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Class Notes
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
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)
Concordia
Merchant Taylors’ School
Denis Ogan: a tribute