Some Reminiscences

Dozens of tributes and reminiscences have been sent to the School. This is an edited selection.

Paul Stross

I think my late father Peter Stross could have claimed to be Paul’s oldest friend. My grandparents put my unaccompanied father and my uncle Thomas on a train (a bit like the Kindertransport) in order to get them both out of Prague and Czechoslovakia before the war, as they anticipated Adolf Hitler’s approach to Jewry. When they had arrived safely in Cornwall, my father wrote back and suggested his friend Paul should be sent too in order to join them. He did and they passed their war years together. I also carry Paul’s name.

Timothy Hurst (GR, LN 1950-55)

I was taught by ‘Percy’ Pollak as we affectionately knew him. A group of us younger boys were gathered close by Prior Sellingegate one day where I believe he had lodgings. We were discussing his nationality when suddenly he came round the corner and declared in a very clear high-pitched tone ‘I’m Czech’. Our curiosity was at last satisfied. He was indeed a wonderful schoolmaster one of many under the Headmastership of Fred who made KSC one of the very best in the land.

Silvester Mazzarella (GR 1950-56)

I knew Paul Pollak, on an off, for more than seventy years. My first term as a boy at King's, September 1950 coincided with Paul’s first as a master. I was hopeless at maths so he was never my teacher, but from the first he was my tutor, so we soon knew each other quite well. As long as he was capable Paul continued to attend the OKS King’s Week lunch. I remember on one such occasion I congratulated him on now being ninety and as old as the Queen, at which he snapped back characteristically: “She’s older than I am!”

A surprise phone call from Paul, only a few months before he died, tested my knowledge of Italian by asking me about something in the text Lorenzo da Ponte had written for Mozart’s Don Giovanni, a possibly ambiguous point that had fascinated him in the hero’s attempts to seduce the peasant girl Zerlina. Just one more example of the extraordinary range of Paul’s interests.

Mark Dunn (GR 1952-56)

Pilch was memorable for his Velocette ‘silent’ motor-cycle, which he steered rather fast around the Green Court, and, later, for a two-stroke van, which carried an unspecified number of the most junior rugger and cricket players to Blore’s, and further even to Fordwich stuffed with oarsmen! His flat above the Dark Entry commanded wonderful views, and from it he surveyed King’s with a keen and well-informed eye.

I was, early in life, interested in antiques, and with the infective enthusiasm of a truly sensitive collector, he showed me – maybe it was in 1954 – his collection of North African lustre chargers. His wit, enthusiasm, generosity and gentleness of mind were an example to many. May his shade wander happily around the precincts.

Christopher Matthew (SH 1952-57)

Mr Pollak was very lucky not to have taught me maths, but I do remember that I once learned something very useful from him about mushroom hunting. One day, sitting at the head of a table during lunch, he expounded on the pleasures and perils of one of his favourite pastimes. A boy asked him what would happen if by chance he ate a poisonous one. Mr Pollak thought for a moment, twitched his moustache and replied, ‘Collapse. Coma. Death.’

Peter W Barker (LX 1953-58)

For most of the five years I spent at King’s, he seemed younger or, at any rate, less stuffy, less ‘superior’ than most, though not all, of his colleagues. He was fun, a person who believed in trying to enjoy life. With Paul Pollak, what you saw was what you got: he was willing to engage with the boys in a way that most other masters were probably not.

David Brée (SH 1953-58)

He was a most inspiring maths teacher. At the beginning of my first class on dynamics, Pollak asked us: “A rolled up carpet is placed at the top of stairs and allowed to unroll down the stairs. Make simplifying assumptions to say how fast the end of the carpet will hit the ground.” The clue is in making the simplifying assumptions. And the answer is the same speed as the end of a flicked tie, which is greater than the speed of sound (one hears the end breaking the sound barrier with a bang, and anyone on the receiving end of the flicked tie gets a hurtful twang, as we all knew of course). What an inspiring way to teach mathematics.

PS I acknowledge Mr Pollak in my book Most-Perfect Pandiagonal Magic Squares.

