Rog T's Dyslexia Blog - Who says that your school years are the best years of your life - part 2

So in Part One of this series I talked about my experiences at Primary School in the late 1960's and early 1970s as a dyslexic. In part 2, I am discussing the period aged 10 to 14, where I applied for and attended Finchley Catholic High School and before I discovered Punk Rock music. This was in many ways the most miserable time of my life. It all started so well. My elder brother Frank had attended Finchley Grammar School, which had morphed into Finchley Catholic High School four years before I started. My parents were always fairly relaxed about my education. Strangely the teachers had advised them that I'd be far better applying for St James Catholic school as I was too thick for Finchley. Despite now being open to all as a comprehensive (my brother had to sit an exam to get in), it still had a good reputation. The boys who were doing O levels at the time were still the Grammar intake. FCHS was an amalgamation of Finchley Grammar School and Challoner School. Challoner was a private school for well off Catholics who failed the Eleven Plus. More about that later.

Anyway, unlike my elder brother, no exam for me. I just had an interview with the headmaster "Pop" Groves. Now for me this was a big deal. I assumed that if I said the wrong thing, that would be me done for. Anyway, off I went for the interview. Pop Groves was a kindly old Priest, who had dedicated his life to education. He seemed like a friendly chap. He remembered my brother, who had been a bit of a star, gone to University and obtained a degree. He asked me to spell Arctic, which miraculously I managed. He complimented me saying "many boys spell it ARTIC". I said "Do you mean like an articulated lorry?".  He was even more impressed. The odd thing about my form of dyslexia is that there are certain words I have never had any trouble with. My brain clearly felt the need to distinguish between the North Pole and juggernauts. With that the interview ended, doubtless with Pop Groves thinking that he'd found another budding rocket scientist (my brother designed bits for Space shuttles for a while). Now as I said, my parents were relaxed as to where I would go. We had a whole load of glossy brochures from local schools. I liked the one for Finchley. The reason was quite simple, they said they did Drum lessons and I fancied being a drummer.

Anyway, on the 4th September 1973, I turned up for my first day. I'd earlier mentioned Challoner School. When the two schools amalgamated, Pop Groves, the kindly head of FCHS had been appointed headmaster. Unfortunately, there was another headmaster to accomodate. The former head of Challoner was Mr Daniel Coughlan (AKA Danny).  Now he was most certainly not kindly. He was a complete nutcase. He was what one might refer to as Old School. For him, running a school was about maintaining discipline in a climate of fear. Stories abounded about the beatings he'd dished out to various pupils old and new. He used to address all new parents en mass and talk to them like idiots. My father was not well disposed towards Danny Coughlin. He had a ritual when he caned boys. H'ed put his mortarboard and cape on. Then he'd call in his sidekick, Mr Keough, the deputy head to witness the beating. 

He was also the RE teacher. He would simply dictate what he wanted us to write and test us on it the following week. Our form teacher for our form - 1B was Mr O'Connell, a slightly deranged geography teacher, who  couldn't deal with our class. He quickly acquired the name "Gimpy". Class 1B soon got the reputation as being full of troublemakers. We were not bullies, we were just a class that had no respect for authority and used every opportunity to try and put one over on the system. Wheras other classes had 3-4 troublemakers, we had 3-4 diligent pupils. For some bizarre reason, for our year and our year alone, FCHS decided to allocate the classes alphabetically. Being predominantly Irish Catholic, this resulted in rather a lot of Mick Walsh's and John Ryans in our class, to our endless amusement and the teachers complete consternation.

The first disappointment on joining was to find out that the drum lessons, the only reason I'd chosen the school were a figment of the brochure writers imagination. There was no such thing. When I drew attention to the fact that this was why I'd chosen the school, the Music teacher sarcastically laughed and said "well thats a bit of a shame, isn't it". I've hated him ever since.

None of the teachers in year 1 seemed the least bit interested in teaching us. Mr O'Donovan, the French teacher, spent the lessons telling tall stories about his wartime exploits in France. As we had no interest in French, we'd encourage him, with the end result that at the end of the year, none of us had learned a single word. Our form teacher, Mr O'Connell hated us and as our geography teacher did everything he could to avoid us. We simply used to bang our desk lids when he came in, in the hope that he'd lose the plot and go out again. One day he really lost the plot and punched Nick Walsh, who was sitting in the front row and not banging his desk, in the face. That was the last we saw of Mr O'Connell, although he taught other classes. We saw it as a victory, although Nick Walsh and his parents probably took a different view.

Then there was Mr Linane. He was the history teacher. Like many of the teachers, he took a great delight in humiliating eleven year old boys. In our first lesson, he read the register and made every boy, in turn, reveal what their middle initial was. Mine was "M" for Martin. Not too bad really. It came to one poor unfortunate, who had "R" as his middle name. Mr Linane asked what it was. "R" replied that he'd rather not say. A wicked glint entered Mr Linane's eye. "Is it Richard?" he asked. No Sir, R Replied. "Is it Roger?", he asked. R replied "No Sir". This continued for a couple of minutes, to no avail. In the end, Mr Linane said "What's the matter with you boy, just tell us, or we'll be here all night". At this, R broke down into tears and blubbed "Sir it's Rupert". At this the rest of us collapsed in laughter. Mr Linane wasn't going to let it rest. He asked "Rupert, are you a poof, why are you crying?" and spent the next five minutes taunting the poor chap. Now, those were different times and in FCHS at the time, there was a very homophobic atmosphere. Despite the fact that R was a nice bloke, this episode tarred him with a reputation that doubtless made his schooling awful. Our class used to mercilessly taunt various members. In R's case, he had his own rather derogatory, homophobic song, which got sung every time he entered the classroom, for the next few years.

