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T he T rusty S ervant
Harry Altham: an Outstanding Teacher
Harry Bates (I, 50-55) remembers:
I was never much of an academic.
After five years at Winchester College,
I was still stagnating in SP2b. Indeed
my contemporaries could well have
referred to me as academically ‘thick’
with a capital T. In retrospect, this was
not entirely my own fault. To be brutally
honest, up to this point the school had
done very little to develop those few
abilities that I did happen to possess.
I have no idea what the modern system
is, but in the 1950s, on leaving Middle
Part, we were invited to make a choice
between three ladders. A (Classics), B
(Modern Languages), and C (Science).
For me this choice was a soul-destroying
disaster. Although Latin had no problems
for me, the A Ladder was out of bounds
because, rightly or wrongly, I had given
up Greek while still in Junior Part years
earlier. No one thought at that time to
explain any future implications from
this decision. Science for me had always
belonged to another planet, so C Ladder
was a non-starter. I was therefore forced
to attempt to ascend via the B Ladder,
although the study of French had been
my weakest subject all the way up the
school. My strengths lay in English and
History. Although I took on Special
History with some success it was not
enough to compensate for my failings
in the main burden of this ladder. It
was thus as a very unsatisfactory and
unfulfilled pupil that I arrived at my
last half at Winchester College, Cloister
Time 1955!
yet another ray of sunshine which was
to warm my final term. Harry Altham
was brought back from retirement and
became my div don.
Harry A was not only a cricket expert, a
test selector, but also the most brilliant
teacher I had ever experienced. In later
years, I have not discovered anyone
to match him. For the first time in
my entire education, I became totally
immersed in what I was being taught.
Every day, I could not wait to get up
to books to learn something new from
him. When up to house, I tackled with
enthusiasm any further study given to
me. My greatest joy was his teaching of
English language matters, particularly
poetry. I revelled in discussions about
the importance of sound, the many
poetical formats in existence and spent
a fascinating time with him studying the
sonnet.
As a result of the latter, he invited me to
compose one. At the time, I had no idea
whether as a composition it was good,
bad, or indifferent. Harry A showed it
to other dons, indicating I suppose that
at least it passed muster. I have never
published it but have treasured it for 60
years and retained a copy to this present
day. Here it is for good measure:
Sonnet: ‘What do I really want?’
The bards of old have often harped and sung
Of man’s ambition, fancies, strange desires,
His fickle love. To these the poet’s tongue
Has often tuned his theme around the fires.
What do we want? What did they want who
yearned
In former Times? King Midas longed for
gold,
But having surfeited, desire was turned
To loathing. Hapless Faust for knowledge
sold
His soul, yet still he failed to understand
Unfathomable things. The search for power
Brought Tamberlane the Great from
conquered land
To many greater conquests. Our desire
Is not for what we have, but what we lack,
We value life when God must take it back.
Winchester July 1955
There is a saying that the proof of the
pudding is in the eating! Thanks to
Harry A, I raised books for the first and
only time in my education at Winchester
and perhaps I left the school with with
the capital T on ‘thick’ reduced to lower
case.
It is possible that I am being a little vain,
but I like to think that I was the principal
guinea pig in a major experiment. An
additional parallel div was set up in SP2
but the master subjects were English
Literature and History. Even the study of
French was confined to French literary
works. Clearly this arrangement suited
me down to the ground, but there was
In 2015, I attended a 60-year reunion.
As part of an enjoyable weekend, I was
a guest for lunch in Hopper’s. Later that
afternoon I discovered an engraving at
the gate beside Hunter Tent to Harry
Altham. May his shadow never grow less,
but he deserves to be remembered not
just for cricket, but also as a really great
teacher.
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