We were quick to identify masters by their living-image film-star counterparts. The headmaster, Mr Vernon, resembled suave James Mason, and Mr Bloomfiled, (stinks and maths.) Will Hay, etc.. In fact, the headmaster had a very grave countenance - not sufficient to strike terror to the heart but quite enough to make a new girl ponder, until it was revealed that beneath, reposed a gentle nature. It wasn’t until I reached the third form that I challenged the gentle nature by riding my bike (strictly against the rules) into a crowded playground, where he happened to be obscured from my view behind an entrance pillar. He who had been so enchanted with me in my lavender dress at the first-year soiree, felled me from the saddle with a single blow and some very loud words which I didn’t quite catch. I made my way to the bike shed, and made sure to keep out of his way for several weeks.An excerpt from Beryl Hunt’s Memoirs, Chapter 5 - The Southall Years