What didn't help with the air of antagonism and homophobia, were a few decidedly dodgy teachers. One games teacher, who's name escapes me, used to insist on underpants inspections before we did PE. He informed us that wearing underpants under shorts, whilst doing PE was unhealthy. He'd make us all line up and pull our shorts down, to ensure no underpants were being worn. It didn't take us long to clock on to the fact that this wasn't healthy behaviour. 

By the end of year 2, several of the class had left for pastures new (although R stuck it out till the bitter end). They'd just had enough of it, although at the time we all were bemused. Our view was that everyone got stick, so they should just get on with it. We hated the teachers and they hated us. At the start of year 2B, we had a new form teacher. Mr Sweeney was a fearsome character. He'd announce his arrival by throwing his brief case through the door, onto the desk. He let it be known that he wasn't going to take any nonsense. He used to throw blackboard rubbers at us and threaten to punch our lights out. In a fair fight, one on one, he'd always win. However there were 38 boys in class 2b, all of whom were dead set on making his life miserable. We assumed that he was made of sterner stuff, but by the end of the year, he'd had enough and asked for another class. This was becoming a pattern. In year 1, our English Teacher was Miss Walsh, a humourless ex nun. She was replaced in year 2 by Mr Katz. Mr was an American hippy. He believed kids should express themselves and tried to be nice to us. He'd say things like "Hey man, what's with all the negativity". We just ran riot. Sadly, in our class, Mr Katz was not a success. Most of the other classes loved him and realised that if they went along with him, the lessons would be fun and they'd learn. For us, we just wanted to get rid of him. When you are educationally challenged with dyslexia, this doesn't make for a good education.

In class 3b, we yet again had a new form teacher. I have no idea why they inflicted us on the lovely Alison MacFarlane, a pretty redhead of Scottish extraction, who seemed far too nice for us lot. We'd moved to the "Middle School" when she took us on. She was a biology teacher and unlike the previous two, she recognised that there was a bit more to form 3b than troublemaking. The sad thing was that whatever she did to try and bring out the best in us, we'd always let her down. She was never flustered. By this time, I was probably in a state of mild depression. I'd disappear from lessons and go and hide in the bushes. She'd come and seek me out and persuade me to go back to lessons. I guess she'd twigged I was unhappy. I am sure most of the class were in some way.

I just found the stress of continually being ridiculed by teachers to be rather tiresome. There was no real happy medium. They were either sadistic bastards who didn't teach you anything or they were too nice so we ran them ragged. By the end of the third year, the whole class was underperforming. Luckily for us, a degree of redemption was on its way. We made our O level and CSE choices and so for all lessons, apart from RE, PE and Games, we were split up as a group.  For most of us, this probably saved our education. I chose science subjects, mainly because I liked the science teachers. I also chose building studies, as it meant a day a week out of school, at an external centre, where you didn't have to wear uniform. Miss MacFarlane taught biology and her eventual husband, Mr Shuttler, who was probably the best teacher I ever had, taught me physics. I didn't realise it at the time, but I am sure she put in a good word for me with him.

By the end of the 4th year, my grades had improved, to the point where O level passes seemed a reality. This was the summer of 1977. Little did I know it, but soon my life was to change. As we broke up for the summer of 1977, I was feeling very lonely and isolated. I had mates at school, but few were really close friends. We were like passengers on a trip, stuck together making the best of it.  The only thing I really enjoyed was playing and watching football. I wasn't a good player. I've subsequently learned that dyslexics generally have bad co-ordination. Things such as ball skills and dancing are generally very poor. As I was starting to grow, I did however find that size and weight could to some degree compensate, so I decided I was going to concentrate my efforts on being a defender of the hack em down school of thought. My dad had an old set of dumbells, so I also decided to get fit and strong.

Throughout all of this, no one had noticed how bad my use of English was. No one had picked up on the classic dyslexic traits. I now realise that the troublemaking was a classic defence mechanism. I was so alienated to the school establishment that I wanted to fail, just to escape their clutches. What changed me, was the fact that the few good teachers at FCHS, such as Mr Shuttler, would take time and explain things in a manner that was interesting. All of a sudden, I had a degree of clarity. I can remember him talking to me about English. He asked me why I wasn't interested. I said "Because I find it boring". He replied that surely I enjoyed watching films and listening to rock music. I said "Yeah, but whats that got to do with English". He replied that good songs have good lyrics and good films have good stories. He then said that if I wanted to do well at physics, I'd need to get an English O Level. He asked me if I thought I was too thick to get one. I replied that I thought I could if I tried. He then asked me why I wouldn't want to try? I couldn't answer that question. He asked me if I liked my English teacher. I said "No, actually I can't stand her".  He laughed and said "She can't stand you either. Who has won if you fail your English O Level?" From that moment, I had no doubt in my mind I'd pass it, no matter what it took (dyslexic or not). When it came down to it, I realised English language was just about trying to learn the rules.

