Fred was a man apart, in a world apart. The Art Room was in a separate block, on the first floor- in the one time ‘tallet’ of what had been coach houses, below. The ground floor was the nominal ‘craft room’ suite, but being two rooms, it had been previously decided that no one member of staff could supervise all the area, simultaneously, so everyone would be at the mercy of a potential mad glue pot attacker. Therefore there would be no craft. We had a double ration of art instead, which suited me, but think of all the generations who lost out on making a footstool for Granny, a pipe rack for Grandpa, a raffia fruit basket, or a set of black and gold satin doilies for the sideboard. One’s heart bleeds for the poor little mites. Bugger that- let’s get up to the art room!
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| Fred’s World Apart |
Reached by an external, metal stair, the art room was entered from the back of the class. The business end, books materials and Fred’s desk were all at the other end. The first thing I learned from Fred was the value of notes, i.e. aides memoires. We would go in, and as we turned to close the door behind us, pinned on the inside would be a large piece of paper, with a cryptic message, such as BREAD or SHOE REPAIRS writ large thereon. When asked what a notice was for, he said ‘To remind me that my wife has asked me to collect (whatever) on my way home!’ It is a system which has served me well, for many years, since. Still, if I need to remember something, I write it big, on a piece of paper, and pin it up where I can’t miss it. It’s such an obvious thing to do, but it’s amazing how many people can’t be bothered.
The next thing he taught me was the History and Appreciation of English Architecture, from 1066 to the Present Day, but that took a while longer. It took 7yrs, in fact, despite the present day being on a sliding scale from 1953 to 1960, and as far as Fred was concerned, that was 30yrs too many. Fred’s idea of cutting edge design was the Bauhaus- the house as a machine for living in.
Fred’s preferred art syllabus was designed to lead to GCE O and A levels, as all subjects are, but one of the alternative papers was architectural history. In fact there were several choices within the architectural group- Classical, prehistoric, and several others, including Fred’s chosen path, as heretofore yclept. So, right from 1st yr, we did the A level course, in a very simplified form, and each year we did the same thing, but in a little bit more detail. So by the time we took the exam, we were flying on automatic pilot.
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| Capital! |
Read the question; look for the trigger words,- ‘Capitals’- right! Spew out the drawings and the relevant notes. Norman- crude, barbaric, axe cut! Early English-Bell shapedhold it,HOLD IT! Sorry. Sorry about that. One of my little turns. It just crep up on me. It’s like being hypnotised. You think you’re back to normal, then someone utters a trigger word and you’re a performing dog again.
By the time we went into the 6th form, we were down to four, in the art set- Algy (David) Cotterell, David Cuckson, Frank Hewitt, and me. We all made 80% in A level, despite Frank panicking, choosing the wrong set of questions in the booklet, and taking his architecture exam on the Roman Baths in Britain, which we had never touched, but he sailed through, anyway.
Of course, there was lots of ‘Art’ type art, as well, over the 7yrs. Pencil, poster paint, watercolour, charcoal and chalk. Figure drawing (no), composition, still life, etc. There was one exercise, where we were allowed to look at a group of objects, say a microscope, a folded tea towel, a cut flower, a slice of bread, a small pile of coins. We looked for, say, three minutes, then they were covered up, and we were required to draw them, in pencil, but putting them into some sort of imagined composition. That was evil.
Algy threw a wobbler, as well, in the A level still life. The subject was a group of fruit and veg., garden tools, a trug, and such, including a half of a cut grapefruit Algy painted the flesh of his grapefruit, not yellow, but a muddy green. When the papers were in, Fred asked why.
“I’m colour blind”, said Algy.
“Well, how did you go on getting it right, for 7yrs?”
“I can usually manage, but if a particular colour gives me trouble, I usually wait to see what colour the others use, but nobody had painted their grapefruit, and I needed to get on with it, so I did the best I could”. It didn’t affect his score, but what a rum do, eh? Managing to keep it quiet for all that time.
Fred was a brilliant teacher. He was constructive; he knew his subject, and he knew his job. He knew when to speak, what to say, and when to keep quiet. He was encouraging, appreciative, and receptive. He inspired us.