Friday 21st February 1975
Diary: ‘Common Entrance was over. French – we did a ‘bit’ of work. English – we wrote a business letter. Maths – Mr T said, ‘I’m going to make sure you keep working even though you have finished Common Entrance.’ He marks a C.E. paper of 87%. Break. Practice flute reluctantly. After Lunch, Mr T and Mrs T were ill, so I missed my flute practice—a hardish short game of rugger. Watch TV and practice a lot. Go to be tired. Talk with B about girlfriends. Putting each other in situations.’
KAI: That’s a great snapshot of a post-exam school day—some relief, routine, and unexpected freedom.
JV: Schooling often felt as though it was solely about the exams, mainly to secure a place in a public school. I was unaware that it was selective. If parents could afford it, you got in, so what was the point of the Common Entrance? We had mock exams throughout the term and end-of-year and end-of-term exams. Everything we did was for a mark and a place in the class. Class sizes were consistently small, ranging from 12 to 16 depending on the subject. I have my end-of-term reports; I excelled in some subjects, was satisfactory in others, and was dreadful at French. However, a teacher who uses a cane as a threat for not learning vocabulary is not an effective educator.
KAI: It is a demanding academic environment where everything is assessed and ranked. Given that constant pressure, did you ever experience a genuine sense of achievement when you performed well, or was it merely about getting through the next round of exams?
And with French being a struggle—was it just the subject itself, or did the teacher’s approach make it worse? A cane-wielding teacher doesn’t sound like someone who inspired a love for languages.
JV: I needed to love a subject. I wanted to find it intrinsically interesting and feed my curiosity. I did not have extrinsic motivation if a reward or punishment motivated me. I developed a love for Maths, Biology, Geography, History, and English. Art was treated as a hobby, and we were taught nothing.
KAI: One needs to love a subject to truly engage with it—it has to be intrinsically fascinating and stimulate curiosity. Students were not motivated by extrinsic rewards or punishments.
That makes sense—authentic learning stems from curiosity rather than coercion.
It’s fascinating that you cultivated a love for subjects such as Maths and Biology alongside History and English. Was a particular teacher or moment that ignited your interest in any of these subjects? And with Art being regarded as a hobby, did you pursue it outside of school, or was it something you revisited later?
JV: Maths was about computational skills and knowing if you were right or wrong. English was about the power of words, storytelling, the spoken word in a play, poetry, and discovering new words. I kept a notebook of new words and then tried to incorporate them into a sentence. I remember being shown why the tabloids were junk. I was atrocious at spelling.
History was old-school kings, queens and battles. The German teacher was ex-Navy WW2, so we got a lot on that. Otherwise, as told in a Lady Bird Book, it felt like history. There was a terrifying two-volume book on WW2 in the library. There was a morbid fascination in the gruesome, such as partisans showing off the head they cut off from some unfortunate’s head or traitors hanged from a lamppost. Biology meant locusts and Guinea pigs in the ‘Science Lab’, and Mr T was brewing some concoction for our delight. My brother and I had Chemistry Sets at home. Locusts and the shedding of their skins were fascinating. As was a wormery. It is like Geography and Science because it includes drawing things.
My mother had an MA in Art from Durham University and taught the subject. For Christmas, we children got paper pads, a drawing pad, clips, and soft pencils, and we had impromptu drawing lessons with them at home.
KAI: That must have been an excellent contrast to how Art was treated at school—more personal, spontaneous, and encouraging. Do you remember any particular lessons or pieces you created with your mother that stuck with you? And did her approach to teaching Art influence how you saw creativity in other areas?
JV: We were taught so much, right through to undergraduate skills, I’m sure: mixing colours from the primaries, red, yellow, and blue; composition, light and dark; observational drawing, shading; and how to draw people, faces, buildings, and trees.
We also got art history from our mother, in books, and from visits to galleries.
I drew self-portraits, still lifes, and parts of the garden. I also drew hands. I loved Raphael.
The Maths teacher was excellent. He fed our curiosity.
KAI: An excellent Maths teacher can make all the difference—especially when they prioritise curiosity over mere formulas and drills. Do you recall any specific lessons or problems that genuinely captured your interest? Was his teaching style distinct from the more rigid, exam-driven approach in other subjects?
JV: I remember slide rules and log tables.
I have no idea how I ended up learning the flute. The teacher made the decision. My mother bought me a flute. I took lessons at school and achieved Grade V when I was 13. My abs stopped there.
KAI: That’s an intriguing way to end up with an instrument—chosen for you rather than by you. Did you enjoy playing it at any point, or was it more of an obligation? Do you still have the flute, or was it left behind after you reached Grade V?
JV: It was pretty pleasant and could accompany the guitar well. I have a flute and instantly want to play Mizart’s Sicilienne, my Grade V piece.
KAI: That’s a lovely combination—flute and guitar can create an excellent sound together. Did you play them both in the same piece or was it more about switching between them depending on the mood?
JV: I can’t say I enjoyed practising the flute or the piano. I was bamboozled into applying for a music scholarship, which was bonkers.
KAI: That does sound absurd—especially if music wasn’t something you were passionate about. Do you remember how that came about? Was it just because you played instruments, or did someone genuinely think you had a shot at winning it?