What was interesting was the fact that I realised he'd not lied about my English teacher hating me. As my grades improved, she became more obnoxious. I guess this was what I needed. I probably worked harder for English than any other subject. I even started reading the books we were set. I'd force myself to read them, and studied hard. I soon found that I could analyse them and answer the questions. Lessons became like a battlefield, but I also found that if you do your homework, you will win. A valuable lesson for blogging. The trouble with being dyslexic in the 1970's was that there was never enough time in exams. I'd always run out. The clock would just tick faster for me than everyone else. I've since found that I read at 2/3rds the speed of someone with a normal brain.I could never figure out how all my class mates would finish and I'd still have 2 questions left, regardless of how well I knew the subject. I've heard people saying that it is unfair on "normal" pupils that dyslexics get extra time. To me exams are testing intelligence, not timekeeping. Did it matter how long it took Alan Turing to break Enigma codes? Of course not.

So as we broke up for that heady summer I was in a strange place. I felt cautiously optimisitic about school. Mr Shuttler had convinced me that I could do OK On a personal level I felt a bit cut adrift. I hadn't got into music. I was always the last pick at football. I hadn't discovered girls properly, but I had deep longings, mostly for mate sisters. Sadly I had zero confidence to do anything about it. At that point the school had done a pretty good job of convincing me I was useless. Why would any girl, let alone a pretty one be that interested. As FCHS was a boys school, the opportunities for girls was not exactly great to start with. Despite the efforts of Mr Wynne, the biology teacher to give us some sensible sex education, I think that we were completely clueless compared to todays 14 year olds. Being a Catholic school, even bringing in a Condom was an act of extreme terrorism. I can remember when there was a spate of people bringing in condoms and blowing them up. Mr Coughlan, head of the lower school, informed us it was a mortal sin to possess one. I was a bit naive and so hadn't got a clue what he was on about. I thought the idea of putting a balloon on your willy to catch sperms was absurd and couldn't imagine anyone doing such a thing. That was the great thing about FCHS. They were telling us all these things and none of us had a clue what they were on about half of the time. By drawing attention to it, they simply made us interested and we found the "real story" from boys with older brothers, who were a bit more worldly wise.

As he sometimes did, my Dad gave me some sensible advice. Over a bacon sandwich, one morning when my Mum and sisters were away, he gave me told me. "If you want to get a girlfriend, get a job. Girls are far more interested if you've got a few quid". So I got a job. In fact I got three. I got a paper round, I got a Saturday job at the butchers and I started washing cars for my Dad at his business. As I didn't really have any hobbies at that time, I opened up a post office account and watched the cash build up. So I was in a bit of a strange place. Improving grades, spare cash and at a loose end. and completely miserable. It could only really spell one thing. Trouble.  To Be Continued........

--

For those of you who haven't read my dyslexia blogs before, here is a little preamble and introduction, so you know who I am and what I do and why I write this stuff. For those of you who know the story, skip to the end of the paragraph for todays installment. Let me give you a bit of Background so you know who I am and what I do. I was born in 1962. I didn't start talking until I was 4 years old (at all, not a single word). My parents thought I was deaf. My reading age at eleven was 5. When I was fifteen I started a rock and roll band called the False Dots, the band is still going strong. When I was 16 I started a business called Mill Hill Music Complex (although then it was simply called the studio), a rehearsal studio, as we had nowhere to rehearse. The business has grown into a very successful enterprise, one of Londons biggest and most well respected independent studios. We now have 16 studios and a music shop and also have a photography/video studio and a dance studio. I also have done IT work, mostly on a freelance basis since 1983. In 2012 I also moved into film production, producing two highly acclaimed documentary films, both of which had screenings at the House of Commons. When I was 31, a friend suggested I had a dyslexia test. To my surprise I was told I was moderately dyslexic. This made me interested in the subject. To my amazement, what I have learned over the years is that my lack of educational aptitude, my feelings of anger and injustice and the core of my personality have been formed by the fact I cannot read words in a linear fashion. In 2013, I have set one of my objectives to use this blog to let dyslexics know they are not alone, to suggest that people who think they may be dyslexic to get an assessment and toget people who have dyslexic children or siblings to understand the issues that they face.

 

Holding to account Danny Coughlan, former Head of the Lower School at Finchley Catholic High School

 Have you ever thought you were going to die? I know we all die sooner or later, but what I mean is in the next minute or two? It has only happened to me twice. Once when I was hit by a speeding car in Burnt Oak in 1988 and the other when I was an 11 year old pupil at Finchley Catholic High School. I'd been at the school about four months. It was January. The rule was that at break times, we had to all go into the playground. Teachers would guard the door, to ensure that we didn't go back in. On this particular day, it was freezing cold. At the end of 'dinner break', I was keen to get back into the classroom to warm up. I positioned myself at the front of the queue. 

Shortly before the bell was due to ring, to allow us back in, there was a clap of thunder and it started raining. There was a mad scrum towards the door. The 'Headmaster of the lower school' Mr Danny Coughlan, appeared. I was being pushed in by the scrum. Coughlan screamed at us all to wait for the bell. This was to no avail. What happened next has troubled me ever since. Coughlan was a large man and I was a small child. He punched me as hard as could in the throat. The whole crowd saw. I don't know if you've ever been punched hard in the throat. I wouldn't recommend it. I couldn't breath. I staggered back and collapsed, gasping for air. Mr Coughlan then came down and started kicking me, telling me to get up. To be honest, the kicks didn't bother me. I couldn't breath and I thought I was going to die. I really can't recall what happened next. I don't know if I passed out or had a panic attack. 

