31 minute read
Briefings
Escaping Classics
Robin Hirsch (1956-61) describes the twists and turns before gaining his History scholarship at Oxford.
Charles Marius Constantine Hendtlass (Classics Department 1939-66) was a thin wisp of a man, with a high noodling tenor and glasses. He was named after two noble Romans: the general, Gaius Marius, who in the year 101 BC was elected consul for a fifth time, hailed as “the saviour of his country” and honoured with a triumph; and the Emperor Constantine the Great who, more than four hundred years later, moved the seat of the Empire from Rome to Byzantium, changed its name to Constantinople, and made Christianity the official religion of the Empire.
CMC Hendtlass taught Classics at St Paul’s. He also taught fencing, which in the pantheon of sports at St Paul’s where rugby stood at the acme, occupied the same dismal latitude as chess. He lived with his widowed mother and his sister, Elizabeth Victoria Boadicea Hendtlass.
When I arrived at St Paul’s, a raw and nervous thirteen year old, in my black and white cap, my black tie, my black blazer with white badge, my first pair of long grey flannel trousers and my first shirt with an awkward detachable collar, Mr Hendtlass was made my tutor, which meant that he would advise me (and my parents) on my future academic career. In my second year, when I moved from V alpha to VI alpha, he also became my form master. It was here, in VI alpha, before I turned fourteen, before I faced the Great Barrier Reef called O levels, that the critical question of my academic future had to be addressed.
St Paul’s, like most of the great schools of England, measured its prestige in the number of boys it managed to get into Oxford and Cambridge, and in particular the number of boys who managed to win scholarships. Since there were many nineteenth century endowments at the Universities which offered scholarships in Classics and far fewer which offered scholarships in anything else, pressure began to be exerted early on those boys who, four or five years hence, might bring glory on the School, to specialise in Classics. So when, one Monday afternoon in Tutorial, Mr Hendtlass called me up to his desk and enquired as to what I thought I might be specialising in once I had crossed the Great Barrier Reef and I said English, it was the wrong answer. First of all, it was not possible to specialise in English – one could take it only as a subsidiary to History. And second, the School strongly advised that I study Classics.
In the course of that year, when I demurred, and when my parents were consulted on the matter, it was made clear that I could of course specialise in whatever I wanted, provided that my parents agreed, but that equally my scholarship to the School could of course be taken away.
As far as my father was concerned my desire to study English was the desire of a dilettante. I spoke it already, didn’t I? And, so far as he could tell, without an accent. “Latein und Griechisch sind wenigstens important, since you refuse to study anything praktisch.”
So, the following year, I found myself in the Lower VIII with all the whiz kids from the Remove, watching in awe as they tossed off a dozen elegant Greek hexameters for breakfast and then sat around cracking jokes in Latin. By the end of the first term I had demonstrated, I thought conclusively, my utter inadequacy as a Classicist.
I was in despair. None of my friends from VI alpha had moved with me into the Lower VIII Mr Hendtlass and my parents had conspired to send me to Siberia. I knew nobody. I was a dullard. Nobody wanted to know me. I felt utterly alone.
One day, on an impulse, I made a completely unsolicited, and for me quite terrifying, foray into the Science Department. I had developed the notion that in one dramatic move I could not only free myself but also forestall my father’s ire. Rather than waste another two terms stumbling around the foothills while my brethren scaled the peaks, I would grit my teeth, heed my father, and bend my efforts towards something “praktisch.”
I had in my youth at Arnold House from the age of perhaps nine to the age of perhaps eleven been something of a mathematician, although the facility had then begun to wear off. But, as a result of the peculiarities of the English school system, I had not even the most passing acquaintance with Physics and Chemistry. So, the laboratories, with their rows of bunsen burners and their acrid smell and the alien technicians who guarded them, were indeed a foreign country.
I am amazed, in retrospect, at my temerity. Somehow, out of some mysterious alchemical combination part desperation, part chutzpah, I managed to convince the Science Masters that I had missed my calling, that if at this late date they were to let me into the Lower Maths and Science 8th, they would see. I would prove another Einstein he was a German Jew, too, you know, like my parents and I would bring glory and renown to St Paul’s by winning a scholarship to Oxbridge in Physics or Chemistry or both, if necessary.
