King Henry VIII Grammar School

The challenge for me in adding further posts to this thread is, most definitely, to stay 'on topic.' When one has been through the entire repertoire of moans and gripes several times already, this becomes quite a difficult exercise. I did privately engage in some 'alternative thinking', in which I endeavoured to recall all the good that came into my life as a consequence of my period of confinement - sorry, joyous school days - but when the 'number one' on my list became, unequivocally, 'Poker Dice' I had to acknowledge that a significant degree of barrel scraping was taking place. Therefore, I am going to try something different. We are now fifty years on from the 'The Summer Of Love' and history appears to be repeating itself, which I find somewhat unnerving. But back in 1967, if a bearded bohemian had appeared on-stage at a music festival, preaching peace, I might have said something like "Groovy and far out, man", whilst raising my fingers in the v-sign. Whereas in 2017, exactly the same thing occurred and I said something like "You have the potential to be a very dangerous and subversive human being", whilst raising my fingers in the v-sign. Convinced of the validity of my assessment, I returned to completing a crossword, enjoying a soothing cup of tea and nibbling on a scrumptious slice of bakewell tart. Then the horrific realization struck me. "Oh, no! I have turned into my teachers!" What happens to us as we age? Do we become psychologically exhausted by constant change such that we crave just a few days of "Nothing going on"? Whereas on the contrary, when one is young, "Nothing going on" demands of us that we "Make something happen". Of course, I can presently comprehend why the teachers of 1967 were so conservative in attitude. To my adolescent self they possessed about as much zest as a cow suspended in formaldehyde. Now I am clearly recognizing that they were easing down, looking forward to their retirement years with minimal disruption and that, yes, the "Sergeant Pepper's" album was not a triumph, as I once believed, but a blooming racket. Which makes me wonder about the bearded person on the festival stage, who was, without question, of the older generation. Where has he been since then, such that his youthful idealism has remained intact? Perhaps it is apposite to invoke a complaint from the elderly that abounded back in that glorious summer of yore. "One thing is for certain. He hasn't done a day's work in his life."

Thank you Derek, That`s better more the atmosphere of the school I attended, mind you a bit later than you (1947-1951). Yes, the assembly in the playground every morning, hail, rain or the other, perhaps you had Mr. Burton during your time, he retired shortly after I arrived and went to New Zealand (?), where he assured us we wouldn`t hear the last of him, as he would be keeping a close eye on the Latin outcomes. He conducted assembly every morning from the platform of a short flight of steps left after the bombing in the furthest corner of the yard and I always remember his old green felt hat that he removed from his head as he issued the order "Hats Off" and placed it under his arm - I say placed, more like scrunched. Initially most of my lessons were conducted in the huts apart from Science and RI (Holy Joe who christened us, collectively, I think, as having emanated from the gutters of the back streets of Coventry and kept on keeping on about this chap Yaweh, who at least I had never heard of and signally failed in establishing religion as having any relevance to my being or indeed any influence on my future life). Yes we did PT, there was a hut allocated for that (Mr. Bullcock) no wall bars obviously, but we did do all the galloping at, over and through the box horse, often since I have pictured the consequences of performing the same exercises the modern way with small trampolines (truly a roof raising prospect). Ah, the Headmaster`s potato patch - it was still there when I arrived, complete with a couple of youthful looking attendants (I think one was called Smith), anyway I was told they were senior pupils who had done the work during the war (contribution to "Dig for Victory") and had in fact been "kept on" after the war - don`t know if they were waiting for discharge papers or a P45. So our Music Room, a wooden hut, was the original tuck shop, I can remember a Mr. Shaw (another more dapper and sane one, not Piggy) conducting group singing from some sort of traditional red covered school song book, with airs such as Barbara Allen, Bonnie Dundee, the Milkman of Paddington Green (a role later taken on by Benny Hill) and the musical version of Sir Henry Newbolt`s "Drakes Drum" which has remained, for me, a lifetime`s favourite and inspiration. Perhaps you also had staff - J.B. Young-Evans (Pip) Greek, Maxie Goldstein (Latin)

According to the KHVIII F/B page, Taffy James has passed away.

He must have been cracking on a bit. Used to live in the same road as him in Kenilworth, Woodcote Avenue in the very early 70s.

86 I believe

Hi all, This pic is in today's Telegraph picture memories. I don't believe it needs a title. Thank you M.R.

No Philip, Jeff Vent doesn`t need a caption except it did say he had put in 50 years in 1999. I don`t recall ever being taught by him, I was there 1947/51, but he used to coach us at cricket after school, if I remember correctly the nets were set up alongside Spencer Avenue. I don`t think it was for any specific team, I think it was for anybody who just turned up. He was a nice, affable chap.