My next recollection of the event was that I was up in his office. He told me that if I mentioned the events to a soul, I'd be expelled and no other school would accept a troublemaker like me. I protested that I had done nothing, there was a crowd pushing me. He informed me that if I continued to lie about the event, he would "give me six of the best". He told me that he'd put on my record that I was a liar. I was not the person I am now. I was terrified of him and I thought that no one would believe me. I thought my Dad would clobber me for being naughty. Who would you believe, an eleven year old child or a respected headmaster of the local, prestigious Catholic school? 

Why do I mention this now? Well on Wednesday, I went to Manchester with my son. He is 24 and went to FCHS. I was joking about how much times have changed. His generation never had to endure violence from the teachers. When I thought about it, I realised that even with the climate of corporal punishment at the time, what Coughlan did was extreme. In hindsight, I wish I'd told my parents. I had been the victim of a vicious and unprovoked assault. I spent the two years in the lower school doing my best to avoid Coughlan. I used to get extremely anxious about going to school. It got so bad that by the time I was thirteen, I was seeing a paediatrician and was on valium for anxiety. I had not put the two things together, but I recall the absolute trauma and terror of Coughlan. 

Sadly, I couldn't completely avoid him. He would take RE lesssons. They were bizarre. He'd dictate the lesson and we'd write it down. We'd then hand it in and he'd check that we'd transcribed it word for word. Being dyslexic, I was on the receiving end of his ire. I'd be called thick and an idiot. I wasn't the only one. Bear in mind, most of us were aged 11 and from good Catholic homes (by this I mean, quite young and naive, not that we were better than anyone). The first lesson he gave us, in the first week, he stood up and said "You are all bent!". He then asked if we knew what bent meant. A few of us sniggered. He made one of the sniggerers stand up. He demanded to know what "being bent" meant. At the time, it was a derogatory term usually used in a homophobic manner. The poor lad suggested that Mr Coughlan thought we were gay ( I can't recall the exact words). Coughlan said "No, being bent means you are crooked, you are sinners, you are bent!". He then told us that we were scarred with original sin and would all go to hell, save for the generous intercession of Jesus Christ. 

Now at the time I was an alter server and went to mass twice a week. I'd yet to commit any sins, beyond nicking spare change from my brother's pockets when he was having a drunken lie in and teasing my sister for being spotty. We'd always been told that Jesus was our friend. Mr Coughlan said he wasn't our friend, he was our saviour and none of us were worthy of him. We were just damn lucky we were Catholics. If we were Protestants or any other religion, we'd be doomed. I was quite disturbed. Some of my best mates were Cof E and a couple were Jewish. The thought them and all of their families were going to Hell was terrible. I was lucky, my Dad had a friend who was a retired priest. I asked him if Mr Coughlans theological perspective was correct. I will always respect and thank Fr Traynor for his considered response. He said that according to the second Vatican council, this sort of thinking was completely outdated. It was completely up to God who was allowed in and it wasn't up to us to judge. As Catholics, we knew what we should do to please God, but the concept that there wasn't a non Catholic anywhere who wouldn't be let in was simply absurd. He then explained that some sects like the Jeheovahs Witnesses believe only members go to heaven, but that was an anathema to Catholics. I was grateful such stupidity had been debunked. I wanted to challenge Mr Coughlan but he was a terrifying individual. 

The odd thing was, and I only realised this now, is that I have realised that Coughlan knew he'd totally overstepped the mark with me. Other teachers had witnessed his assault and knew about it. He might have killed me. A couple of times over the next two years, I was up before him for misdemeanors. I fully expected to get the cane, but he never administered it. Everyone else I knew, who did such things was caned. In hindsight, I think Coughlan was worried that if I was caned, the assault may have come out. It was all rather odd. He was most reasonable with me. 

I spoke to my elder brothers about him. They'd gone to Challoner School, where Couglan was headmaster. It was a fee paying Catholic private school. It merged with Finchley Grammar School to form FCHS four years before I joined. Pop Groves, head of FGS became headmaster and Coughlan had been made Headmaster of the Lower School as a sop. He had total autonomy over the first two years. 

When my brothers had been at Challoner, Coughlan had been even more brutal. He'd once caned the whole school as someone had failed to own up for a misdemeanour. It was not about education, it was about brutality. When Coughlan caned a child, he had a ritual, where he put on a cape and ball cap and informed the child that he hate doing it and it was for their own good. I previously wrote a blog about FCHS and got this comment

What a disgusting place that Challoner School was. They knew nothing about nurture and everything about inspiring fear and loathing into our minds. Any joy, or interest, in learning about any subject was squashed. I'm now 70 and still rage at that soulless crow Coughlan and the impact he had on so many young minds. The abuse was daily. There was never a single day where you were greeted with a smile walking into that prison of a school.

I was lucky, I got expelled in my 3rd term. I still don't know why, but thank God for expulsion!

