In his latter years at BWS, William (affectionately known as 'Scruff) Golding would drive into the playground from Exeter Street in his black saloon, whitened with layers of accumulated mud from his home in the Chalke Valley, to begin another day's teaching.
My days at BWS coincided with the last three years of Golding's career as a schoolmaster. As a member of the Science Sixth, my only encounter with him was a weekly lesson timetabled as 'English Cultural'. By this time, Golding had published his first three novels and television camera crews would occasionally appear on site to film him in pensive mood in the garden of 11, The Close. He never talked about his work, nor, indeed, much about any work in English literature so far as I recall. Instead, we were treated to inspiring discourses on Greek tragedy and a reading, albeit in translation, of Sophocles' Theban Plays. For me, these lessons proved to be one of the richest experiences of my days as a Sixth Former. I still look over the class notes which I made at the time and have since then begun to tease out some of the complexities of all his published novels. It is through reading my class notes and his collected essays, however, that I can best remember Golding the man. One can hear in one's mind that deep intonation of his voice, every syllable clearly formed and tempered occasionally with an impish but kindly chuckle as he paused to explain some textual matter or to recall an amusing incident of his days in the Royal Navy. Sadly, student participation was rarely forthcoming and the chances of a life-time were lost for ever.
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