Nick Livingston (MR 1955-60)

As I learned the ropes of my newfound responsibilities as Head of House, he proved to be an understanding, kindly and helpful man, albeit not averse to betraying his justified intolerance with fools behind a sideways flick of his dark eyes and – almost certainly – some mildly sarcastic or cynical comment delivered out of the corner of his mouth with that unmistakable nasal twang. Our shared aversion to anything involving a ball on a dark and dank field on winter afternoons may also have provided common ground. Even in those early days, his rooms above the Dark Entry were already showing signs of stress as the Persian and Turkish ceramics and carpets began to accumulate, providing an alluring and exotic scenario in which to handle house business.

Michael Sharwood-Smith (GR 1955-60)

I have very warm and high resolution memories of PP, his voice, gently ironic manner and his interest in ‘fungi’ which sounded awful until I realised he meant what I called wild mushrooms. Subsequent experience living in Poland made me understand the importance of fungi beyond the borders of the UK. As one who suffered from severe ‘numerophobia’ and a (probably related) history of painfully sarcastic maths teaching, PP came like manna from heaven. I passed my maths as a result. RIP!

John Ström-Olsen (MO 1955-60)

He taught me maths along with JRE (‘Jerry’) Paynter for my years in the sixth form from 1956 to 1960. It was hothouse instruction – 19 periods of maths a week (!) – and I loved it. The two were quite contrasted and the combination very effective. Paynter was very direct and straightforward, a truly gifted teacher. Paul was more oblique in his approach but always very interesting and challenging. We all thought he was a whizz kid who spoke countless languages and knew everything. He was quintessentially an original. I was amused to see that he communicated with Paddy Fermor, who was also an original. I’m sure they got on very well.

William

Mowll (GL 1956-60)

My abiding memory of Paul (we always referred to him as Percy) in the late 1950s was of him mounted on his Velocette motorcycle in full military uniform including his officer’s cap, sitting bolt upright on this almost totally silent motorcycle on Corps day in the Green Court. He would ride this machine with its whispering engine behind other ex-service personnel (Mr Garwood) to surprise them with a despatch.

Much later, in 2011, I received a telephone call announcing the fact that he had unearthed a family heirloom of the Mowll family at a car boot sale. The book detailed the monetary gifts of many parishioners to The Rev. William Mowll, Vicar of Christ Church, North Brixton 1903 of a clock to celebrate his 50th birthday. On the strength of this we invited him to reunite the book with the clock which is in our possession. He was delighted to come and visit with this car boot trophy and thoroughly enjoyed having afternoon tea.

Brian Shearing (MR 1956-61)

Paul Pollak was a wonderful man. He changed my life. I was a dayboy in Marlowe studying mathematics, so I got to spend a lot of time with him. The school was blessed in those days with two maths teachers; one taught us how to pass exams, and I remain grateful to him for helping me to do so. The other was Paul who taught me the joy of mathematics. It was his inspiration that led me to a Cambridge maths degree. His approach to teaching was original. Here is an example. Our class room overlooked the Green Court. One day it was being mowed. PP enters, looks out of the window, and observes that turning the mowers slowed them down. Our task for the day was to determine the optimum route they should take to minimise the amount of turn.

Paul used to take his senior boys out to dinner, in my case to a pub just north of the West Gate. My puritanical parents were horrified, but eventually allowed me to go, on learning that the dining room was on an upper floor, and ‘not really part of the pub’. It was the first time I had ever eaten out in a restaurant. Paul introduced me to more than just mathematical delights.

As well as excursions to local hostelries, once a year Paul entertained us in his wonderful digs above the arch leading to the cathedral. The menu was fungi and nothing but fungi. Each course was interleaved with terrifying descriptions of the effects of eating a mushroom that looked identical to the one we had just enjoyed but was fatal. I have never dared to pick a mushroom since.

Nick

Bury

(MR 1956-62)

I have many great memories of Paul Pollak as he was my housemaster for my time at King’s. He came to supper at my home in Westgate-on-Sea on one evening on his small unreliable motorbike and I rode on the back. At one point the bike’s engine petered out. “Unhurray!” shouted Mr P. He got it started again. “Hooray!” he shouted. This performance happened twice more. I shall never forget his shout of “Unhurray!” At one point I thought he must be a Buddhist as I opened the door to his study to find him kneeling in front of one of his Buddhas. “No” he said. “Not praying, Nicholas, but looking for my pen!” He was the most encouraging of housemasters, especially when I was Head of House.

