Apprendre c'est vivre: extracts from "The Bell" (1977 -81)
Margaret Downing
Following Margaret Downing's death, on 15th May 2008, Nicholas Storey wrote the following tribute which was published in the "St Austell Voice"
An appreciation of former Poltair teacher Margaret Downing
MARGARET DOWNING, who has died aged 87 knew me since I was born - and that is now nearly half a century.
I can say that I really knew her for less time but I can certainly claim to have been aware of her from the age when children begin to take an interest in the adults around them. By the time that I was knee high, I understood her individuality, marked out for me initially by the big yellow stone which she wore, in those days, as a ring on her right hand (which fascinated me when I saw it) and more deeply marked out too by her distinctive voice, which I first heard in West Hill school car park, when she would chat to my parents, after shopping, by their cars, under the beech tree there. Although not tall, she had an air about her and a careless elegance permeated her manner and appearance, to which was added a warm and ready humour.
She was the daughter of an accountant in the town (whose OBE hung in her hallway) – and was brought up in one of the villas high up the slope off Bodmin Road. She attended St Austell County School and went up to Reading University. After this, she quite soon returned to her home town to teach history at West Hill Secondary Modern School and was married for some years to the widowed Frank Downing, a St Austell Bank Manager, who died comparatively young.
When, in 1971the comprehensive system of education was introduced, she moved across, with colleagues from West Hill and some from the former Grammar School, to Poltair, where I was one of the pupils in the first year’s intake. At this time she and her friend (eventually for over 70 years), Margaret Unitt, were noted for their identical flat-coated retrievers which they had; although Bleep, Margaret Downing’s beloved first of the type had a slightly curly coat, but Zak, his successor, did not.
Margaret Downing had an intense private interest in her subject and, although some cynics maintain that there is not verb “to teach”, she was touched with that magical ability of some in her fine profession, to inspire her pupils to learn and to develop a real interest in the subject of history, which, along with many percipient people, she maintained centred around the lives (and so the biographies) of those men and women who contribute most to make our history
It is thanks to her influence that I have, over the years, amassed scores of volumes of biography; of people as diverse in their fields as Sir Richard Grenville of the Revenge; the actress Gloria Swanson; the explorer and translator, Sir Richard Burton; the cook and hotelier Rosa Lewis (dramatized in the 1970’s as “The Duchess of Duke Street”) and Sir Winston Churchill – and learned the links in the chain of life between these last two: when Rosa Lewis cooked for Winston Churchill’s mother, Lady Randolph Churchill, he would slip into her kitchen and pinch cakes; catching him Rosa (who survived until 1952, living through his triumphant wartime leadership) would brandish a wooden spoon and shout 'Op it coppernob!!"
Moreover, Margaret Downing knew how to control a class just by her presence and innate authority; a quality that is noticeably lacking in the modern world.
From about the 4th year at Poltair I would often go across the road from where we lived, off Hospital Hill, and visit her and I would sit in the comer of the sofa (later on with a glass of sherry) and she would talk to me about all manner of interesting things: the news of the day and, sometimes, about her life and lend me biographies of such as Palmerston and Disraeli. I do not remember her even once, turning me away.
Later on, after the sixth form, I went up to University College London and, on this occasion, she bought Champagne with which to celebrate and, over this we both smoked the cigarettes which she enjoyed and only late in life gave up. When I actually went up to London, she came there to shop and, meeting me at a then noted meeting place, just outside the former Swann & Edgar's emporium, at Piccadilly Underground Station, treated me to lunch, nearby.
After her retirement from teaching, Margaret Downing enjoyed travelling, reading, attending exhibitions, touring the countryside, watching tennis on the television and socializing with a closeknit circle of old friends as well as her family.
Margaret Downing later suffered from a series of illnesses, which she described prosaically and with little interest, beyond containing them, and with no complaint. Eyes to the front, she was not given to introspection, self-pity or regretful reflection; she had strength and interests in life and she got on with it (although she was fond of the well-known quip that, after birth, only two things are certain – death and taxes). She was, all in aIl of that happy breed:
"With rights, tho' not
too closely scann 'd,
Enjoyed as far as known;
With will by no reverse
unmann'd,
With pulse of even tone,
They from to-day and
from to-night
Expected Nothing more
Than yesterday and
yesternight
Had proffer'd them
before."
With her strong heart and a will of steel she faced the last illness with fortitude and resistance, until she slipped out of life near to the distant sound of the sea at Porthpean, where she had loved to bathe and Trenarren, where she had exercised her dogs.
The last time that I saw her was 18 months ago, I visited her in her house, before I came to live in Brazil and, at the end of my visit, she did something that she had never done before, which was to walk me to the end of her drive where, although I, afterwards, stayed in touch with her by telephone and letters, we said Good-bye in person.
Margaret Downing belonged to a type of Englishwoman (and, for that matter Cornishwoman) whose like is fading from the world and many, I know, will miss her. But, knowing as I do, that I shall never again approach her door and find an implicit 'Welcome' on the mat; never again have the door answered with her cheerful and familiar 'Come in, dear boy!' – I am amongst those who will miss her most of all.