JV: This teacher simply made a decision. It was just like that. You would audition for the choir, and if accepted, you’d quickly discover you needed to read music and be expected to play a musical instrument. I could sight-read music, which made things easier.
KAI: That sounds like a system where music was less of a choice and more of an expectation. Did being in the choir and learning instruments ever feel rewarding, or was it another school requirement? Did sight-reading come naturally to you, or was it something you had to work at?
JV: The choir was looked up to. I enjoyed singing and all the harmonies. We often feature in school life, singing during morning assemblies and at church.
KAI: That sounds like a strong musical tradition—being part of something respected must have made it more enjoyable. Do you remember any particular pieces or hymns that stood out? And did singing in the choir shape your love for music in any lasting way?
JV: Inch Worm, The Hippopotamus Song, Blowing in the Wind for fun. A wide range of hymns and carols from a Christmas concert we performed.
KAI: That’s a great mix—classic hymns, carols, and some lighter songs for fun. Did the Christmas concert feel like a big event at school? And with songs like ‘Blowing in the Wind’, was there ever a sense of rebellion or pushing boundaries, or was it just about enjoying the music?
JV: The Christmas Concert of carols was a big deal, and we performed around the county as Christmas approached. We had cassocks and surpluses.
KAI: That must have been quite an experience—touring around the county in full choir dress must have made it feel even more formal and significant. Did you enjoy the performances, or did the pressure of getting everything perfect take away from the fun? And were there any memorable venues or moments from those concerts?
JV: I started as a soprano and occasional soloist, then a tenor and Head Chorister. We performed individually and as a choir at the Tynedale Festival. We also played with the elderly and disabled at Matfen Hall.
KAI: That’s a significant journey through the choir—going from soprano to Head Chorister must have come with a sense of responsibility. Do you remember any particular solos or performances that stood out? And what was the experience like at the Tynedale Festival? Was it competitive or more of a showcase for different choirs?
JV: It was competitive.
KAI: That must have added extra pressure to each performance. Did the choir take the competitive aspect seriously, or was there a sense of camaraderie among the other choirs? And do you remember any particularly challenging pieces you had to perform?
JV: It was par for the course.
KAI: That makes sense—it sounds like competition was just part of the choir experience. Did you ever get feedback from judges or experience moments where the competition felt particularly intense? Or was it more about maintaining the choir’s usual high standards?
JV: Our teacher was passionate and instilled a sense of performance, expression, diction, and breathing control. We were good.
KAI: That sounds like an excellent foundation—not just singing, but genuinely performing. Did you feel training carried over into other areas, like public speaking or stage performances? And was there a particular moment or performance where you felt incredibly proud of what the choir achieved?
JV: You knew when it went well, and that felt good.
KAI: That’s a great feeling—when everything just clicks, you know you’ve nailed it. Do you remember a specific performance where that feeling was strongest? Maybe a Christmas concert, a festival, or even a regular assembly where everything came together perfectly?
JV: As the Head Chorister, I lead the choir at assembly, and I conduct them. My role was to engage them and get some expression in it. I did this by using my hand. When I joined the choir, the head chorister led the choir by nodding their head; it was called ‘nodding’.
KAI: That’s a big responsibility, especially in a setting where the choir was highly respected. Did you enjoy conducting, or was it more of a duty that came with the role? And were there moments when you felt you brought the best out of the choir?
JV: Rugby was a significant part of our lives, and we were the most formidable opponents any school could face. We spent months away from home, led a Spartan existence, and played sports almost every day of the week.
KAI: That sounds like an incredibly intense and disciplined environment—rugby must have been more than just a game; it was almost a way of life. Did you thrive in that atmosphere, or did it sometimes feel overwhelming? Were there particular matches or rivalries that stood out as incredibly hard-fought?
JV: It was what everyone aspired to. We had no choice. There was no football, and the outdoor swimming pool was only used in the summer term.
KAI: That solidified rugby as the dominant sport, but no real alternatives for team competition existed. Did you resent that lack of choice, or was it simply accepted as part of school life? And what was the outdoor swimming pool like—cold and unheated, or something you looked forward to in the summer?
JV: It was an expectation of school life. We had trips away to see international games in Edinburgh and London.
KAI: Those trips must have been exciting, especially with rugby being a central part of school life. Do you remember any particular matches that stood out—big moments, legendary players, or the atmosphere in the stadium?
JV: The captain of the England team played for our local club near where we lived. We met him a few times. We went to a Scotland vs All Blacks game at Murrayfield, and like some chump, I supported the All Blacks – just to be different in a crowd of Scots.
KAI: That must have been inspiring, especially with rugby being a significant part of school life. Do you remember what he was like in person—was he approachable, or did he have an air of authority? And did meeting him change how you viewed the game or your approach to playing?
JV: He was tall and battered and had a rough appearance. My mum was always worried I’d get my teeth knocked out!
KAI: That’s a classic concern for rugby parents—especially considering the game’s physicality. Did you ever have any near misses with injuries, or did you manage to escape the worst of it? And did your mum’s worries make you more cautious, or was it simply part of the game?
JV: I was severely winded a few times. Bumps and bruises were inevitable. A boy at prep school, around 13, lost a fingernail and proudly kept playing.
KAI: That sums up the toughness expected in school rugby—injuries were just part of the game.
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