Nicolas de Jong (WL 1957-62)

On a very hot Army Corps Field Day in the Summer of ’61, the platoon to which I was attached as wireless operator was ordered to probe the ‘enemy’s’ forward positions. By lunchtime, having failed to make contact physically, or over the air waves, with anybody, interest was in serious decline. A spot of lunch might raise morale, but as we settled down ‘Percy’ arose, furious, from a gorse bush. “GET OUT OF MY AMBUSH!”, he screamed at us. An order quickly obeyed. Not only was it mission accomplished, it provided a moment that has amused for over sixty years. Thank you, Paul.

Graham Wells (WL 1958-61)

I had almost no contact with Paul Pollak (known to us boys, I seem to recall, as Percy Pollak) during my time at King’s. There was one exception. One weekend he led a small group of pupils, including myself, on a fungal foray into local woodland. We came back with a basketful of what we were assured were edible fungi. We then adjourned to Mr. Pollak’s rooms in the Precincts which were then above the Dark Entry and proceeded to cook our bounty in generous amounts of butter. Despite a certain degree of apprehension amongst us before tucking in they proved delicious and surprise, surprise none of us died. Mr. Pollak’s previously unknown knowledge of mycology left me with an albeit amateur interest in the subject.

John Copsey (MR 1958-62)

I guess many will recall his Velocette LE motorcycle. He rode carefully around the Precincts, wearing his brown raincoat and his usual hat. Then he had a grey mini-van which carried loads of sport kit, books and rubber boots. Later in the 60s I took my BSA Gold Star to show it to him; he climbed on board and went round the Green Court eight times getting faster and faster. At least it was the summer holidays with no-one around! Paul’s glass was always nearly full, never half empty. It usually made sense to him to consider and support odd ideas When three of us (aged just around fifteen) decided we’d like a holiday cycling around Southern England, staying each night in hostels, he talked with parents to ensure it was pretty safe and made sense. Mind you, would you nowadays permit your children to cycle 600 miles over ten nights with no mobiles or other daily contact?

Peter Boorman (Common Room 1959-74)

As a fellow mathematician, though in the presence of Paul I hesitate to describe myself thus, I was greatly honoured with a solution to a problem which bothered me. With such patience and kindness he sympathised with my plight, making the whole thing so simple. I spent most of my time dragging reluctant trudging schoolboys through their O levels and less reluctantly A levels.

When I moved into The Grange, I asked Paul if he knew of any desk which might accompany me. Within a couple of days he told me of one in an antique shop in Sandgate. It is now still serving its purposes in my son Charlie’s (OKS) home. It is a genuine Georgian, elegant mahogany and with a history relating to Marlborough – so it is said. Cost £120! Paul, a colleague with whom I have been privileged to share time. Farewell to a dear man.

Richard Heslop (MR 1961-65)

Geoffrey Bailey tells me that when he was talking to PP at the Marlowe House Reunion in the early 2000s, PP volunteered the fact that Robert Bailey, Geoffrey’s brother, was the last boy he had had to beat! We both think that however terrifying he seemed to us in our early years he became a great source of good caring advice with our present and future definitely his main concern throughout our time there.

My living these past 25-ish years back here in Canterbury meant I would sometimes meet him at cocktail parties and every so often at auction sales and boot fairs. He was always kind and gracious when casting his eye over the various items I might have had on my stall, but ALWAYS had the very good sense NOT to buy anything from me! A lovely man.

David Miller (Common Room 1962-76)

In asking me questions about Latin (when Andrew Mackintosh had died), some things showed that he also knew a good deal about at least French, Spanish, Russian and Old English. I know that he also had something else by his bedside, which I think might have been Chinese. His teaching of maths was so well known to be brilliant that our son Toby chose to be in a lower set, so as to understand enough vital maths for the papers. (Some Millers, especially me, are not good at maths.)

