PAULINE LETTER
Bruce Howitt (1952-56) writes “A Very Ordinary Perspective” from Vancouver I read with great interest the recent edition of Atrium, especially the discussions with the brilliant professors by Paul Cartledge (1960-64). When one reads these articles about the successful, and in many instances, truly famous Old Paulines one realises what a privilege and honour one’s parents bestowed on us; certainly, in my case making large sacrifices to send me and later my younger brother Andrew (1960-64) to St Paul’s and our sister Sheila to a private girls’ school. It occurred to me that, however, a perspective on School and life after from an ordinary Pauline might be an interesting change. I entered the School as a small, timid 13-year-old in January 1952. The first few days were totally intimidating. The size of the monolithic red brick Hammersmith edifice alone was extremely intimidating let alone the settling into the Lower Eighth classes. I was assigned to “F” Club, and I recall one of the fellows I sat next to at lunch was Galen Weston (1954-59) a truly famous Canadian. An early introduction to my tutor, Conrad Rainbow (English Department 1951-61), provided me with an anchor, which even to this day nearly seven decades later has held me steady on the sometimesturbulent sea of life. Having grown up in Teddington on the river I gravitated immediately to the Boat Club. My small stature and light weight soon had me sitting in the stern of first the Colts eight then the Fourth Eight, and in 1955 the highly successful Second Eight. Memory has dimmed so I can no longer recall the number of trophies that crew won but it was a goodly number. As a second sport I joined the Boxing club. Transitioning from Lower to Upper Eighth I prepared for History, English Language and English Literature ‘A’ Levels. Mr Rainbow mentored and exhorted me to do my absolute best because he knew I desperately wanted to attend Oxbridge on leaving School. The exams were written and passed, but not quite well enough to be offered a place at either Oxford or Cambridge. This was devastating for me. I felt I had let my parents down, especially since they gave up so much to send me to St Paul’s. Conrad Rainbow urged and counselled me that not attending Oxbridge was not the end of the world; there were several wonderful “Red Brick” universities across the UK. Sadly, my heart was not in it and after a half-hearted attempt applying to LSE at London, I abandoned any ideas of university and instead headed for commerce and industry in the real world. Two years as a trainee at Barclays Bank was a great experience 06
ATRIUM
SPRING / SUMMER 2022
for a callow youth learning the intricacies of a junior filing clerk, then promotion to junior cashier and finally a stint in the City Head Office. Barclays provided order and discipline and I still remember that the winter dress code was a dark topcoat and a Bowler hat. That hat cost me almost two weeks’ salary. After the two years I found the bank too staid, and I searched for a more exciting opportunity. My father worked for one of the high-end couturier fashion houses in the West End and I was offered a trainee position. It was here that the lessons learned at St Paul’s paid off. The social skills acquired almost by osmosis served me immensely. The fashion industry in London in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s was a rough and tumble business behind the scenes. Two years after joining the company I was now working in the Sales department. The owner died suddenly, and the company went through many changes that did not appeal to me. I left and ultimately joined a fabric manufacturer which made specialty knit fabrics for clothing manufacturers supplying Marks and Spencer. M&S had rigorous and exacting quality control on all their direct and indirect suppliers; it was one of my responsibilities to ensure that the quality level was maintained. The Hungarian owner had a large network of fellow countrymen in the UK, Europe and North America. One of his friends wanted to establish a similar business in Montreal, Canada and asked if he could “borrow” me for six months. So that is how I came to North America in 1964. At the end of my six-month tour, I returned home to London, but quickly realised I preferred the modernity and openness of Montreal and Canada. After less than a week, to the great dismay of my parents, I returned to Montreal and became a Canadian citizen. A few months after the London owner of the knitting company was tragically killed. Once again, the dynamics changed. I left the company and joined another small Canadian entity operated by two Holocaust survivors. I was in a sales position and one account I was managing was owned by a family who I eventually married into. My future father-in-law was interested in a new product which I had presented, and he ordered a bolt of fabric to make garment samples for a major show. The potential for significant business was predicated on delivering that sample in seven days. By the eighth day there was no sample. Forgetting the social and people skills learned at St Paul’s I ignorantly chewed out the owner of the fabric finisher who was late in delivering.