I thought long and hard about writing this blog. I have no doubt that Daniel Coughlan and his regime at Challoner/FCHS damaged a lot of people. I believe that all of the teachers and the administration of the school knew he was dangerous and should not have been let anywhere near young boys. What should have been a pleasant experience that built character and moral fibre, for me and I believe many others, became a game of getting through, counting down the days, until we went to the main school and were free of this idiot. I am sure many didn't have such a bad experience as I had, but I genuinely don't think anyone who saw Coughlan in action would be in any doubt that the man was not fit to be in a school.

I don't want compensations, apologies or a meeting with the school. I just want to put it out there, have my say and fifty years after I was seriously assaulted as a child, let the world know what the man who did it really was.  That will do me.

Just in case you are nostaligic for those days, have a look at this

The two useful things I was taught at school.

 I wasn't planning on writing a blog today. I was not feeling inspired by anything, and I am short on time due to work requirements to research the things in the pipeline properly. However a tweet by one of my favourite customers, Pat Kane, singer of Hue and Cry and always a pleasure to have a chat with when he rehearses at our studios could not pass without comment. Pat tweeted.

…while my daughter was actually *doing* an Ocean Engineering degree there, and studying/acting Shakespeare, reading Islamic civilisation, anthropology. Indeed, compelled to, by MIT’s mission https://t.co/cEI8aWKdew pic.twitter.com/uuAu2iAUAk

— Pat Kane (@thoughtland) September 7, 2021

 If I am honest I only learned two useful things from my less than illustrious educational career. The first was how to paint, hang paper and decorate. When I was at Finchley Catholic High School, they would send less academic students to the curriculum centre in Byng Road, Barnet. There I studied Building Studies, to O Level (which was aligned to the City and Guilds course). That was one of my two B's at O level (the other being religious studies, coming from a strict Catholic family, it was hard not to pass that). I worked for a painter/decorator for three years on leaving school. It fitted in well with my music and I earned decent money. So that was undeniably useful.

The other thing that was perhaps ten times more useful was not from any lessons I had. At FCHS my physics teacher was the rather amazing Mr John Shuttler. For some reason that I've never understood, he took me under his wing and spent time trying to encourage me. He saw something that even I didn't know wasn't there. At my most alienated, aged about 13/14 he took me in and encouraged me. I was having problems with my English teacher. I'd sort of given up on it. He gave me a cup of tea and asked what I wanted to do. I said that I wanted to be a musician. He asked me who I liked, I reeled of a long list of artists, The Sex Pistols, The Damned, The Vibrators, etc. He asked if I liked any 'more established artists'. I replied Joni Mitchell. His eyes lit up. He loved Joni Mitchell. We had a long chat about her work. He then said "Do you think Joni Mitchell's songs would be as good if she had a poor command of English?".  I'd really not thought of that. We discussed all manner of songs and it soon became clear that if you wanted to write good lyrics, you needed a good command of English and to understand the pace and structure of the language. We then returned to the subject of my English teacher. I was convinced she hated me. What he told me stopped me in my tracks. "Yes, she does, don't quote me on this though,  she can't stand you, she want's you to fail and do nothing with your life". It was not the response I expected. He then said "So are you going to let her?". He then said "the only person who gets any benefit from your education is you". I realised that I wanted to pass English more than anything. I asked how I could pass. He said "It is simple, do your work to the best of your ability and think!". He then said "You are eloquent, you have the tools, all you need to do is learn to structure it to pass the exams". 

I have never worked harder at anything than I worked on my English at FCHS. It seemed the better I did, the more antagonistic she got. I read the text books, worked on my grammar and punctuation. It doesn't come easy to a dyslexic, but it was important to me. I passed, but by then I'd been shown the door at FCHS, never to return. It was 30 years before I got the chance to thank John Shuttler and he just looked embarrassed. I moved on to  Orange Hill school. At A level I did physics, I just wanted to repay his faith, even though he wasn't my teacher. I even managed to pass it. 

What he taught me was nothing to do with Physics, English or anything else. He taught me that you educate yourself because the better educated you are, the more options you have in your life. It is nothing to do with GCSE's,  O or A levels. It is being able to listen, to appreciate, to learn, to contribute. Would I have written a blog without that inspiration? Would I have had a band? Would I have had a career? Would I have a business? I very much doubt it. He taught me that if you do your homework and prepare yourself, everything works better and you get on. He taught me that hard work is the root of all success, but you need how to apply the work. If you work hard without direction, you are a headless chicken.

Reading Pat Kane's comments about what MIT expect demonstrate why they produce people who are so effective in their field. He is absolutely right about engineers not just needing to understand engineering. When it comes down to it, engineering is about making things better. To do this effectively, you need a mind that doesn't always think in straight lines and realises that there may be another route that doesn't lead to a dead end. To truly understand the world, you need to understand other cultures. To be a successful marine oceanographer, you will need to travel the world and interact with people from other cultures. If you have some idea of their culture and traditions, this can only improve your working career.

