to me and made the assistant masters sound rather inferior.
Mr Brougham was the Maths master and taught in the main room where "Double” was held. He was a very fat man and wore dark horn-rimmed glasses. He lived in the Drove and came to school each day in his ancient Austin
The little car used to bounce along over the rough Drove track and park at the back of the school. No masters were allowed to use the main driveway at the front.
The little car used to bounce along over the rough Drove track and park at the back of the school. No masters were allowed to use the main driveway at the front.
During meals, Mr Brougham sat at the end of the middle table near the door and at breakfast he kindly gave one piece from his rack of toast to the person sitting on his left (we used to move places every day).
We copied his habit of slitting the toast open with a knife and filling the centre with lots of butter and marmalade. He seemed a very gentle and kind man but was grossly overweight and the blue veins on his face were very noticeable when he lost his temper.
I think he died soon after I left.
We copied his habit of slitting the toast open with a knife and filling the centre with lots of butter and marmalade. He seemed a very gentle and kind man but was grossly overweight and the blue veins on his face were very noticeable when he lost his temper.
I think he died soon after I left.
5 comments:
I go for Brougham.
I remember his house in the Drove as a conventional two-bay-window brick-and-tile bungalow. He may have shared it with another master. He had a day room at the back, on the sunny side, to which we were welcome. He had an extensive collection of Cowrie shells, which were a delight to handle.
You are right Rupert - Brougham - wonderful man - he played the piano very well - I can still hear his overlong nails clicking on the keys. He smoked like a chimney - Lambert and Butler as I recall. He got us all making dodecahedrons out of cardboard at the end of term. And a really good teacher.
By the way, you will be forever remembered as the boy who stood fast against the wrath of Geoffrey when ordered to eat a revolting (Strachey?) sausage at breakfast. You held out for a long time and I can't actually remember if you did eat it. (?) Anyway well done. Wug.
Thanks Wug.
Food was bound to be important to us all, I suppose, and made more so because of rationing.
I do remember looking forward to the breakfast egg when it came due, with the nervous awareness that it might have "turned" in its long journey to one's plate.
You remind me too of another rebellion coming on, but not needed, when Geoffrey produced a Guillemot's egg - some three or four others being chosen to share it.
Noone has mentioned yet the grand ceremony of the Cona coffee infusion. When, in due course, I needed to know of the Oblate Spheroid, the bright glass meths burner (always it seems exactly two-thirds full) immediately came to mind.
I think of the coffee ceremony happening daily, although there must have been a rationing problem to be overcome - as with the Warners' nightly treat of a single square each of dark (Swiss ?) chocolate.
They set such a good example of the complicated orderliness of proper gentlemen. So how to explain the truly hairy fun (as I remember it) of Guy Fawkes night ?
Rupert
Editor's note: there was some debate about the spelling of Brougham/Broome - the general view is that it was Brougham, which should explain any confusion caused by the discussion in the first two comments above.
Mr. Brougham (that is the correct spelling - he was descended from the first Lord Brougham) taught me French as well as Mathematics.
He spent some time in his youth in Dinan, in Brittany, and our French lessons consisted of reading French farces written by LaBiche et Martin - including 'La Pourdre aux Yeux' and 'Un Chapeau de Paile d'Italie'.
He was a superb maths teacher, and gave me a love for the subject that is still with me over 50 years later.
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