I was never taught by Jeff Vent either during my years at KHVIII, (1964-71) and I don't think I can ever remember even exchanging a single word with him during those seven years. However, some of my friends were, and I would say he was something of a 'Marmite' figure in those days. The lads who were good at his subject had no problem with him, but anyone struggling would get a rather harder time from him. This was very common in that era, as many of the teachers had little time or inclination to help those who didn't grasp everything immediately. I was aware that Vent was in the habit of prowling around the playgrounds and communal areas during lunchtimes, looking for people who were doing anything of which he disapproved. He had the nickname 'Sneakysoles' at that time, and was best avoided. He wasn't the only teacher who did that, of course. Another teacher of that era who has been mentioned recently is Taffy James, who has just died. On another KHVIII website there were some gushing compliments for his time as deputy head, and later head at the school. However, others have added a touch of realism for balance. In my time there James was just a teacher, and again I was never taught by him. However, for some reason a couple of my friends and I had him 'on our case' when we were about 4th formers. I never took much notice in school assembly as it was mainly religious stuff, and used to stand there taking no part. This incensed Taffy and he would strut around barking at us afterwards, which we found quite funny as he was small in stature with an ill-fitting baggy suit, looking faintly ludicrous. He was the embodiment of a martinet. At one point he would just come and stand next to us during assembly to watch what we were doing. Eventually we simply stopped going to assembly altogether. I can only presume that he mellowed in later years and, as the whole school changed, took on a more positive attitude to the pupils.

I personally despised both of them. Interestingly, the other site you mention has removed a few posts that suggest other than the pair of them ought be canonised.

Hi all The telegraph article addressed him as, "Mr Jeff Vent has worked at King Henry VIII school, Coventry, for 50 years. 27th August 1999". I only ever knew him as Mr Jeff Vent. Even as recent as the last decade when he invited me to assist with the school music, which unfortunately & sadly I couldn't, as I had fixed commitments elsewhere, our exchange of correspondence used Mr. throughout. I suppose that my upbringing at home had as much to do with how I addressed people. With just one exception I cannot remember nicknaming or name shortening any member of staff. Mr Brotherwood was the one exception as he tutored me for months on end over a period of several years at Paybody hospital, where he was affectionately know as Sgt Bilko. Titles, like Mr, Miss, Mrs or Ms as well as military titles are a topic in themselves. Over the years I have visited businesses where even as late as the seventies, it was commonplace to find military titles on office doors. I remember an office in our local council house in the early sixties that had "Major Richards" on the door name plate.

I very nearly stuck one on Taff on my very last day. He was saved by a mate of mine pulling me away. We'd just finished our last exam and were walking down the corridor by his office when he appeared and screamed out my name. I looked at him and he bellowed, "There are people taking exams here. Show some respect and be quiet, they need to concentrate." My response was very quiet and close up, "Yes you stupid little Welsh "$^*9. And if you shut your mouth they'd be able to." I was quite a few feet away when he again bellowed, "When you fail your exams, don't you dare come back to me asking to resit." At that point my mate grabbed me and bundled me down the stairs. That man had adequacy issues.

Bohica - I couldn't agree more. He was a perfect example of 'small man syndrome'. I certainly don't think it applies to all people of short stature, just ones with chips on their shoulders about it. For example, 'Dickie' Dawson was a tiny chap, but definitely one of the few nice guys there back in the day.

Thank you all for the memory prompts for the teachers and their idiosyncrasies! I must have led a charmed existence as I was relatively untouched by them all in spite of my involvement in various nefarious activities. Maybe I was just good at not getting caught! I visited the school in 1985 during a trip home from the middle east and was kindly given an impromptu tour the school by Jeff Vent. Somehow it seemed so much smaller than I remembered it as a pupil only fifteen years earlier, although the main stairs handrails had been fitted with extensions to prevent taller students falling over them, or maybe it was required by new safety regulations? I don't recall. Interestingly it must have stirred some deep memories as for a while afterwards I had dreams of being required to attend classes again but having great difficulty in fitting into the traditional combined desk and seat unit, having grown slightly larger during the intervening years. It may be wise not to follow this train of thought any further! I particularly enjoyed the free expression encouraged by TW (Tick) Watson during art classes, occasionally with very messy results. I did once quietly murmur "tic-toc-tic-toc" as Tick walked past the line of pupils waiting to be allowed entrance to the art room, encouraged by so-called friends. The result was quite 'explosive' and after spending twenty or so minutes standing outside in the yard, Tick escorted me back to class with an appropriate and good humoured reprimand. I did not repeat this prank!

I have to admit to not liking Vent or James. Dickie Dawson was a very nice humane man as were both his sons who were there at the same time as me.

Jeff and I got on well, with never a cross word. I kept my nose clean and was top in French, not because I was a swat - quite the opposite - I hated schoolwork and studying. It was just that I found French a piece of cake, requiring minimal effort, which suited me. Jeff was a good teacher, but I was never one of his favourites, as I was not remotely interested in sport of any kind. It wasn't until after I'd left that I found out he was into rugby! On one of my reports, which said "position in class: first", he wrote "very good, but he must beware of complacency"! I had the misfortune of opting for economics as the required third subject in the sixth form. I hated the subject and none of it made much sense to me. Let's just say that Taffy and I never saw eye to eye!