Lawrence Burr (LX 1962-66)

It was always the lot of the Luxmoore boys to have to cycle back to the House at lunchtimes. For those of us who had a lot of sports to attend straight after lunch – in my case shooting and fencing clubs – it was tempting to sneak into the Marlowe dining rooms off the Green Court for our meal. Strictly verboten, of course. Paul – as the Marlowe housemaster – soon cottoned onto the fact that there were always a few extra boys in the hall, however hard my friends in Marlowe tried to hide me! He threw me out on more than one occasion with great roars of “Out, Out!” much to the whole of Marlowe’s great amusement! It obviously made an impression on him as he often regaled me with that tale at subsequent OKS lunches. Always a man of style and good taste with a wry smile and an impish sense of humour. I will miss him at our lunches.

Speech Day 1963

Guy Barker (GR 1963-68)

My generation of specialist mathematicians knew Paul Pollak as Percy, goodness knows why. Deep mathematics was such fun and the mental elasticity he taught me has lasted the whole of my life. I had, as a second rather good mathematician, many great teachers but only he and Stephen Hawking had the superbness of brain that would show me the textbook way of doing things and then jump to “here’s a much better way”

Timothy Cantor (MR 1964-68)

Paul was one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met. Like most hyperintelligent people, he was also an eccentric which was a great source of amusement to those who knew him. A real one-off.

Anthony Dawson (MR 1965-70)

Wendy White-Thomson invited Paul, my mother, Una Dawson, Jane (my wife) and me to lunch in Wye about 20 years ago. It was a splendid occasion, full of laughter. Wendy complemented Paul on his tie. He replied “Ah. My hedge tie.” “I beg your pardon?” said Wendy. “I sometimes go to boot fairs,” said Paul. “If stall holders don’t sell everything, they tend to throw things in the hedge. Hence the tie!” We all exploded in laughter! He was definitely a unique and wonderful man.

William Ward (MR 1965-70)

Having wound up a house monitor, for the umpteenth time I was fined 2/6 for ‘improper use of the Green Court’ – taking a short cut. Whilst looking at the notice board considering where I would find 2/6, PP materialised beside me. He looked at the notice and asked what exactly I had been doing. I replied “walking”. He thought for a moment and then said “that doesn't sound very improper” and removed the note and walked off.

Chris Tophill (MR 1966-69)

Simply PP was one of the wisest, most intelligent, most compassionate, most informed, funniest and interesting fellows I have ever been privileged enough to know. Originally as a pupil and later as a lifelong friend.

Lyn Parker (WL 1966-71)

I was never taught directly by Mr Pollak, but in 1969 or 1970 he did me and a couple of my contemporaries an enormous favour. We were interested in learning about programming computers, and he arranged for an OKS who was a systems analyst at British Oxygen to help us to learn FORTRAN and ALGOL, and to run our very rudimentary programs in the quiet hours at BOC. This set me up for a life-long side interest in computing and its applications, which is still with me more than half a century later. I have always remembered Mr Pollak with gratitude for how he helped us.

Chris Cantor (MR 1967-71)

Paul taught me that even a very minor wrong is a wrong.

Dick Barham (Common Room 1967-97)

I have many fond memories of Paul and some quite quirky ones about his helping with the swimming when I was in charge of the outdoor pool. I remember his asking me, politely, to take over a number of his general bathes because an avocado pear that he wished to eat was just on the point of ripening; or that he needed to go and shave as he only did it every 30 hours; or that a globe artichoke (from a plant that I had given him) needed to be picked within the next 15 minutes.

He was also famous among our competitors from other schools at swimming matches for timing from a deck chair with an old stopwatch that was only accurate to 0.2 seconds when all results were recorded to 0.1 seconds.

David Iron (LN 1967-71)

I was one of those pupils to whom Paul was on a different plane of mathematical intelligence, communication and understanding. Years later, with a first class honours degree behind me, I would often think “Ah, so that’s what he was trying to teach me!”