When I announced my acceptance at home, my father said: “How can you give up Latin and Greek? Ich versteh’ dass bloss nicht.” And his voice began to rise.
By the end of that year, I had demonstrated my inadequacy both as a Classicist and as a Scientist, and so it was that when I finally sat for my Scholarship three years later, it was in History. And I did not even take English as a subsidiary. I was so impressed with the sheer scale of the huge red brick building with trees in the front and a majestic sweep of stone stairs leading to a grand door. I had never been in such a magnificent building. There I met with Surmaster, A B Cook (1929-64), who was very kind, and with two other boys I did a maths paper and an essay on poetry. Fortunately, I passed both.
I was amazed by the high ceilings of the ground floor classrooms and how their windows let in so much light. The corridors’ tiles were adorned with the Pauline crest and John Colet. The main hall was a wonderful piece of Gothic architecture with large narrow windows carrying in colour the names of famous Paulines and their shields, like Pepys, Milton, and the Duke of Marlborough. Each day the whole School assembled for a short prayer service and one hymn. The prayers were all in Latin and every day we recited, “Pater Noster, qui es in cœlis; sanctificetur nomen tuum” and another prayer for the day. My favourite hymn was three verses taken from Milton’s Ode on Christ’s Nativity put to music by Parry – I still remember the last line, “And Heaven, as at some festival, will open wide the gates of her high palace wall.”
The geography of the School was easy to understand. At the top of the stairs from the hall to the first floor there was a huge statue of Laocoon and his sons fighting the serpents which the gods had sent to consume them after warning Troy not to accept the Greek gift of the Trojan Horse. It was the most marvellous statue I had ever seen, though it was often adorned with caps and straw hats. When the building was closing, I asked if I could purchase the statue but somehow it had disappeared, and no one knew what had happened to it.
On my first day I was told I would be in D Club, and we met in Mr Martin’s (1906-12. English and Music Departments 1920-57) classroom on the ground floor. I was in the junior school studying much the same subjects as in Hampton Grammar, but there were striking differences. There was much more sport even though the playing field at the back of the building was only large enough for one large cricket pitch and a rugby field. As we had sport for half a day each week, we often went by coach to the Old Pauline ground at Thames Ditton. Rowing was popular and we were doing very well, but in winter I preferred rugby, a difference from Hampton. I did not like cricket, preferring squash, but as the School had no courts, we walked down to The Queen’s Club. Every boy was expected to box which took place in a gym close to the playing field under the instruction of Buster Reed (192730 and I/C Boxing 1947-72). All had to participate in the annual Green Cup which meant three rounds with an opponent. Next to the gym was a fives court, which I had never come across, but I rather liked it and some of the boys excelled.
Another striking difference was the long two-hour lunch break when we were expected to take part in sport, swimming, art, music or drama, or the debating club known as The Chesterton Society which was raucous and fun.
Kenneth Baker (1948-53) shares his memories of going to the ‘Old’ School.
The first time I saw the old building of St Paul’s was in 1948 when, at the age of 14, my father took me there to find out whether I could be allowed to attend. Evacuated during the war, I had attended a Church of England primary school, sat the 11-plus, and got into Hampton Grammar. I did not know anything about public schools, nor had I heard of the Common Entrance Exam, but my Father, who had left school at 16, always wanted his children to have the best possible education.
On entering the Eighth Form you could join the senior debating society that took place after school in the Walker Library. That is where I met John Adair (1947-52) and we set up the first competition with other schools in London, like Dulwich and City of London, and that developed into the Schools Debating Competition run by the Observer. Debating was a great confidence builder.
I went into the Upper Eighth History form where it was assumed that we would apply for a university. Philip Whitting (History Department 192863), a legendary great teacher, had a close connection with Magdalen College Oxford, where two of his students, Max Beloff (1926-32) and Karl Leyser (1937-39), were dons. In due time I went for an interview and undoubtedly St Paul’s helped me to get into Oxford.
In the central tower facing the playing field there were two small classrooms, one in which C P Longland (English Department 1944-61) infected me with
his love of English literature. In the other Frank Parker (Modern Languages Department 1928-65) taught French and German and he had us write unusual French words on a small card to be kept in our pockets, and memorised. He assured us that if we used those words in an exam, the examiner would be impressed. I remember one word – ‘Pantouflard’ – a homebody wearing slippers – a word I have never had to use!
