Concordia

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Class Notes
Obituaries
My own memories of Denis fall like
Caesar’s Gaul into three parts. I first
entered MTS in September 1952 – Denis
was already there, I think, but didn’t
really impinge on lowly members of the
Third Form. I first really came across
him when I moved up into what was
then Modern VA, of which he was the
form master. As far as the classroom
side of things went, it was more a
general impression that remains with
me rather than any particular incident.
It was quickly appreciated by us that
he was someone with a wicked sense of
humour, a capacity to be quite forceful
and a sympathetic insight into the way
adolescent boys thought. These key
elements certainly meant that he never
seemed to have any discipline problems
and we had a good, generally successful
year. My clearest individual memory of
him at that time, however, was not in the
classroom but on the parade ground. He
was at the time in charge of the Naval
section of the CCF, of which I was a
cheerful but uninspired member. One
Friday afternoon, I was aware that my
attention to blanco, crease perfection
and brass shine had been even less than
usual and watched Denis’ approach to
inspect us with a degree of trepidation
not unmixed with amusement. As he
paused in front of me, I saw his eyes
cataloguing my various negligences and
then look up to see that I was doing the
same to him. He didn’t actually grin –
he didn’t need to – but without saying
anything, he moved on down the line.
It may have been wishful thinking or
pure imagination, but I was left with the
distinct impression – never contradicted
in later years – that he didn’t take the
CCF any more seriously than I did – and,
crucially, that at that moment he was
treating me as an equal. At a time when
there was still a huge social gulf between
the masters and the pupils, it made a
lasting impression.
In the fullness of time (about eight
years after I left), I returned to MTS as a
teacher to find that a large number who
had taught me were now my colleagues
– in particular, of course, Denis, who was
now my boss as head of the Modern
Languages department. It was easier
then to realise his qualities and see what
made him such a good teacher – among
other things, his own genuine fascination
with the way people used language, with
their accents and with the oddities and
absurdities one could hear every day –
even in the Masters’ Common Room...
He was an ever rich source of anecdotes
about odd snatches of speech he had
heard, be it at Millwall football ground
or in the foyer of a London theatre. The
anecdotes themselves weren’t always the
point – what was always there was Denis’
delight in the accent (and he was a good
mimic) or the semantic idiosyncrasy
of what he had heard. Some of those
stories, it should be said, would certainly
not have been shared with pupils... I
remember that the first time we actually
had an ‘assistant’ in the Languages
department, it was in fact ‘une assistante’
in the person of a delightful girl from
Montpellier: needless to say, Denis very
soon had her equally delightful Midi
accent off to a T, much to the amusement
of Sylvie herself, not to mention the rest
of the department.
Another side to him which hadn’t
really emerged while I was a pupil
was his real skills as a sportsman. I
knew from what he had said that he
had played soccer to quite a high
level – what, with his normal modesty,
he had not revealed was that he got a
Blue at Oxford and that at one point he
could have embarked on a career as a
professional footballer. Thank goodness
he chose to be teacher instead! It wasn’t
only soccer, either – on the occasion of
a Masters’ scratch team cricket match
against a similar bunch of OMTs one
evening, I remember Denis coming in
to bat – I was briefly at the other end –
and watching as he settled to receive
his first ball. No time wasted taking a
I am very sad to hear this news. I was
taught French by Denis Ogan when I was
in Divisions (in 1971) and he was one of
the finest schoolmasters I have ever had.
His French accent was immaculate, and
very clear.
Iain Strachan (1971-1977)
Denis was one of my favourite teachers
while I was at Merchant Taylors’. I studied
Modern Languages and was taught
German by Denis who always made the
learning experience enjoyable. I speak
German to this day and it served me well
during my working life.
Gerald Mahon (1955-1961)
Although I was not one of Denis’s
pupils, I can vouch for the respect in which
he was held by the boys of the 1970’s,
when he was head of Modern Languages.
Denis interviewed me briefly in French for
various exams, and I remember how he
was both testing of the candidate, yet kind
and interested in bringing out the best you
could offer in your allocated 15 minutes.
I think Martin Rowson produced a
cartoon, which appeared in the Taylorian
at the time, along with other SCR
contemporary stalwarts such as Harris
Thorning, and “Daddy” Tillott, that
accurately captured Denis’s demeanour.
His passing is a sad milestone.
Jonathan Duck (1974-1978)
I remember his presence in the school
when I was there in the late 1950s. Though
he never taught me he was one of those
teachers who was respected and who in
his quiet way did far more than those of us
who were boys at the school ever realised.