Stephen Williamson (MR 1967-72)

Paul was always secretive about his early life. but he did tell me that (presciently) he went to the Prague English Grammar School before the war. There were about 200 boys there in 8 classes Prima to Octava. A special friend was Ernest Gellner the philosopher. Paul was a fantastic and unique individual, and I feel privileged to have been taught by him, helped by him, corresponded with him and dined with him.

Mike Good (MR 1968-73)

I used to have lunch with Paul in the Dolphin fairly regularly. As a preacher in my local church with a great interest in Judaism, my conversation often touched on matters theological, of which Paul was very tolerant. We were talking about the Psalms and the Jewish tradition of lament and argument with God. ‘My favourite Psalm’ he said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, is the one that starts ‘Lord I am not high-minded: I have no proud looks. I do not exercise myself in great matters: which are too high for me. But I refrain my soul and keep it low like a child that is weaned from his mother: yea my soul is even as a weaned child’. It is Psalm 131 and it says a lot about Paul’s nature: his modesty – or was the quotation tongue-in-cheek? – and his self-deprecating humour.

Jonathan Barnard (MR 1970-74)

Shortly after leaving King’s I bumped into PP in the street and, automatically, said “Hello sir”

PP replied: “I think you can call me Mr. Pollak now” . We remained in contact and, several years later, I again bumped into PP in the street and said “Hello Mr. Pollak”. He replied: “I think you can call me Paul now”. And so he became Paul to me (and, later, Uncle Paul to my daughter, Saskia).

I was glad to remain throughout my life in contact with this warm and remarkable man, but early impressions leave the strongest mark and I never fully managed to get my head around calling my one-time housemaster by his first name.

Jane Pearce (née Baron) (MR 1971-73)

He was a delightful person and a marvellous housemaster. He coped so well with having the ‘first girl’ foisted on him in September 1971. When my parents and I came for a chat and interview with the headmaster, Canon Newell, in the autumn of 1970, one of the questions my parents asked was which house would I be attached to or would I be “floating about” . Canon Newell immediately said “Marlowe”. No prior consultation with Paul it would appear!

As the first and only girl for a year, I only met kindness and understanding from Paul. He was very perceptive and seemed to know instinctively how to deal with situations and pupils of that age. His judgement was always excellent. I knew I could trust his advice implicitly and that I would be wise to follow it.

I feel very lucky and privileged to have had Paul as a housemaster, and together with Stephen Woodley as tutor was so well served at King’s. Just a final thought – a strange coincidence, but Paul died on my birthday, Sunday 14th May. I will always remember him.

Charles Neame (MR 1971-75)

Paul Pollak’s strategy for taking over our maths class on a day when Richard Paynter was indisposed was to show us how to calculate logarithms without log tables. At least, I think that’s what he was doing for 40 minutes, as he filled and erased the blackboard three or four times over, accompanied by an extraordinary maths commentary which held his 14-year-old students spellbound until the bell rang. Nothing to do with the relevant stage of our curriculum, but revealing his uncanny knack for knowing what would intrigue young minds at a loose end. Why else would I remember this incident for over 50 years?

I was not a particularly good student; or would not have been, had not Paul always listened and spoken to me as if I were. After King’s we kept in touch. He was held in great affection by my whole family (even though I was the only one of us he had taught) and for many years was a most welcome visitor at important family events. I suspect there have been, and are, hundreds more of us over the years, now scattered around the world, who remember feeling better, stronger, more capable, because Paul Pollak listened to us and cared.

Gawain Barnard (MR 1973-77)

Paul was the kindest housemaster imaginable. When my father died and my mother was struggling financially he was so supportive I have never forgotten the help he gave to our family. It was a pleasure to be able to share a number of lunches with him on my visits to Canterbury over recent years. Paul also had a lovely sense of humour. In the 1970s when I was a teenager and Oxford bag trousers were all the rage, I remember proudly standing outside Marlowe with my platform shoes completely covered by my Oxford bags. I thought I was the height of trendiness only to hear Paul come up behind me and say “Barnard, you look as if you are sinking into the Earth’s crust!” Paul thank you for your dedication, kindness and humour over the years.

Stewart Ross (Common Room 1974-89)

Best advice he ever gave me: ‘Hmm [sniff], I always find the best thing to do with a problem is to take no notice. In the end it usually goes away.’