As National Service was still compulsory, St Paul’s had a huge military cadet force which we were expected to join, unless you were a conscientious objector. Its purpose was to provide us with military training so that when we eventually enlisted with the Army, Navy or Air Force we would have the chance of becoming a commissioned officer, rather than remain in the ranks. This meant every second Monday we were expected to attend school in army uniform, with shining boots, blancoed gaiters and belt, and keenly pressed trousers. For two hours we did drill practice, rifle and Bren training, and military exercises. Every summer term the whole cadet force marched three abreast with rifles, from the School through Hammersmith Broadway, over the bridge where we broke step, up Castelnau to Barnes Common, and then onto Richmond Park where we engaged in field exercises with a lot of crawling, attacking, and defending positions. Our army jackets had shoulders badges with ‘St Paul’s School CCF’ embroidered in black and white, and we wore our berets while travelling by tube.
Another noticeable feature was the number of Jewish boys and that was because John Colet, in his great wisdom in 1509, decided his school should take all creeds and races. That has been an immense benefit to St Paul’s over the centuries. In my time, one of the most distinguished students was Jonathan Miller (1947-53), a polymath in medicine and culture. His group of friends produced hilarious sketches for our end of term concerts and many of these featured in the hugely successful satirical revue, Beyond the Fringe.
I owe so much to St Paul’s, and I especially loved that old building. When the demolition plans were revealed, I protested to the then Labour Education Secretary, Michael Stewart, but he wanted a teacher training college. The move to Barnes has certainly increased the school facilities enormously, but for us very old Paulines, the memories of that old West Kensington school will never be erased.
Monty inspecting Pauline cadets
Pauline Praying Mantis
From Tim Razzall’s (1957-62) autobiography Chance Encounters Tales From A Varied Life
Stuart Feldman (circled)
“Cricket is a game that seems to attract eccentrics. But I never met a cricketer more eccentric than Stuart Feldman (1930-35), not as a person, but as the least athletic sportsman I ever played with.
Stuart bowled slow leg breaks and googlies – very slow – with an action that defies explanation. As he approached the bowling crease off five or six paces, both arms went forward in the style of a butterfly swimmer and the ball was released from his right hand, almost as an afterthought. It was as if Piggy from Lord of the Flies had metamorphosed into a praying mantis or Conan Doyle’s spedegue dropper had come alive from his dream. His fielding was indescribably bad. Always at mid-on he usually could stop a ball hit straight at him, but anything he had to chase invariably turned a single into three. To watch him pursue the ball was to watch an octopus struggling on dry land.
But what a bowler! In the 1950s he played for Hornsey on the North London circuit and terrorised the opposition. The ball came very slowly through the air, dipped onto a length and turned sharply either way. Countless batsmen were deceived by the flight and either stumped or bowled or caught in a slog to deep mid wicket. Hauls of seven, eight or nine wickets were commonplace.
I met him when he rejoined the Old Paulines in the 1960s and had several happy years with him. With the advent of league cricket, let alone anno domini, Stuart’s playing days were numbered. His fielding leaked too many runs. My last memory epitomises this wise, gentle man. He had never taken all ten wickets in an innings. We were playing at our home ground and Stuart had taken the first nine. Number 11 struck the ball high in the air in the midwicket area, where two of our fielders converged in an attempt to catch the ball. A terrible collision occurred as the fielders clashed heads and the ball fell to the ground. Blood gushed from one of the fielders heads in huge dollops. As the stretcher came onto the field, Stuart went pale and almost fainted. He could not bear the sight of blood so could not carry on. So, he never got his ten wickets.
Pauline Penny-Farthing
John Dunkin (1964-69) has again contacted Atrium following the launch of The Pauline Continuum Cycling with a reminder of Pauline cycling history.
He informs us that there was a St Paul’s School Bicycling Club, founded in 1889 and prior to that a Bicycle race held on St Paul’s School Sports Day.