An appreciation of former Poltair teacher Margaret Downing
MARGARET DOWNING, who has died aged 87 knew me since I was born - and that is now nearly half a century.
I can say that I really knew her for less time but I can certainly claim to have been aware of her from the age when children begin to take an interest in the adults around them. By the time that I was knee high, I understood her individuality, marked out for me initially by the big yellow stone which she wore, in those days, as a ring on her right hand (which fascinated me when I saw it) and more deeply marked out too by her distinctive voice, which I first heard in West Hill school car park, when she would chat to my parents, after shopping, by their cars, under the beech tree there. Although not tall, she had an air about her and a careless elegance permeated her manner and appearance, to which was added a warm and ready humour.
She was the daughter of an accountant in the town (whose OBE hung in her hallway) – and was brought up in one of the villas high up the slope off Bodmin Road. She attended St Austell County School and went up to Reading University. After this, she quite soon returned to her home town to teach history at West Hill Secondary Modern School and was married for some years to the widowed Frank Downing, a St Austell Bank Manager, who died comparatively young.
When, in 1971the comprehensive system of education was introduced, she moved across, with colleagues from West Hill and some from the former Grammar School, to Poltair, where I was one of the pupils in the first year’s intake. At this time she and her friend (eventually for over 70 years), Margaret Unitt, were noted for their identical flat-coated retrievers which they had; although Bleep, Margaret Downing’s beloved first of the type had a slightly curly coat, but Zak, his successor, did not.
Margaret Downing had an intense private interest in her subject and, although some cynics maintain that there is not verb “to teach”, she was touched with that magical ability of some in her fine profession, to inspire her pupils to learn and to develop a real interest in the subject of history, which, along with many percipient people, she maintained centred around the lives (and so the biographies) of those men and women who contribute most to make our history
It is thanks to her influence that I have, over the years, amassed scores of volumes of biography; of people as diverse in their fields as Sir Richard Grenville of the Revenge; the actress Gloria Swanson; the explorer and translator, Sir Richard Burton; the cook and hotelier Rosa Lewis (dramatized in the 1970’s as “The Duchess of Duke Street”) and Sir Winston Churchill – and learned the links in the chain of life between these last two: when Rosa Lewis cooked for Winston Churchill’s mother, Lady Randolph Churchill, he would slip into her kitchen and pinch cakes; catching him Rosa (who survived until 1952, living through his triumphant wartime leadership) would brandish a wooden spoon and shout 'Op it coppernob!!"
Moreover, Margaret Downing knew how to control a class just by her presence and innate authority; a quality that is noticeably lacking in the modern world.
From about the 4th year at Poltair I would often go across the road from where we lived, off Hospital Hill, and visit her and I would sit in the comer of the sofa (later on with a glass of sherry) and she would talk to me about all manner of interesting things: the news of the day and, sometimes, about her life and lend me biographies of such as Palmerston and Disraeli. I do not remember her even once, turning me away.
Later on, after the sixth form, I went up to University College London and, on this occasion, she bought Champagne with which to celebrate and, over this we both smoked the cigarettes which she enjoyed and only late in life gave up. When I actually went up to London, she came there to shop and, meeting me at a then noted meeting place, just outside the former Swann & Edgar's emporium, at Piccadilly Underground Station, treated me to lunch, nearby.
After her retirement from teaching, Margaret Downing enjoyed travelling, reading, attending exhibitions, touring the countryside, watching tennis on the television and socializing with a closeknit circle of old friends as well as her family.
Margaret Downing later suffered from a series of illnesses, which she described prosaically and with little interest, beyond containing them, and with no complaint. Eyes to the front, she was not given to introspection, self-pity or regretful reflection; she had strength and interests in life and she got on with it (although she was fond of the well-known quip that, after birth, only two things are certain – death and taxes). She was, all in aIl of that happy breed:
"With rights, tho' not
too closely scann 'd,
Enjoyed as far as known;
With will by no reverse
unmann'd,
With pulse of even tone,
They from to-day and
from to-night
Expected Nothing more
Than yesterday and
yesternight
Had proffer'd them
before."
With her strong heart and a will of steel she faced the last illness with fortitude and resistance, until she slipped out of life near to the distant sound of the sea at Porthpean, where she had loved to bathe and Trenarren, where she had exercised her dogs.
The last time that I saw her was 18 months ago, I visited her in her house, before I came to live in Brazil and, at the end of my visit, she did something that she had never done before, which was to walk me to the end of her drive where, although I, afterwards, stayed in touch with her by telephone and letters, we said Good-bye in person.
Margaret Downing belonged to a type of Englishwoman (and, for that matter Cornishwoman) whose like is fading from the world and many, I know, will miss her. But, knowing as I do, that I shall never again approach her door and find an implicit 'Welcome' on the mat; never again have the door answered with her cheerful and familiar 'Come in, dear boy!' – I am amongst those who will miss her most of all.