IN THE BEGINNING

I'd like to grab your attention with some unforgettable lines. Perhaps something lyric such as , 'It was a sunny day in July and the Whitstable station clock was striking thirteen.' Or if I could not do lyric, then something sweeping like, 'All happy schools are alike, but every unhappy school is unhappy in its own way.' Or perhaps something intriguing such as, 'Someone must have slandered JP, because one morning, without his having done anything wrong, he was summoned by the Head.' Or if I could not intrigue my audience, I could at least grab their attention with, 'This is the funniest story I have ever heard.' All water under the bridge now of course, so I'll settle for, 'A sunny morning in July 1989," and get on with it.

A sunny morning in July 1989. I detrain at Whitstable Railway Station, scan my map and make my way to the interview arranged the day before. I stroll up Downes Avenue. What do I know about Whitstable? Nothing. And I know even less about the Sir William Nottidge School, but it may serve as a temporary refuge until I find a place in Canterbury which I do know well. As I stroll up the hill, I sing and whistle the old school summer song drummed into us at the Harris Academy for the Sons of Gentlefolk by the banks of the silvery Tay.

Hurrah for the heath-clad mountains
Hurrah for the whins' hoarse roar
Hurrah for the sandy fountains
Hurrah for the sandy shore
Hurrah for the sandy shore
(more of which later)

For those of you who are wondering what 'whins' are or how 'fountains' can be sandy, join the legions who have left the Harris wondering exactly the same thing. However, we neither wondered nor questioned; we were ordered to memorise and regurgitate on request, so less has changed in education than you might think. But the song has an irresistibly jaunty air and I am inclined to sing, hum or whistle it in times of happiness or of stress. No doubt I shall sing, hum or whistle it later today as I wander down Downes Avenue. The Harris song captures for me the spirit of summer and for me it is always summer. For most people the first thirty years of their life are lived, the remainder only dreamed. I am fortunate that I've managed to live the first sixty five years of mine wide awake if not always fully alert.

I do not get the job and, for you as well as for me, it might have ended there. I do not get the job I am interviewed for; I get a different job, not Head of English but Head of Drama, with second in English thrown in for good measure. And as I've been pursued along Bellevue Road by the headteacher, and having been brought up not to disappoint a lady if it can be helped, I've little choice but to accept the offer. I travel back to London knowing once again I've jumped on the nearest passing bus; no matter; I never spend my life waiting for buses that might never come. Neither do I ever fear the future. Yes it's true that every new day is the first day of the rest of your life, but it can equally be the last day of the rest of your life, so make the most of it!


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