Paul Godsland was a bright lad from the North East, a languages graduate fresh out of university (Queen’s, Oxford, I seem to remember. This was the era when 90 per cent of staff in public schools, certainly mine, were Oxbridge) and I think he felt slightly awkward being surrounded by what he considered to be toffs. Dick and I took a shine to him and eased him in. We even took him on a skiing holiday with us.
My mother, who was very much a Yummy Mummy at the time used to tease him rotten on parents’ evenings. “Oh I do LOVE you Mister Godspell”, she would say, and would terrify him by giving him hugs.
Later, when my daughter was at Malvern, he was still there - clearly having got used to all those not-toffs-really - as head of discipline. A slightly sinister title but he did perform a much-needed task well: stopping the kids looking too slovenly, keeping up standards - but in an avuncular rather than a fascistic way.
And now he’s dropped dead, aged just 65. I wonder why? (Well actually I don’t wonder at all. RIP Paul).
Article by James Delingpole
James Delingpole is a writer, broadcaster and truth seeker. He hosts the Delingpod - the world’s most entertainingly shambolic ‘conspiracy’ podcast.
DelingSTATS — Views: 10 • Unique visitors: 10