Leaving teaching after seventeen years as a head and 32 years living on the campuses of three different schools – Radley, Wrekin and Millfield – was a worrying prospect.
Heads, I was told by a number of respected colleagues, are not very good at retiring. They miss always getting the best seat in the house, their PAs, young voices, and the sound of their own, I hear the staff wags cry. Also, rather shamefully, just being the boss.
In his Memories of Christmas, Dylan Thomas noted that he could never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when he was twelve or it was twelve days and twelve nights when he was six. This problem may have manifested itself because he was full of whisky for much of the time, but I find the experience of looking back on my teaching career somewhat similar.
Schools are busy and vibrant places where events and experiences come in floods rather than trickles. Recollections of such a busy life have no particular order and sneak up randomly, often at unexpected times.
“Working in such a positive environment full of expertise and talent was a joy.”
Take for example the Beginning of Year service in Wells Cathedral, reading the final lesson in the carol service, school lunches; watching sports, concerts, plays and the many magical hours spent chatting to young people.
Working in such a positive environment full of expertise and talent was a joy. There were also frustrations, mistakes to overcome, and dark moments which will stay with me forever. The role of a head is enormously demanding but, like a round of golf, it’s important to cherish the good bits.
On my early morning walk to the office during the first week of my ten years at Millfield I met a boy who had just finished his swimming session. I was some distance from him but he waited for me and introduced himself.
“What’s it like being the headmaster, Sir?”
“A little scary,” I said.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be OK. I was a bit nervous when I first arrived but I soon got used to it.”
And so I did, but getting used to retirement presented a different challenge.
At first, I made sure I was busy and used the skills and experience I had acquired during my career as a soldier and a schoolmaster: governorships, mentoring, school reviews, appraisals, Trustee of Wells Cathedral, Ambassador for the London Chamber Orchestra, President of the Rugby Football Schools Union.
“Heads have to get used to being Norman-no-mates when in post.”
It was all very satisfying, as were the opportunities to travel, to read more, to live in one’s own house and to see old friends more regularly. Heads have to get used to being Norman-no-mates when in post. These were enjoyable experiences which helped with the task of coming off Millfield.
And “coming off” it was, because there is something powerfully addictive about working and living in a place where the atmosphere buzzes with youthful energy and no challenge seems unattainable.
Coping with the depressing thought of being past it, especially if you have been at the top of the professional tree with a huge amount of responsibility, is a potential problem of this lifestyle change but it also offers the opportunity to try something new.
I began to toy with the idea of writing, something at which I thought I might have half a chance of getting better but lacked the confidence to commit fully to it. We have all heard the cliché that everyone has a book in them and also the alternative view which recommends, in most cases, that is where it should stay.
“There is something powerfully addictive about working in a place that buzzes with youthful energy.”
I started cautiously by writing a travel diary during our trips abroad, enjoyed the process and finally plucked up the courage to go on an Arvon residential creative writing course at Totleigh Barton in Devon. It was an excellent experience which I can thoroughly recommend. It encouraged me to write a few short stories and then to attempt a novel. It was probably the hardest (and loneliest) thing I have ever done but having two books published in my seventies has given me enormous satisfaction.
Peter’s first novel, It’s Cold at the End of the Bed, was published in March 2022. His second, Plot One, was published in November 2023. All proceeds are going to the Millfield Foundation which provides scholarships for pupils in need of financial support.