When I was seeking work in the mid 80's in IT ( I desperately needed a steady source of income by then), I was one of many candidates for a plumb job at a large UK software company. I later found out that of the shortlist, I had the worst academic qualifications by a long chalk. To my astonishment I got the job. Six months later, I was discussing this with my boss. He laughed and said "You were the only candidate I'd let near a customer, you are more than intelligent enough to do the job, but at your interview, you were the only one who had anything interesting to say". During the interview, when he'd asked me about my time in Stockholm, after I'd finished my A Levels, I'd assumed he'd just been being nice. In actual fact,  that I could go and live in a foreign country and make a new group of friends from scratch was the key factor that swung it for me.  That is why I was so upset when the government abolished the ERASMUS program for UK students wishing to study abroad. Many young people are being denied such opportunities. 

It seems to me that the UK educational system is all about gaining pieces of paper. As an employer, I've interviewed countless sound engineering graduates, who have studied for three years and cannot mic up a drum kit. Many can't interact with customers or even discuss eloquently who their favourite artists are and why. To me these soft skills are vital in creating a rapport in the workplace.

My advice to anyone, in any field is to educate yourself. If you like music, learn about the people who put it together, musicians, producers, songwriters. The chances are this will lead you to other great music. If you like a book, read up on the author, find their influences and check out what inspired them. If you like a work of art, do the same with the work of the artist. If you are visiting a country, read up on its history and culture. That way you can start a conversation with the locals and they will help you see more and have a better time. And if you are choosing a University, choose one that has a progressive view of the arts. Just remember that the day job may ultimately pay the bills, but it is your appreciation of the finer things that will make life worth living. When you work with people 7 hours a day for years on end, it's better if you've got more to chat about than just the thing you are working on. It helps build up a relationship and the more ideas are shared around, the more successful your career will be. Which is why people who study somewhere with the MIT philosophy will ultimately do better. 

In short, whatever we do, we will do it far better if we are not one dimensional 

The truth about Corporal Punishment

Earlier in the week I came across a truly fascinating document. It is entitled "The End of Corporal Punishment at Finchley". This document is posted on the Finchley Catholic High School website in the archive section of the old boys association. It details entries for the final ten years of corporal punishment at the school. I challenge anyone who believes that Corporal Punishment has a place in the education system to read this. Just to give you some idea of the scale of use as a remedy, look at this graph from the document.

As you can see in the 1979-80 term, 140 pupils received the cane (or other such punishments). That is more than one every two days. So what sort of heinious crimes were the boys caned for. Here's a small selection :-

Now I attened the school from 1974 to 1978 (I completed my education at Orange Hill Senior High School, where I can't remember a single instance of corporal punishment and behaviour was certainly far better - especially mine). At the time it seemed quite normal to receive the cane for trivial offences, if caught by the wrong teacher. I got it once for "pushing in on the dinner queue" (I didn't want to be late for a lunchtime detention). I didn't give it much thought until I moved to Stockholm in 1981 for six months. There my friends were shocked that such practicises were still allowed. They'd been banned in Sweden decades before. In fact they thought I was lying about it and only believed me when a friend from FCHS showed up and confirmed the story.

Bad behaviour at Finchley at the time was met with a completely random and arbitary approach. It all depended on which teacher caught you. The better ones such as John Shutler would sit you down and talk to you about your behaviour. He caught me writing obscenities about his wife on the toilet wall (she was also a quite attractive teacher). His remedy? He arranged for me to redecorate the toilets at half term, paying for the paint out of my own pocket. He knew that I would have been expelled and I am eternally grateful for the sensible lesson he taught.

I wonder how many of the boys caned for gambling, smoking or talking in class were cured by a sound thrashing. I don't recall anyone saying "thats it for me". A couple of the teachers took a far more pragmatic view to smoking and would just pinch your fags (I suspect certain teachers contracted lung cancer entirely at the expense of the pupils).

I have one observation. The peak years for canings appear to be the Neil Kelly era - 1975 - 1979. Several years ago, my company took a boy on work experience from FCHS. As we were making the arrangements, I told the school secretary that I was an old boy of the school. She enquired when. I replied 1974-1978. She glumly announced "Oh we call that the dark period". She went on to assure me that the school was much better now.

Does Corporal punishment work? When I transferred to Orange Hill and realised that things were dealt with in sensible balanced and rational way, I concluded no. Reading this document has not changed that belief. I got my children to read this document. Suffice to say that in the age of childline they were truly shocked

No More Heroes ........ Where are the Finchley boys now?

Whatever happened to Leon Trotsky? He got an Icepick, that made his ears burn ....

The Stranglers from 1977. You've no idea what effect this appearance on Top of The Pops had on me. Jean Jacques Burnel swatting flies with a newspaper when he was supposed to be miming the bass. At the time I was at Finchley Catholic High School, just embarking on what was to prove my final year at the school. The Stranglers hardcore fans were known as "The Finchley Boys". A bunch of herberts who suddenly had a purpose in life. "No More Heroes" was an anti anthem. A call to arms for all of us who were sick to death of being pushed around, told to respect people who deserved none (why did a vision of the face of Brian Coleman enter my head as I wrote this?).

I suspect that if the Stranglers hadn't appeared on Top of  The Pops singing No More Heroes in September 1977, I wouldn't be writing this blog now. I wonder what song in the charts today will still resonate with someone who is 14 today, in the year 2043 (When I was 14 in 1977, 2010 seemed a very long way away!). Maybe I'll ask my 14 year old Daughter the question and see what she has to say? As to the original Finchley boys? What are they doing now?

