He was a contemporary of, though a few years junior to, Ken Clarke at Nottingham High School, having arrived there by the same route and, it was observed, at the expense of county rather than city ratepayers. He notes that he was never appointed a Prefect, although for a period both he and I served as “Privs”, a form of junior prefect. He belonged to the Upper Sixth while I was in the Lower Sixth, and my recollection is that he discharged his duties with rather greater authority than I did myself, though memory may perhaps exaggerate the point.
It is interesting to learn that he too experienced some surprise upon discovering that, after having excelled academically at junior school, the senior academic streams at Nottingham High School were populated by many equally gifted pupils. It was, for many of us, something of a revelation. I remember the experience well.
I also recall Mr Peters, universally known by his nickname “Slob” Peters. The sobriquet arose from the fact that, much like Ken Clarke in later years with his notably informal footwear, Mr Peters adopted a somewhat less formal style of dress than was customary among the masters at the school. He never taught me directly, although I once encountered him while he was returning from the public house near the rear gates on Forest Road, a place frequented by certain masters during the luncheon interval.
At that time it was expected that boys encountering a master in the street should stand smartly to attention and offer an appropriate greeting of “Good morning, Sir” or “Good afternoon, Sir”. Touching one’s cap was optional, though liable to earn approval. On this particular occasion I must have been distracted, for I failed to acknowledge him entirely. He delivered a brief reprimand, though fortunately went no further. Matters might well have proved more serious had the incident occurred after a more trying morning spent instructing pupils such as the young Ken Clarke.
In truth, however, Mr Peters was a conscientious and well-regarded teacher. Shortly after I had left the school, he and his wife accompanied a group of boys on a school excursion to Italy. What made the occasion remarkable was that the journey coincided with their honeymoon.
Having carefully compared the relevant dates, I have concluded that Miss Pollard’s reported punishment at Peveril School occurred a year or two before I myself worked for a period in Robin’s Wood Road. In general, schools in Nottingham at that time did not appear reluctant to employ corporal punishment, and I have little doubt that the cane remained in use at Peveril School and at several neighbouring schools, though whether this extended to the rather more genteel girls’ schools is uncertain.
Kevin Donnelly’s appointment to a review of the Australian national curriculum proved controversial. In response to a question during a radio interview, he remarked that “corporal punishment in schools was very effective”, a statement that subsequently prompted considerable debate in the Australian press.
One might be inclined to wonder whether Miss Pollard received her punishment over ordinary undergarments alone. Is it possible that this was indeed the case?
I would estimate the probability at somewhat below half, though it seems considerably more likely that at least one additional layer of clothing intervened between cane and undergarment.
More seriously, the best prospect of resolving this intriguing question lies in further research. Former pupils’ associations and local historical groups relating to Peveril School and Robin’s Wood Road in Nottingham may provide useful avenues of enquiry. Miss Pollard is believed to have attended Peveril School between approximately 1961 and 1965, and any information concerning disciplinary practices at the school during those years could prove illuminating.
Further careful investigation may also yield interesting discoveries. With sufficiently precise searches, one learns that the headmaster of Peveril School during Miss Pollard’s time there possessed and employed what one former pupil described as “a proper cane”. It may also be discovered that Miss Pollard later portrayed Miss Hannigan, the cane-carrying matron in productions of the musical Annie. Whether this theatrical role reflected in any way her own school experiences is, of course, open to speculation.
Finally, one is tempted to ask whether Miss Pollard herself intended to hint at her school experiences in a certain well-known photograph. Should your enquiries produce any firm conclusions, they would no doubt be received with considerable interest.
