Paul Pollak

Mr. Pollak was a different kind of teacher as far as King's was concerned. To begin with he was much younger than the resident 'fogies'. I don't think he'd be much older than about 32, although this to a 15 year old was still quite ancient. Over all, he was much younger than the antiquated grizzled 60 year old befuddled so called educators.

Pollak spoke in quite a quick staccato fashion with words following each other rapidly. He had a persona to match, being slim and lean with a clean shaven visage which sported a small neatly trimmed moustache. A carefully cropped hairstyle was surmounted by a grey felt 'porc chapeau' avec hat band and small feather. More often than not he wore a fustian herringbone sports coat, but at this stage other clothing apparel below the waist line is out of sight and out of mind. On reflection though, I think he had a preference for brown shoes. As with most adolescents, teachers were considered the enemy for no reason other than they gave the orders and exacted retribution for all seen and unseen transgressions.

One day a friend of mine fell foul of Pollak's zeal. I'm unaware of the reason but this didn't really matter; he was still in deep trouble! To his credit, Pollak was not a vindictive man and the punishment usually fitted the crime.

Boys, as boys in most boarding schools, will still smart long after the deed has run its course and this one should have been long buried...

Now this master was the proud owner of one beautiful Le Velocette motorbike. He would extol its virtues to one and all. It was an electric start, hand gear shift, water-cooled 'Rolls Royce' of the motor bike world. Anyone who'd been 'ear holed' by him would soon either wish they had one, or alternatively wish he was either deaf or far, far away.

This beautiful machine was usually parked just outside the Dark Entry along side the Cathedral Choir School residence and within easy range of any passer-by malcontent.

As it happened we passed by this magnificent piece of French engineering and gaze turned to stare, and stare turned to a thought process which in turn progressed to a kind of 'get even' discussion. At this juncture I would like to emphasise, despite articles of protestation in the 'Agony Aunts' column of the local paper, we were not vandals and only wished to square the score.

Thoughts of draining the engine oil or water from the radiator were repugnant and to inhibit use by securing the bike with a chain and lock too costly. Something simple was required.

My friend conceived a brilliant plan. He quickly removed the spark plug lead caps and inserted some balled up pellets of newspaper. Voila! On replacing the lead caps, there'd be no ignition spark to fire up the engine.

The engine was thoroughly incapacitated!

A desperate Paul Pollak was later seen using an unusual amount of energy kick starting his machine as the battery had been obviously flattened. A very sweaty breathless biker persisted with this task as the rain dribbled off the brim of his hat and literally turned into steam before his very eyes.

Where fiction ends and fact begins can only be judged by those involved. One thing is for certain, the plugs were 'balled up', although the meanings of all the other perceived actions and reactions can only be classed as pure conjecture.

I do however think the local mechanic was temporarily employed....