The Rules of the Club appear pretty strict and included blackballing. Here are a few from The Pauline of July 1889:
• That the intending members must be in St Paul’s
School, and be balloted for one black ball in three to exclude. • That the subscription be 2s 6d per annum. • That the club cap be a Black Polo with the School
Crest worked on it; and that every member must wear Knickerbockers and Stockings on Club runs. • That on the Road the Captain or his Deputy shall have absolute power over the other members: and that no member is to leave the ranks without special permission asked and obtained. • That there shall be no road-racing of any description.
In Pauline and Old Pauline 1884-1931 Hubert Sams (1884-88) remembers the bicycle race at St Paul’s School Sports Day. In his day it was regularly won by von Koppelow (1887-92) on a huge penny-farthing.
Sams observed that the Pauline bicycling tyro later served in the Prussian Guards in the First World War. Charles Ernest Herman von Koppelow did indeed win the race six times in a row between 1888 and 1893. In 1894 he was granted a commission in the Grand Duke of Saxony’s Regiment and doubtless later served in the Prussian Guard.
Pauline Gallantry
Colonel the Reverend Gus Claxton (1925-30) while serving as Chaplain to the Dorsetshire Regiment was awarded the MC for his gallantry at the battle of Kohima.
Kohima saw some of the most savage fighting of the war in south-east Asia. In mid-April 1944 a greatly superior Japanese force laid siege and after two weeks of close quarter fighting, the Dorsets were ordered on April 26th to gain control of the District Commissioner’s bungalow complex.
The complex was formed of four terraces – the club square, a tennis court, the bungalow and a garden. During the fighting, the tennis court became a no-man’s land between the Japanese and the Dorsets with hand grenades being lobbed rather than tennis balls. Fighting continued until May 13th when the Japanese position was overwhelmed.
Throughout the three weeks of bitter exchanges, Claxton was said always to be where the fighting was heaviest. At the height of the battle he was to be found with the stretcher bearers and, however dangerous the mission, Claxton was the first to volunteer and there were many casualties who owed their lives to his prompt, decisive and courageous action – often involving sweet tea and morphine.
Claxton was born in Ludhiana, India in 1910 before coming to England to continue his education. After St Paul’s he read Mathematics and Theology at Peterhouse, Cambridge. Ordained in 1936, Claxton served as a curate in Hounslow and Dartford before being called up. After the war, he applied for a regular commission and served as a Chaplain until the mid 1960’s with postings in the UK, Germany, Africa and Singapore. Here his parish took in Nepal, Hong Kong and Borneo. In 1967 he was appointed Queen’s Honorary Chaplain.
After retirement from the Army, Claxton became Rector of St Olave’s in the City with its close association with Samuel Pepys. He retired again in 1985 but continued to act as ‘a casual labourer in God’s vineyard’ into his 90’s when he was still holding services at the Ministry of Defence. He died in Havana in 2003 aged 92.
Pauline/Paulina Partners
Jack Gilbert (1901-03) reached the Wimbledon singles semi-finals in 1922 and competed in the 1924 Summer Olympics. In the same year he partnered Kitty Godfree (née McKane), (St Paul’s Girls’ School) to win the Wimbledon Mixed Doubles. They beat another British pair in the final in three sets. The losing gentleman, Leslie Godfree later became Kitty’s husband and together the Godfrees are the only husband and wife pair to win a grand slam title together.
Gilbert’s tennis success is possibly not the most interesting part of Jack’s life. He was interned in Germany throughout the First World War along with 7 other OPs at Ruhleben. In November 1914 Germany took the decision to intern all British male citizens of military age then resident in Germany. To this end, a civilian detention camp was established on the site of a racecourse at Ruhleben, near Berlin. Those detained in this camp created clubs, teams and associations that helped them overcome the challenges of incarceration. Over the course of the war the camp was home to more than 5,500 British male civilians between the ages of 17 and 55.
The Pauline edition of July 1917 published a photograph of the ‘Ruhleben Eight’ and a letter from Robert Barrett (1895-02) in which he described the activities undertaken in the camp by these OPs.
The Pauline editors stated that: “We commend to the sympathetic notice of our readers the very interesting letter which we have received from Ruhleben. There is not a grumble in it, and yet it does not need much imagination to realize some of the mental – not to say physical – strain of such weary waiting in an enemy’s land. We notice that Lt G L Barrett, the writer, was also one of the contributors to the diverting Christmas number of the Ruhleben Camp Magazine. We should like him and his brother Paulines to know that they are not forgotten”.
