Free Dispatches From a Dilettante by Paul Rowson Page B

Detroit who generously let us play his music as backdrop and even threw in some free LPs when responding.
    To Eric and the school’s huge credit everyone seemed to back the preparation for what was to be the first time a play had been attempted, let alone performed in public. Challenging young people who had never acted before were given key parts, staff came in at weekends to prepare stage sets, tickets were printed on ancient banda machines and publicity posters put in local shops. Disaster seemed to have struck the day before the opening night when the lead male was suspended from school after a knife incident, but nothing could prevent the triumph that the sell out three night performance turned out to be. A reprise was demanded and took place at the Grand Theatre in Leeds. Furthermore a school in Birmingham, having read the write ups, put on their own version.
    It was, on reflection, a representation of everything good about teaching and education in a different era. There was no national curriculum, no SATS and no OFSTED so, at best, exciting things that changed hitherto damaged lives could evolve. It wasn’t all good because such a loose system could and was abused by some staff, but the moments of glory transcended anything that was to come at the school in future years. One pupil at that time now holds a regular part on Coronation Street after making a name in The Full Monty. That of course proves nothing but I bet it still makes Prince Eric smile up there in Colorado.
    I have only one other memory of Eric, who was quite a dramatic personality over and above professional requirements and had a penchant for flash cars. The drama department was situated in an old Victorian junior school building with the classic separate entrances marked ‘BOYS’ and ‘GIRLS’. Stone stairwells were worn in the middle after countless thousands of feet had bounded up and down them over the years. The sloping tarmac school playground was surrounded by the usual pre-war railings and at the bottom of the slope in one corner was the caretaker’s house together with a row of dustbins for educational detritus. Staff parked their cars in a row at the top of the playground. From the staff room on the top floor all this could be observed.
    Such was the dedication of the staff here in this annexe, away from the main building, that the day often started with a round of cards. Eric burst into the staffroom one morning proclaiming to the card pool and anyone else who would listen, that he had purchased a fabulous new vehicle which he had just driven to school for the first time. John Dixon, a droll Scotsman put down his cards, stubbed out his cigarette and languidly strode to the window. “Would it be the shiny red Datsun below?” he enquired. When Eric confirmed that it was indeed his new steed John, who had not previously shown the slightest interest in cars, enquired further as to the efficiency of the handbrake system. Eric was halfway through the technical specification of the brakes when John cut him short and with a smirk announced. “I think you may want to have a word with the dealer”.
    Alerted by John’s facial contortions we all rushed to the window in time to see the new Datsun slowly, but inexorably, moving with increasing speed down the slope towards the dustbins where it came eventually to rest.
    Larger than life teachers were conspicuous in numbers at Primrose Hill and John Dixon was one of them. In a previous life he had been a professional magician. Consequently he was called into action by colleagues to perform at their children’s parties. One such gig was duly booked by the art teacher Rod Wells for his daughter’s birthday ‘do’ to be held on a Sunday. Dramatically and tragically John was killed in a freak accident the day before the party. Ignoring all advice he had decided to repair a leak on his roof and rigged up a ‘safety’ rope around the chimney. It snapped and the fall killed him instantly. Rod broke