Enjoy your Friday Night. I'm off for a belated St Patricks night out at the Three Hammers with "Na Fianna" and a few friends. I'm rather hoping to sink a couple of pints of the good old black stuff !

Barnet Eye weekly roundup - A few new local websites

I've been asked to plug a couple of new websites which may be of interest to readers in and around the Borough of Barnet.

There's a new FACEBOOK page for anyone interested in Music in the Borough of Barnet (and surrounding areas - It goes under the name of Barnet Beat. If you've got a gig or want to know what's going on, check it out. It's open access, free to use and free to join.

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=322751712809

I've also been asked to give a plug to a new website called  "The Friends of Finchley Catholic High School" - It has a noticeboard, an archive and lots of other info for people associated with the school. If you are an old boy, it is well worth a look.

http://www.fchsfriends.org.uk/

At the Barnet Eye, we're always happy to plug local community interest websites, so just drop me an email if you want a mention.

Finchley Catholic High School and the ambassador to Israel

There is a  really good story in this weeks Finchley Times. The new ambassador to Israel, Matthew Gould visited Finchley Catholic High School and addressed pupils earlier this month. Pupils from St Michael’s Catholic Grammar School, Hasmonean High School and the Jewish Free School were invited to attend. Mr Gould is the first Jewish ambassador to Israel and Mr Gould spoke about how honoured he was to be appointed.

There is often criticism of faith schools, claiming that they are too insular and inward looking. As an ex pupil of Finchley Catholic, I am proud that the school is clearly taking a lead in promoting links with other communities. Inviting pupils from the other schools clearly shows that in Barnet, faith schools are promoting a better inter faith relations in the community. In 2007, pupils from Finchley Catholic High School took a play about the holocaust and performed it at the Auschtwitz. It can only be a good thing for schools to get together to stage these sort of events. The best way to counter Racism, anti-semitism and intolerance is to address these issues with young people at an early age. Schools working together as shown here is a great way of getting people from different traditions together.

I can only commend all of the schools involved for taking part and praise Mr Gould for taking the time to speak to the pupils.

Matthew Offord vs The laws of natural justice

The Conservative candidate for Hendon, Matthew Offord has published a message for his followers on his website. In it he makes the following statement as one of his core beliefs :-

* Our teachers must be free to teach by ability and discipline unruly pupils without fear their decisions will be overturned

So I asked myself, under what circumstances might anyone want to "overturn" a punishment handed out to a child? Well I suppose that the situation Offord is talking about is one where mummy and daddy think little Johnny can do no wrong. Poor old teacher is left in a situation where all those nasty pinko liberals undermine him and Johnny runs riot.

I think back to my own school days at Finchley Catholic High School. I didn't get on with the Headmaster at the time. He had it in for me and he told me so. He told me that he wanted to expel me at the first available opportunity after a spat about my persistent lateness. Shortly after, the opportunity presented itself. A school survey was conducted and someone wrote some lewd comments about a rather attractive female member of staff. They signed my name at the bottom and handed it in as a joke. The school didn't find it funny and I was summoned to the headmasters study. He asked me whos name it was on the bottom of the form. I responded that it was mine. He then said "So you admit that you wrote this?" I replied "No, I admitted that my name was there, someone else wrote it". He replied "So now you are lying as well, this just makes it worse for you." He told me that my parents would be summoned and I was going to be expelled. He ordered me to go to the playground and speak to no-one. I duly went and sat in the rain in the playground. As I sat there, the physics teacher, who I got on with, Mr Shuttler happened to be walking past. Seeing me sitting in the rain, in the playground, he made his way down and asked what I was doing. I explained. He seemed rather upset. He asked if I knew who did the form. I had a fair idea. He asked if I'd tell him, so that he could make amends. I replied that I wouldn't as I didn't want to get anyone expelled.  He said that if I told him, he'd speak to the boys and get them to own up. He'd make a deal with the head, so that if they owned up, they would not get expelled. I agreed and told him the names.

He then went off, explained the suituation to the boys who had done it. They were horrified that their joke had got so out of hand. He then spoke to the headmaster, who had to agree to waive the threat of expulsion. I was summoned back to the headmasters study and he announced to me, Mr Shuttler and the perpetrators "I would have been quite happy to throw you out because you are a troublemaker, but these fine lads have stood up and admitted that they wrote the letter so I'm sorry to say I'll have to let you stay at the school". What would Mr Offord have done if he were John Shuttler? Would he have intervened to get an unjust decision overturned? Of all the teachers who had the misfortune of trying to teach me, I hold John Shuttler in the highest esteem of any of them. Why? because he cared about the boys he taught and he was even prepared to stand up to a very unreasonable headmaster.

Offords suggestion that "Teachers word is final and there is no appeal" is a terrible proposition, it is impractical and it offends natural justice. In short, it is a statement from a man who is completely out of his depth.

What about all the rubbish teachers?