Barrett’s letter relates Gilbert’s sporting activities at Ruhleben. Remarkably he was not the best tennis player among the internees.
“Another OP who shines in camp athletics is J B Gilbert [John (Jack) Brian, SPS 1901-1903]. Among the pick of the camp at Norkey, at cricket a slow and wily left-handed bowler in the champion team, namely Barrack X, at tennis he is second only to G K Logie, a youth not unknown to international fame”. Logie was a Frenchman who had appeared in the World Hard Court Championship before the war.
Jack Gilbert died in 1974.
(Editor: With thanks to Graham Seel (History Department 2012-21) from his retirement in Yorkshire)
Pauline Pirate
Stephen Williams (1922-26) founded Radio Luxembourg in 1933 and was asked to close it down in 1991, signing off with “Good luck, good listening and goodbye.”
Stephen was the son of the Rector of Acton when he arrived at St Paul’s. His father Clement lived to be the oldest known Church of England priest dying aged 107. After School, Stephen went to Trinity, Cambridge but came down before taking his degree.
His first job in 1929 in radio was working for the Daily Mail on its broadcasting yacht. He then worked for Radio Normandie and Radio Paris. The French authorities took offence at the amount of English polluting Gallic airwaves so a concession was obtained in the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. He personally launched Radio Luxembourg in 1933. It was an immediate success and, with the most powerful transmitter in the world, attracted both listeners and advertisers. Its largest audiences were on Sundays as the BBC under Lord Reith was given over to religious broadcasts only.
After the war, Radio Luxembourg went from strength to strength leading the rock and roll revolution and pioneering the cult of the disc jockey including Pete Murray (1939-40).
Williams later joined the BBC producing a wide variety of programmes including 20 Minutes and Down Your Way. He retired in 1975 and died in 1994. His previous roles in government include being Minister of State at the Northern Ireland Office, Parliamentary Under Secretary of State at the Northern Ireland Office, Parliamentary Under Secretary of State at the Scotland Office and the Northern Ireland Office and Parliamentary Under Secretary of State at the Department for Exiting the European Union.
Robin was elected as the Conservative MP for Worcester in May 2010.
Pauline Appointments
Robin Walker (1991-96) was appointed Minister of State at the Department for Education in September 2021.
Tom Adeyoola (1990-95) and Ed Vaizey (1981-85) were appointed governors of St Paul’s School in January.
Tom is a technology entrepreneur, advisor and investor with 20 years’ experience in new media, disruptive technology and business strategy focused on positive society and climate related projects. He was CEO and founder of acquired apparel technology scale-up Metail and is currently co-founder of the non-profit Extend Ventures, which aims to diversify access to finance for underrepresented founders through data and research.
He also serves as non-exec director for zero carbon monitoring consultancy Verco and environmental behavioural change start-up Do Nation. Additionally, he is chair of the Gen Z music mindfulness startup Spoke, an active supporter of The Brilliant Club and sits on various advisory boards. He has also served as a trustee for the Black and minority ethnic focused creative incubator MeWe360 and on the board of the revolutionary women’s personal wellness scale-up Elvie.
Ed is a qualified barrister who worked in public affairs, before being elected as the Member of Parliament for
Tom Adeyoola
Ed Vaizey
Wantage. He served as a Minister under David Cameron, and was responsible for culture, the creative industries, telecoms and technology. He left the House of Commons in 2019 and was elevated to the House of Lords in 2020, where he serves on the Digital and Communications Select Committee. He is President of the Old Pauline Club and a board member of the Tate.
Pauline Books
Joe Moshenska Making Darkness Out Of Light
Paul Lay reviewing in The Times comments that “Joe Moshenska, Professor of English Literature at University College, Oxford, is astute in placing music, especially rhythm (a word neither Milton nor Shakespeare used) and its visceral relationship to the body, at the root of this original, penetrating, cleverly constructed and occasionally frustrating biography”. John Carey writing in The Sunday Times remarks that, “Making Darkness Light is unlike any book about Milton I have read. It is often densely erudite, but also richly inventive, and for quite long stretches it is, in effect, an historical novel.”