Rev’d Michael Moxon (1955-1960)
I remember him well and owe a lot of
my language skills (I taught German and
French for 34 years) to his teaching.
Anthony C Payne (1952-1959)
Denis Ogan had the challenge
of teaching me French, both in the
Remove/5th Form and in my abortive
attempts to pursue the subject to A level.
Despite his rather fearsome appearance,
generously proportioned eyebrows in
full sail, he was a kind, patient, good-
humoured and inspirational teacher.
In those days we studied French-with-
Literature to O Level, and this was
a course that I remember with great
fondness. Denis introduced us to Ionesco’s
“The Killer” (Tueur Sans Gages), which I
suspect would have been a trial for most
native speakers, let alone a bunch of
unruly English adolescents. He brought it
to life, and whilst the linguistic subtleties
escaped me soon after the examination,
the delights of absurdism remained long
after, and only a couple of years ago I
sought out a copy of the text which Denis
had brought to life, to enjoy it again. It was
a key episode in my education; one which
really has had a lifelong influence.
Denis had his own particular style when
handing back marked work. He would
address the hapless student in tones that
suggested just the merest pity for our
benighted state: in my case the regular
pronouncement was simply, “Law, you are
an idiot.” I like to think that the words were
said as fondly as they sounded brutal – but
then, I could be wrong…
We used to play “Quad Soccer” in the
Quad that was enclosed by the workshop,
Lun, sports hall and Common Room. In
my L6 days I played in goal for a team of
classicists named “Woolley’s Wonders.”
We made it through to the final, I think,
against the staff team. Denis scored an
excellent goal: I can still picture the ball,
swerving away to my right, eluding the
reach of my full-length dive (that hurt…),
securing them victory. Sadly, I think
it was his swan song as he suffered a
rather painful pulled muscle: I actually
had the next lesson after lunch with him,
and he came in looking rather unhappy
despite my admiring comments about his
scorching shot. It was an impressive way
for him to conclude that particular career.
I remember him with great fondness;
he was one of a number of Common
Room members of that era whose
example and inspiration led me towards
a career in teaching (albeit with the extra
‘hat’ of Chaplain – I’m not entirely sure
couple of deliveries to get his eye in – the
first ball went for six. Memorable.
In the fullness of even more time, I
moved on to be Head of Languages
elsewhere, initially in a comprehensive
school, then moving back into the
independent sector. One was then
quickly invited to a number of occasions
assembling Oxbridge dons with the
teachers who were intent on sending their
pupils on to the universities. Needless
to say, Denis was a regular attender,
particularly at the Oxford version. So,
again, we met up, at least once a year,
in circumstances in which we were
colleagues with similar preoccupations.
While discussing all manner of ‘trade’
matters, Denis often talked about things
in a way which revealed even more of
his personality. He rarely came out of
his normal position as a tolerant, acute
and amused observer of the world but on
occasion – and for the first time I could
remember since I was being childish in
MVA – he would show a genuine irritation,
even anger, about something or someone.
It was always provoked by someone being
pretentious or incompetent in a position
in which what they did adversely affected
others, usually pupils. Brief though these
moments were, one could see that he
cared deeply about things and had a
strong moral code.
I was lucky that, while I was there,
Merchant Taylors’ had a strong Common
Room – I think myself even luckier that I
was to go on having contact with Denis
for so much longer. He was indeed an
influence and role model of no
common stature.
Steve Higginson OMT (1952-1960)
MTS Staff (1968-1974)
where Denis stood in that respect!).
He was an inspiration; someone
who drew ready admiration but who
also allowed us, as we grew more
senior, to be treated more as fellow
labourers in the classroom and even
to a degree as friends. He is sadly
missed, but perpetually and very
thankfully remembered.
Rev’d Andrew Law (1974-1979)
Chaplain
Malvern College
It is 60 years last month that I first
walked up the school drive in a blanket
of snow with my older brother and
Denis was our second House Master,
the senior House Master having
taught our father at Charterhouse
Square. Not only was Denis my House
Master for the remaining six and a half
years he was also my form master in
the Modern 5th. A great Master and a
lovely man to know, especially when
he came to many of our age group
dinners at Durrants.
I will never forget him. God Bless
Denis, or ‘Ben’ as we used to call him
at school!
Colin L Bywater (1955-1961)
Concordia Merchant Taylors’ School Summer 2015
Denis Ogan: a tribute