Almond Greenway Hero's of My Career My Teachers

Hero's of My Career

My Teachers

Miss Tomlin, she must have taught me all the basic 'hows' of life adding, subtracting, reading and writing of English.

Mr Keaning, Told three hundred of my fellow students to be quiet and let me sing alone 'God is Working His Purpose Out...' this was a pivotal event in my life I was about seven years old. Some time around this he kept the whole school in late because someone was messing about. He made us watch the clock for a minute, then he said that the minute had gone forever and would never return, he said never waste another. I never have. I wrote him a song

Time

Click Clock Click went the clock on the wall

Click clock click that was it’s call

F#m E

When along came a digital

F#m E

It didn’t make a sound

G A B

It just crept up there and surprised us all

Tick tock tick tock tick

They say it did make a sound

It would loose a second

B7 E

An atomic pulse was it’s heart

B A

It didn’t have hands it was just a row of numbers

G B7

And it could speak in the dark Tick Tock

The grandfather clock goes tick tick tick

The carriage clock goes click click click

But the power went out the digital stopped

And our hero was late for his work Tick Tock

The Arab man’s watch went tick tick tick

The hour glass went drip drip drip

An important client for our hero

But he was late the Arab had to go Tick Tock

ISWC T-011.458.312-8 MCPS/PRS Tune Code 7230151A

The song is on the Bananas Album

Down Load

Miss Thorpe who filled my head with poems

The Highwayman

by Alfred Noyes (1880-1958)

    The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

    He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
    A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
    They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
    His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters,

but all was locked and barred;
    He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

    And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
    Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
    Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say

    "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
    But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
    Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

Mr Mullhern Who taught me how to declaim the poems, I won a competition at school with 'The Highway Man' Mr Mullhern spent many lunch times teaching me how to.

He also had some dealings with careers, we filled in a form and he broke from his normal calm self and got quite emotional. Mr Mulhern had perfect control over any class, one entered his class room and simple closed ones mouth, yet he did not shout at us he was always reading a book. In this emotional state he told us to be realistic, he said to one boy that being Prime Minister was not actually a career and he told me that I would never earn a living playing the wretched guitar. I was angry, very angry.

Some years past, I had been on television and earned enough money to get a brand new car. I was driving through Sutton in Surrey and running along the pavement was Mr Mulhern. I stopped and told him to get in, I said you don't know who I am do you ? He said no, I said I was in your class he said the boy with the guitar. I told him all about it and he said well you often did what I told you not to do so the plan went fine !

This is Mr Mulhern's Song...

The Highway Man

The night coloured black to the break of day

The day followed after the dawn

and the picture I'm sending you is quiet true

For a man with the road in his eyes for a man with the road in his eyes

The day carried on till the evening

it seemed the dust came off of the moon

and the picture I'm sending you is quiet true

For a man with the road in his eyes for a man with the road in his eyes

So I rode on through the springs and the valleys

I rode on through the glassy night

My grey White Steed all covered in bruises

They will not catch me till the break of day

Mr Bloomfield Was a music teacher extraordinary 'Talking aloud is not allowed' - 'Every Good Boy Deserves Flogging' 'Father Charles Goes Down and Ends Battle' - Write four bars of music Public, Private, Saloon and Lounge, may be not so politically correct these days, he said and we wrote tunes which he played to make us feel we were great composers. He ran the Streatham Philharmonic Orchestra and I sometimes turned the pages for him in concerts at Lambeth Town Hall and other venues. He taught us the Operetta's of Gilbert and Sullivan, wonderful great man

Mr Stimpson Took me to Stage make up classes with Mrs Jacobs and taught my brother Greek and Latin in his own time. Many years later I was doing a children's show and looked across the room and there he was with his wife and family. They came for dinner at my house and I went sometimes to theirs.

Mr Pye Directed Iolanthe the Gilbert and Sullivan Operetta he inspired.

Mr Crosky Who patiently tried to help me with my attempts to make radio's and amplifiers.

Mr Hiller who was then Captain of the England Rugby Team and Maths Teacher - Tidy Book Tidy Mind.

Mr Scrosten who pushed one to the limit in physical training and Rugby.