For most of us John Milton has been consigned to the dusty pantheon of English literature, a grim puritan, sightlessly dictating his great work to an amanuensis, removed from the real world in his contemplation of higher things. But dig a little deeper and you find an extraordinary and complicated human being.
Revolutionary and apologist for regicide, writer of propaganda for Cromwell’s regime, defender of the English people and passionate European, scholar and lover of music and the arts – Milton was all of these things and more.
Making Darkness Light shows how these complexities and contradictions played out in Milton’s fascination with oppositions – Heaven and Hell, light and dark, self and other – most famously in his epic poem Paradise Lost. It explores the way such brutal contrasts define us and obscure who we really are, as the author grapples with his own sense of identity and complex relationship with Milton. Retracing Milton’s footsteps through seventeenth century London, Tuscany and the Marches, he vividly brings Milton’s world to life and takes a fresh look at his key works and ideas around the nature of creativity, time and freedom of expression. He also illustrates the profound influence of Milton’s work on writers from William Blake to Virginia Woolf, James Joyce to Jorge Luis Borges.
This is a book about Milton, that also speaks to why we read and what happens when we choose over time to let another’s life and words enter our own. It will change the way you think about Milton forever and as The Spectator review suggests “this sympathetic yet challenging account will undoubtedly win Milton new readers – and for that a chorus of Hallelujahs”.
Floyd Steadman A Week One Summer
Everybody faces some degree of adversity at some stage in their lives, but very few have faced as many challenges as Floyd Steadman. Rejected by his father, he coped with a childhood in care. Told he should train to ‘work with his hands’, he insisted on taking A levels so he could become a teacher. As one of the few black players in English club rugby, he was named Saracens captain at the age of 23 and played a leading role in the club’s progress during the 1980s. Many thought he might have played for England, but he was never selected. After retiring from rugby, he emerged as a talented and inspiring teacher and headmaster, having a positive impact on many, many young lives. Over and over again, Floyd Steadman has prevailed against immense odds, prevailing not with anger, argument or hysterics, but with persistence, dignity and integrity.
Peter King (1967-71 and Classics Department and Support Staff since 1976) writes “Floyd was the first black teacher at St Paul’s and a superb colleague. He remains incredibly proud of his status as an Honorary Old Pauline”.
Nick Brooks (1965-70) Revenge
Two years after the publication of his debut novel Betrayed, Nick’s hero Will Slater returns in Revenge.
Will Slater had hoped that the terrifying experience in helping to break up a terrorist arms gang was buried in the past. However, a newspaper article questioning the disappearance of the terrorist money awakened old memories and hatred. Hiding in a remote Scottish glen in an ancient mansion with his wife Jay, Will discovers that the house also has secrets that he must unravel.
Convinced that he is constantly watched and fearful for his family’s life, Will realises that he must take action himself to survive. Unaware that a contract had been placed on his life from inside prison, he has become the target of ruthless killers once again. Unwittingly helped by his old adversary Inspector Dawkin, both men converge on the truth that will finally reveal who is seeking revenge.
John Matlin (1956-61) Trade Off
Following on from Truth to Power and Smoking Gun, the first and second novels, John Matlin (1956-61) has written Trade Off, the third of The Driscoll Quartet. The final quartet novel, End Game, is due to be published in the autumn of 2022.
In Trade Off, journalist David Driscoll has moved to San Francisco where he is less than fully occupied. Through circumstances beyond his control, he becomes the editor-in-chief of the prestigious San Francisco Chronicle, one of America’s large newspapers. Reviving the investigative journalism department, he uncovers a plot to steal Las Vegas and incurs the wrath of three powerful men: a Mafia boss, a Nevada politician and an old enemy, tobacco baron Jez Burns. In the meantime, Abby Driscoll, David’s wife, has caught the attention of the House Un-American Activities Committee who believe she is a communist spy. Just when you think David has everything handled perfectly, there is an unexpected twist.
Jonathan Kydd (1967-72) has edited Sam Kydd: Be a Good Boy, Vol 1 1945-52
Sam’s son Jonathan found an unpublished autobiography and writings, diaries and scripts in his mother’s loft when clearing out the family home after her death in 2012. He has compiled and edited four volumes from this archive. Sam wrote with humour and great observation about a time when TV was rarely recorded and film was in black and white, about a career crammed with incident and humour. It is an amusing and intimate chronicle of a phenomenally prolific life in entertainment.
