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 |   A tentative blog to test the temperature. |
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Ten years ago I was writing several blogs on various subjects - F1 motor racing, Music, Classic Cars, Great Romances and, most crushingly, a personal journal that included my thoughts on America, memories of England and Africa, opinion, humour, writing and anything else that occurred. It all became too much (I was attempting to update the journal every day) and I collapsed, exhausted and thoroughly disillusioned in the end. So this blog is indeed a Toe in the Water, a place to document my thoughts in and on WdC but with a determination not to get sucked into the blog whirlpool ever again. Here's hoping.     |
| Geography (or How I tried to remain sane and failed) Through a fairly straightforward journey of the mind, I found myself thinking of my old geography teacher today. His name was Mr Cock and this occasioned even more amusement among his young students than we can imagine since it was so easy to confuse him with the school’s Afrikaans teacher, a Miss de Kock. Having opted for French rather than Afrikaans at the relevant moment, this was not a problem for me and I rarely had occasion to mention the no-doubt-saintly young lady in question. I was, however (and I may have mentioned this in other posts), of a geographical mind and so was quite willingly subjected to the ministrations of the aforementioned Mr Cock as a result. This meant that I was present at the breathtaking and unexpected transformation of Mr Cock from a feared and fierce taskmaster into a man of mystery. The event was occasioned by something quite ordinary. Some hapless offender was receiving a fearsome explanation of the terrible punishments prepared for him were he ever to repeat his offence (I forget now what it was). To the class’ horror, the poor miscreant burst into tears. We were young teenagers at the time and properly trained in the British stiff upper lip; such a display of weakness was embarrassing and shocking in the extreme. What we did not realise was that the sudden collapse of his victim had as strong an effect on Mr Cock as it did on us. The legendary tyrant of the geography class ceased his tirade immediately and turned to other things. We discovered the next day just how deep a change had been wrought in Mr Cock by the incident. Class commenced as usual until some poor fool committed an accidental offence. The class hushed in expectation of the usual terrible response from our teacher. He allowed the silence to reign for a while and then spoke. “I have decided that discipline in this class will be maintained by a rather different method from my previous preference. From now on order will be enforced by the application of psychology. You have been warned.” He paused then and allowed us some time to absorb this news. Then, without further explanation, he returned to the subject of geography. We were hushed in wonder for the rest of the lesson and, if truth be told, for all geographical lessons thereafter. Mr Cock had us confused and fearful of what exactly he could mean by “psychology”. Knowing him so well, we were sure that it was some awful form of mental torture and none of us chose to discover his intent. Of course, I know now that the “psychology” had needed only one application to achieve its goal. The simplicity of the scheme was impossible for our young minds to grasp, so used to dealing with devious and complex forms of punishment (the ghastly refinement of torture by Pinky Palgrave, for instance) were we. How could we guess that the first explanation of the new system was all that was required? In later years I came to know Mr Cock much better as he allowed us the occasional relief from school by a field trip to gaze at rock strata in a road cutting or quarry. He taught me much that has remained in my head for more than sixty years and changed my view of the world to encompass air currents, physical features and weather patterns. But I did not formulate an understanding of his “psychology” until long after I left school. I think, maybe, that I preferred him as a man of mystery wielding an invisible and phantom weapon that was never used. Word count: 610 |
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