Obituaries - Radley College

Obituaries
As a tutor, new Year 7 boys
experienced a calm introduction
with simple good advice to their new
school. More clear direction would be
forthcoming if they missed the signals
from their sometimes Sphinx-like tutor.
As a coach, his natural athleticism was
evident, as was his profound belief that
sportsmanship was the whole point of
schoolboy sport.
As a member of his department, the
modern languages department. He saw
it as natural to support his colleagues
and could give wise council without
condescension.
As a member of Common Room,
Walter was a rock that so many of us
relied upon.
In his position as deliverer of extra
work, the covering of classes for missing
staff, he could not be faulted on his
fairness, on his refusal to reciprocate
the bad grace with which that extra
might be received. He of course covered
more of those classes than anyone
else. His extraordinary efforts to make
examination invigilation fair may have
gone unnoticed.
As mentor to so many; boys, parents,
colleagues and as advisor to those in
senior positions in the school, Walter was
invaluable.
While he spent more than half his
adult life here, he spent more than half
of his whole life in England. He lived at
times both in the South and the North,
understanding the difference and at
home in both. He was captain of his
school, playing more than one sport at
our equivalent of state or national level.
Having achieved entry to Magdalen
College, Oxford, it sounds as if he played
a lot of hockey but clearly some study
was done. Having graduated and gaining
Diploma of Education, he started his
teaching career, spending many happy
years at Radley College.
It is accurate and appropriate to praise
his work and to list his achievements
but these things do not quite capture the
man.
Part of a poem by Allan Gould
describes a wake and he notes of the
deceased that his “absence is absurd”.
It is absurd that Walter is not here and
there will be so many occasions yet to
come where that absurdity is obvious.
He should be sitting, immobile, as he
so often was in the back corner here,
carefully studying his Hymnbook. In the
mornings he should be leaning on the
railing of the common room balcony with
tea in his mug – that mug known as the
purple peril to celebrate its outstanding
ugliness. How can we have a sporting
carnival without him as starter calling
“To your marks”, with the minimum of
facial expression revealing the maximum
of dissatisfaction with any urchin who
might grin at him, having enjoyed a false
start. In the next report-writing season,
we will miss his near-manic refusal to
refer to anyone by his given name. We
will miss his handwriting. We will not
again see new reports like this: “The train
is in the station and the engine is building
up steam; we should pull away from the
platform soon”; “We have put coins in the
vending machine but no chocolates have
come out yet” and of a small and alert
year 7 boy, “Like all good little stars, he is
twinkling brightly”.
And that is the point really: we might
well remember Walter in a series of
images like short video clips. He would
be appalled, given his attitude to most
modern motion pictures except Wallace &
Grommet.
Here are some of my video clips.
1974, hair rather darker but already
the silver evident, sitting but not
complaining in his less than sparsely
furnished study in Jones House. So he was
known as “Wally the whingeing Pom” or
on occasions as “Albert” to differentiate
him from “Clint” the American. Malcolm
and I as usual thought that this was
screaming funny, Walter managed to look
more stony.
Seeing Walter in his rooms at
Radley College, demonstrating an
incomprehensible batting stroke.
Strolling down the street completely at
home in Kirkby Lonsdale, on the way to
the pub.
The gentle satisfaction that he that he
derived from moving into his own home
in Canberra. The expression of his skills
in decorating and furnishing that house in
ways that satisfied him.
Skiing with Walter, my working hard
to keep up with his cracking pace and
not matching his elegant style. His red ski
jacket with a high collar, no hat, grey hair
fluttering just a little and a vapour trail
from the pipe, which was pointed firmly
and directly down the fall line.
Walter the story teller: recollections
told with deliberation and cadence about
camping at the coast with cousins, about
Baxter and Hamish, the ancient Briton,
bro, little sister and more. The battle with
the Department of the Capital Territory
that called him T W Nine until he send
Walter Hine (centre) with Baxter and
Edith Holly
a cheque made out to the Depratment of
the Crepuscular Titteries.
Walter cooking a barbeque on the
mighty deck. Good steak treated with
respect, the Maglieerie de-corked with
appropriate observances.
Sitting on the balcony in Queensland
having reverently constructed a perfect
gin & tonic (his skill was in not making
it too strong) the lime carved just atoms
thick, discussing the misuse of words.
“Hopefully” to mean “I hope” had him
gritting his teeth. How many esses in
focussed? None, it’s not a verb. “Less” and
“fewer”.
Walter standing apart, still and
silent on the side of a hockey pitch, the
opposition coach bellowing his lungs out
as both teams took equal notice of either
of them. A boy might look over and be
able to interpret a particularly flinty look
as a reminder to get in the right position.
If all was lost, a close player might be
hailed by a discreet “Psst” and be pointed
in the right direction.
Walter’s stubbornness, almost
exhausting stubbornness about … well
about lots of things really … his refusal to
sit in the Common Room: that vendetta
lasted at least 20 years.
Favourite sayings: another mug of tea
and the crossword, faffing about, lose
that for a game of soldiers, not grey –
academic silver, milk from the old brown
cow (whisky).
Guthega: Walter standing at the
bottom of the stairs, feet crossed, hands
behind his back, rucksack on, shorts and
gaiters, patiently waiting for everyone else.
The ceremony of the Champagne cocktail:
orange zest, sugar and cognac melding
in the freezer, the ritual of the addition
of the wine and then the presentation to
the hushed but soon to be rather noisy
participants. The question of the addition
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