I saw this story on the BBC (Click HERE) and had a wry smile. A group of girls set up a page describing their dislike of a teacher at their school. Had we had Facebook when I was at school, it was just the type of thing I'd done ( I suppose that is probably no surprise to regular readers). Back in the 60's & 70's when I was at school, I suspect that the issue would have been handled rather differently. We still had corporal punishment then. Had I done that at Finchley Catholic High school in 1977, I guess that I' probably been beaten black and blue for my efforts. Would the teacher have been "in Counselling"? then. I suspect they'd have been in the headmasters office to sadistically watch as the canings took place. I remember the first time I was hit at school. I must have been 5 or 6. It was in what we called Infants 1 at St Vincents. I'd misspelt the word Train as Trian. Our teacher wrote TRAIN on the blackboard, called me to the front of the class and asked me to spell it correctly underneath. She handed me the chalk and I wrote in big letters T R I A N. In those days we didn't have dyslexia, so I was just thick and insolent. I got a sharp whack with a metal ruler across the knuckles. For those of you who say corporal punishment doesn't work, I've never spelt Train incorrectly since.

I remember the last time I got the cane as well. That was at Finchley Catholic High School. I was in the 5th year. A 4th year had been kicked in the face by one of my class and had a broken nose. Mr Kelly, the headmaster gathered all of the likely perpetrators together (about 8 of us) and demanded that the attacker reveal themselves. Class 5b were a rather anarchistic mob, so no one said anything. Kelly then said we'd all get 6 of the best. If the perpetrator was identified, he alone would get it. If he owned up, he'd get 6, if someone else grassed he'd get 12. No one said anything. He then dismissed one of our group, as he was disabled, and proceeded to call us in 1 by 1. We all got a good hiding. The funny thing is that it was the disabled guy who'd perpetrated the crime. How did we react? We thought we'd put one over on the system. I don't know what lesson I learned from that incident, other than don't be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Shortly after that, I transferred my allegiance to Orange Hill Senior High School. When I joined, the headmaster, Mr Cully, told me that he'd seen my school record and said it appeared that I was a troublemaker. He asked me why he should admit a troublemaker to his school. I responded that, yes I'd caused trouble from time to time, but I felt that the headmaster had disliked me and not treated me fairly. I explained the background to several incidents and Cully responded that he was prepared to take a chance. He told me that the first sign of misbehaviour would be my last day at the school. 18 blameless months later, I got caught dropping a waterbomb on a 4th year. I was sent to Cully, expecting to be given my marching orders. He said "Look, I can understand that Taylor is annoying, but this really isn't the way to deal with it, is it?". He asked me to promise to deal with things in a more mature way in future. I did. I guess he'd decided that I wasn't really such a troublemaker after all.

One of the most life-changing moments for me happened shortly before I left Orange Hill. Mr Williams, the then deputy head, called me into his office. As usual I expected to be getting the blame for something. He poured me a glass of scotch (I think I was 17 at the time) and said "I would like you to do me a favour". He explained that he was a jazz nut. He loved Charlie Parker and he'd like me to put together a presentation for him showing the development of modern music from Parker to the Pistols. All of a sudden I realised that he actually respected me. I did my very best and it went well. Up until then, the only music I'd had any interest in at all was Punk Rock. As a result of Mr Williams, my tastes broadened immeasurably and I learned to appreciate music which I'd never have listened to.

Reading about the girls and their facebook site lead me to think about my education. I remember spending hours thinking up ways of winding teachers up. I used to bring in fishing line and rig up things so they'd fall over during lessons. I used to order cabs for the headmaster at times when I knew they'd be taking assemblies. I remember dismantling a desk so that it collapsed when a teacher put their books on them. I once broke into the headmasters office at Finchley during a summer holiday to glue his desk drawers shut. The funny thing is, I never, ever did it to a teacher who I respected or who treated me fairly. It was always in response to what I felt was an injustice. When I went to Orange Hill, where I was treated like an adult, I stopped the pranks. Maybe I'd just grown up, but I think there was more to it. We had an extremely poor maths teacher taking us for Maths A Level. At Finchley, I'd probably have tormented them hoping they left. At Orange Hill, I did something completely different. I spoke to the other pupils. They agreed and we felt that it was damaging our prospects of passing the exam. I organised a delegation to see the headmaster and head of mathematics. The head of maths said that "it wasn't our place to decide who was a good teacher". I responded "yes it is, we are the ones who'll be affected if we fail". The headmaster was swayed by our arguments and we got a new teacher. When I left Finchley, I felt the school had not helped me. I realise now that it had, but probably not in the way it should. It made me an extremely belligerent individual, who will fight to the end. Orange Hill then gave me the tools to do that in a successful manner. I'm pleased to say that I've friends who have children at Finchley and it seems that the school has improved immeasurably since my days (I must also say there were good teachers there at the time, John Shuttler, my physics teacher deserves a special mention ).

The point I'm making is that we learn as much from bad schools and bad teachers as we do from good ones. The trouble is the lessons we learn are all negative ones. I suspect that the girls in this case are responding in this way for a reason. Maybe they are responding in the only way they know how to someone who is letting them down? Maybe a more imaginative school headmaster would have dealt with this in a better way, so it didn't end up on the BBC website. Maybe a better head would run a school where this didn't happen in the first place. In my experience, every school has a few bad teachers, a few inspirational teachers and the vast majority are average and do their job. The bad teachers cause immeasurable damage. Schools should have mechanisms for pupils to raise these matters, other than Facebook hate sites. One final point is that in my experience it wasn't the really strict teachers who pupils conspired against. It was either the ones who weren't any good or were grossly unfair who we resented. I never heard a single complaint for a justly delivered punishment. I think that teachers should have a teaching license. If they are no good, they should have their license revoked.