HECTOR'S HOUSE: SCHOOLTIME SCANDALS - PART FIVE...

'HECTOR' HILL we called him - mainly due to his uncanny resemblance (in our eyes) to the dog in Hector's House. Not just in appearance, but also in voice, unlikely as that may seem.  He was a decent bloke, a teacher at my secondary school, and a man with a conscience - as this latest illuminating episode in our 'Schooltime Scandals' series now illustrates.

Before each pupil sat a form, waiting to be filled in.  It asked us about our home life, details about our parents, etc., no doubt designed to determine whether we came from happy environments or were victims of poverty or abuse, or some such misfortune.  "These forms are 100% confidential," we were advised, "and will be treated with the utmost respect and secrecy."

And so we applied ourselves to our task.  However, before too long, the sound of adult laughter made me turn around to find out the cause of such open merriment. Mr. Hill and a female teacher (whose name is lost to the mists of time) were standing behind a girl named SHEILA CRAWFORD, reading what she was writing and laughing and commenting on it.

I stopped writing and put down my pen.  Noticing this, Mr. Hill asked if I was finished.  "No sir, but I'm not filling out any more.  You told us that these forms would be in the strictest confidence, but here you are, openly laughing at what someone is writing, and remarking aloud for all to hear.  I'm not prepared to supply any personal information, the confidential nature of which could be abused in a similar manner."  (Of course, it's unlikely that I expressed  myself in quite such an assured and articulate a fashion, but that was the gist of my statement.)

Oh, but they needed the information - it was important.  It would help them build a personal profile of each pupil, assist them in their quest to aid any student who might have a difficult home life, etc., etc.  "I refuse to participate" was my steadfast response.  "You openly laughed at what Sheila was writing, and remarked upon it in front of the rest of us.  That's a betrayal of confidence for a start."

(I should perhaps mention that this wasn't a case of me trying to be difficult on some perverse whim, simply for the sake of it.  It genuinely did bother me that I might inadvertently write something about my parents which could be a source of amusement among the teachers in their staff room, and I therefore wasn't about to 'play ball', no siree.  Familial loyalty held sway.)

No more was said, doubtless because the two teachers, in their embarrassment, wished to minimise their injudicious display, and I lost myself in idle thought until the bell rang and we shuffled off to our next lesson in the New Block.  About 15 minutes later, there came a knock at the classroom door.  A pupil entered, and politely informed the teacher that Mr. Hill requested my presence back over in the Old Block.

I duly trotted over to the class I had not long left, to find a contrite Mr. Hill waiting at the door, anxious to explain himself and, essentially, seek my forgiveness.  Yes, he had been wrong, it was a lapse in judgement, it wasn't a common occurrence, it would never happen again, would I please fill out my form.  However, my heart was like flint.  No, I wouldn't be filling out the form, nor any other form of a similar nature in the future.

Nothing was ever said again on the subject, but I must confess that I was inwardly impressed that Mr. Hill was prepared to reason with me, explain himself, treat me almost like an equal, rather than attempt to browbeat or bully me into submission. (He was also smart enough to know that such an approach wouldn't have worked.) Here was a man of honour, compassion, integrity - who realised he had made a mistake (trivial as it probably was) and was eager to redeem himself in the eyes of one lone pupil (no ocular pun intended).

So here's to Mr. Hill - to 'Hector' - a genuinely good man, and a teacher who cared - perhaps even too much.  Of him it can be truly said:  "He's a great, big, decent ol' Hector."