My influences: Michael Booker

As reported elsewhere in this blog, from 1955 until 1962 I attended Bristol Grammar School. I had never been a sporty child - my interest lay in books and I read voraciously - so attending a school where team sports formed an important part of school life came as something of a shock.

I never achieved distinction. I managed to get a place in the relevant house rugby team as I progressed through the School but never achieved selection into a house cricket team. Which was a shame as I rapidly developed an affection for the game which endures to this day - We beat Australia!!!!!

Early in my summer term in the Removes (yes, we still used the archaic terminology in those days) my housemaster Michael Booker approached me as I was reading the House notice board for confirmation that, again, I would not be representing the House at cricket. "Austin", he said, "have you looked at the First XI notice board?" I said I had not. "You should", he said, "there is a notice that will interest you".

I proceeded to the First XI notice board, which was just inside the main door, and scoured it for items of relevance and interest. I couldn't see anything that could possibly concern me. I scoured it again. Towards the bottom I saw a small typed notice saying that the First XI was in need of a scorer and applications were invited from interested parties. "That must be it", I thought and tentatively approached Michael Booker for confirmation. "Yes", he said, "it's a job that would really suit you." I applied and, to my astonishment, my form master passed me a note saying that I had been appointed.

Thus began my long, though somewhat intermittent, career as a cricket scorer. The idea would not have occurred to me had Michael Booker not suggested it.

It was not until my forties that I realised how influential this man had been in my life. He kept track of old members of his house for years, and I would occasionally get a personal, handwritten letter asking me to contribute to some School appeal of one sort or another and to enquire after my health and prosperity. But what I had not understood was his deep commitment to making the School's quality education available to children whose economic circumstances, like mine, did not make them obvious candidates. I was lucky enough to obtain what, in those days, was known as a (Bristol) City Scholarship. But the cancellation of the Direct Grant scheme put schools like Bristol Grammar School beyond the reach of "ordinary" people. When Michael Booker died, some years ago, the Fund set up to grant scholarships to people who might otherwise have no hope of attending the School was named after him. The respect in which he is still held guarantees a continual income from Old Bristolians who have moved on to higher things; some of the sums donated are eywateringly large.

Anyhow, Michael Booker played an influential role in my life and I would not be the person I am today, at work or at play, if it had not been for his intervention.

Thank you Michael, wherever you are.

POSTSCRIPT

BGS was granted its Charter in 1532 and major anniversaries are celebrated. I attended the 475th celebrations in 2007 and am looking forward to the Big One, the 500th anniversary in 2032. As I say above, the School puts a lot of effort into raising money for bursaries and it had been decided to make a big push leading up to the 500th anniversary. To my considerable surprise I was asked if I would consent to an excerpt from this blog entry to be pubished in the fundraising brochure; the fundraising manager had Googled Michael Booker and found it, An unexpected consequence of expressing gratitude!

My influences: Fred Wedlock

As reported elsewhere in my blog, I attended Bristol Grammar School from 1955 to 1962, and was placed in Booker's House (the black house), whose guide and mentor was Michael Booker, also referred to elsewhere in my blog.

The majority of boys (we were all boys then - the School went co-educational a few years later) had school lunches. We ate in the Great Hall in two shifts - the first and second years in the first sitting and everyone else in the second sitting. We sat in houses - each house had seven or eight tables of eight people each and each table was presided over by a table prefect. Fred Wedlock was one of these, and I was usually successful in the competition to sit on his table. Fred, later to achieve fame and fortune with "The Oldest Swinger in Town" and a number of other singles and LPs was, up to that point, the funniest person I had ever met. Indeed, he remains one of the funniest people I have ever met. I can't remember any of the conversations we had, but I do recall often returning to my form room for the afternoon's classes weak with laughter, in a way that only teenagers can manage.

However, one anecdote springs to mind. Michael Booker, our house master, usually sat on one of the tables for lunch and, on this occasion, we were joined by the then Headmaster, John Mackay. I don't know if John Mackay had a sense of humour - I never had the opportunity to discover - but he showed no evidence of it on this occasion. The main course passed off uneventfully - then came the sweet. The School was in the habit of serving a kind of hard shortbread, affectionally known as "concrete", as a sweet. The only way of attacking this (we weren't allowed to pick it up) was to grab one's spoon firmly and jab the concrete with the point. After several jabs a fault line would appear and, using this technique, one could break the slab of concrete into pieces small enough to eat. However, boys had suffered a number of shrapnel injuries from the concrete when it shattered explosively; in order to reduce the rate of injury, it was muffled with a sort of pink custard, which kept the pieces glued to the plate.

This lunchtime, Michael Booker was sitting next to me, Fred opposite me and the Headmaster next to Fred. Using the approved technique, Michael grapped his spoon and jabbed the concrete. The first time, nothing happened. The second time, the concrete shattered. However, the pink custard wasn't up to the task and one half of the concrete, with its coating of pink custard, struck the Headmaster in the middle of his waistcoat and the other half hit Michael Booker in the identical spot. I looked at Fred. Not a wrinkle! I held my breath, or bit my tongue, or did something else to retain my composure. Michael and the Headmaster left the table to repair the damage. To my regret I can't remember what Fred then said but I laughed for a week!

I occasionally came across him around Bristol or at social events and it was always a joy. He appeared to have enjoyed those lunchtime encounters as much as I did.

Fred died last year, much mourned by Old Bristolians in particular and all Bristolians in general. What a lovely man. I feel really privileged to have known him well for a couple of years.