The first volume of much-loved actor Sam Kydd’s memoirs follows his career from 1945-52, when he first started acting, having just returned from being a POW in Poland, which he wrote about in For You the War is Over, in 1974. During this period, despite his mother almost persuading him to get a “proper job with a pension,” he was in 119 films.
Sam was a fixture in the nation’s living rooms from the 1950’s to the 1980’s. He was so well-known that a “Spot Sam Kydd” game was played by families whenever a black and white film, such as I’m Alright Jack, Angels One Five, or Appointment in London, was shown on TV – a game that Talking Pictures TV viewers continue to play today. He gravitated from small parts to big roles, mostly on TV, where he starred in plays, sitcoms and series. He was at home in both comedy and straight drama, known for playing Irishmen and Cockneys, in hit TV series like Pickwick Papers, Crane, Orlando, Mess Mates, The Fossett Saga and Dixon of Dock Green, (in which he played many different characters), all at a time when to be in a successful TV show meant being seen by over twenty million people a week. He worked with Benny Hill, Terry-Thomas, Arthur Askey, Harry Worth, Eric Sykes, Charlie Drake, Frankie Howerd and Jimmy Edwards and played Frankie Baldwin in Coronation Street until his death in 1982.
Bruce Howitt (1952-1956) The Sixth Eye
The fourth book in the Ari Lazarus Terror series.
Ari Lazarus has been promoted to director of 9 as Israel is now added to the 5 Eyes as the 6th Eye. Dept 9 continues to hunt Hezbollah around the world. A brutal machine gun attack on a Berlin church at the end of Sunday noon services is claimed by Hezbollah. A team is sent to Berlin to investigate Hezbollah’s involvement.
The team uncovers a sinister plot involving miniature nuclear missiles, Hezbollah, the Chinese Communist Party and their secret service, MSS. The US is threatened with the possibility of nearly 50 missiles that Hezbollah could deploy against US targets. The Eyes coordinate their efforts to disrupt the Hezbollah. Ari and 9 implement the Lazarus doctrine, which follows the terrorist’s money trails. Hezbollah has politicians and government sympathizers on its payroll. The Lazarus doctrine exposes these people and while showing them a tablet they confiscate their money in front of their eyes. As their search continues 9 discovers that two senior Hezbollah are colluding with the CCP in Africa. Ari and his 9 teams endeavour to cut short those plans.
written with John Flower with contributions from Rod Sellers
Since the global financial crisis, new regulations have been introduced with the aim of improving transparency in financial reports, yet the quality of information to shareholders and the public has deteriorated. Financial and corporate reporting have never been so fraught with difficulties as companies fail to give guidance about the future in an increasingly uncertain world aided and abetted by the COVID-19 pandemic. Drawing on extensive research and interviews with insiders and experts, this book charts what has gone wrong with financial reporting and offers a range of solutions to improve transparency to both investors and the public. Providing a compelling exploration of the industry’s failings, and the impact of future disruptions, this timely text will be of interest to students, researchers, professionals and policy makers in financial reporting and accounting.
Disruption in Financial Reporting: A Postpandemic View of the Future of Corporate Reporting offers a range of solutions to improve transparency to the public and concerning wider ESG issues.
Mark Lovell (1947-53) has contributed to 2 anthologies: Human Kindness and The Turning Point
Human Kindness: this anthology to which Mark contributes is of true stories that reveal the depths of the human experience. Kindness comes in many forms and affects all of us. As Mark Twain said, ‘Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.’ And while a kind gesture can often simply make someone feel better about their day, sometimes – as the twenty-five true stories collected here show – it can save a life.
The first in the ‘Timeless Wisdom’ Series, these stories are sourced from around the world. They are of the everyday and the extraordinary. The result is a book that explores all that is best about human nature.
The Turning Point: this anthology which includes a contribution from Mark, provides a rare glimpse into the most important and fascinating moments of people’s lives.
A collection of extraordinary entries received in an international writing competition, it contains stories about everyday people, from all over the world. It includes the moment when love came along in a note under a windscreen wiper, when the death of a new friend inspired a teenager to live life to its fullest in this captivating insight into the human condition.