Charles Goddard (SH 1975-80)

Mr Pollak was a towering figure in my King’s experience. Not just in his begowned tall and slightly stooped posture. He was never my housemaster, nor tutor, nor regular teacher – but from time to time we had lessons from him, probably filling in for others. His moustachioed slightly impish smile, and massive intellect made him one of a small number of people who have, by quiet example, been hugely influential on me. Some ten years after leaving, I bumped into him in Driffield. We chatted for about ten pleasant minutes – about what, I can't remember. But I do remember that he remembered my name and my house, my 6th form subjects and that I rowed. He deserves a biographer worthy of his stature. I will make a point of visiting a synagogue in Moscow (where I live) and asking the rabbi to help me say Kaddish in his honour.

Roger Owen (MO 1977-82)

Paul taught me mathematics, probably at O-level and certainly at A-level. He was a fascinating teacher if you enjoyed maths (as luckily I did), but my main memories of Paul do not relate to maths but to poetry and literature. One day he noticed that I was carrying a book of English translations of Tang Poetry (Li Bai and Du Fu as I recall) and excitedly asked me about whether I had heard any classic Chinese poetry recited as it is more ‘sung’ than ‘said’. I hadn’t so he lent me a cassette tape he had been sent by a friend somewhere of such a recital and it was a revelation that reshaped my relationship to reading the words on the page. I still recall this when I return to reading classical Chinese poetry and thought of Paul when I was in Wuhan (teaching at a philosophy summer school) and listening to a poetry recital (though my Chinese is still negligible) in the summer before the pandemic began. After leaving, I met Paul once more at Vita Sackville-West’s house and gardens, and again fell to discussing literature. He was a remarkably erudite man who had a genuine excitement in a wide range of fields of knowledge – and I remain grateful to have crossed paths with him.

Gerard Watts (MR, MT 1978-82)

Not long into my time in King’s, he lent me one of his books, Wanderings in South America by Charles Waterton, which to my eternal shame I returned after too many years and with a very badly damaged dust jacket. But I did do my bit of wandering later and did marry a wonderful Jewish woman from Argentina. I think this book had some part in opening my eyes to further horizons, which Paul could see was very much needed. I owe my career to his simple answer, when asked the best way to study Theoretical Physics, which was to read Mathematics at Trinity College, Cambridge I did, and it was where, coincidentally, I met my future wife. I remember very clearly the day he wrote ‘Solidarność’ on the board (in a maths lesson) and one could see how much the idea of freedom meant to him.

Nadia Myerscough

I remember piling into the back of Paul’s Morris Minor van (no seats, no windows) with the rest of my family and going on very bumpy antique hunts or ‘Antique Escapades’ as Paul liked to call them. Also going for lovely picnics in the Kent countryside and mushroom hunting. He was very knowledgeable about mushrooms and once we had gathered a good collection, would either go back to our house or his, to cook up a feast. Whenever he came over to supper, he wouldn’t just bring a bottle of wine with him, but always a small exquisite antique objet d’art as a gift. He had a wicked sense of humour and there was always much laughter and joy at mealtimes with him.

Ishbel Myerscough

I painted his portrait for the School and I have kept in touch with him ever since. We had a shared interest in art and masks. He had been a very great friend of my uncle Clarence. My mother was also very fond of him. I so enjoyed his photographs that he sent as postcards over the years, and his kindness and the interesting and open chats we had when I painted him many years ago.

Janet and Ron Pickering (Common Room 1987-97 and 1985-98)

It was a great pleasure and privilege to know Paul Pollak. As written in the email notifying us of his death, he was a very remarkable man and he wore his knowledge and skills lightly. We will remember him with a glint in his eyes and a smile on his lips. He was a source of great support and encouragement to both of us throughout our time at King’s and this was particularly appreciated during the transition to full co-education. His gift to Walpole House of a statue of Guanyin was both extremely generous and apposite as this goddess, associated with compassion, was originally a male deity in India but, over time, became indigenised as female in China. We will miss his Christmas messages, always written on the back of an interesting postcard or photo and often requiring a dictionary!