To Sir, With Love

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Please do not hesitate to write if there is anything I can do to ease your pain at this difficult time.

Eloise remembered that day well. She had sat in her chair, the one by the window in her bedchamber, and stared at the carefully pressed, purple flower for what seemed like an eternity. Was he attempting to court her? Through the post? She shook her head, aware that she sounded silly and spoiled. No, she didn’t need someone perfect. She just needed someone perfect for her.

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Or maybe they were too big for all that. Maybe they didn’t fall out of bed any longer. Maybe they never had. No, to be fair, that wasn’t entirely true. They did know one another. They’d said more in the course of a year’s correspondence than many husbands and wives did during the entire course of a marriage.

Walker, John, ed. (1999). Halliwell's Film and Video Guide 2000. London: HarperCollins. p.845. ISBN 0-00-653165-2. I consider teaching to be the noblest profession in the world. I have seen the effects at first hand, being married to a teacher who educates children with learning difficulties. I remember her delighted face once, when a child she had coached sixteen years ago dug up her phone number and called her on Teacher's Day to inform her how he had made good in life, and how he owed it all to her.He lifted the glass to his lips, letting the final drops slide into his mouth. The worst part was definitely his children. He’d told them he wouldn’t ever leave them, and he hadn’t –he wouldn’t– but his simple presence wasn’t enough. They needed more. They needed someone who knew how to be a parent, who knew how to speak to them and understand them and get them to mind and behave. Gritty and unsentimental, the book shows Braithwaite gradually turning his class around through a mix of affection and respect. It also revealed his love affair with a fellow teacher – controversial at the time because the other teacher was white. When the film adaptation was made in 1967, Braithwaite criticised it, saying the love affair had been downplayed. You’re going home,” he stated, trudging up the hill, oblivious to the chill wind turning his sodden clothes to ice.

Alfred Gardner self-published An East End Story, in which he recalls being a pupil of Braithwaite. [1]He lived at Romney Hall, a stone structure built in the eighteenth century near Tetbury, Gloucestershire. It didn’t seem quite polite to point out that the broad smile made Gunning look a bit like a horse, so Phillip just muttered, “It’s nothing,” and headed down the stairs. Goodness, if she’d known it would be this easy to make her own way in the world, she would have done so years ago.