#MagicalRealms by Ashe Barker

They say, do they not, that a good teacher is never be forgotten? They remain with us throughout our lives, their influence permanent and enduring. I suspect the same is true of poor teachers, though for very different reasons and I could mention a story or two from my own school days to illustrate the point., But that is not what we are about today. This is the theme of magical realms and for this I need to share with you my recollections of Mr Woodcock.

Mr Woodcock taught me for a year at junior school I was, I think, about eight or nine years old. He was a tall, skinny man with big glasses and a perfect aim with the blackboard rubber. He could hit a fly, on the wing, from across the room so was, clearly, a man to be taken seriously.

From the moment he walked into the classroom, he had our absolute attention. That, I would suggest, is the first requisite of a good teacher. He was interesting.

He was also interested. In everything. And he never passed up an opportunity to teach. On one occasion a sudden and violent storm appeared out of nowhere. The skies blackened, it went totally dark and huge hailstones started landing in the school playground. Mr Woodcock abandoned the arithmetic lesson in favour of poetry writing and had us all rush to the window and write a poem about what we saw. That plan was hastily revised when the hailstones started to smash the milk bottles in a crate by the school gate and we penned our literary masterpieces from the safety of the back of the classroom.

It was Mr Woodcock who introduced me to magical realms, in the form of the Chronicles of Narnia. Up until then I had existed on a bland diet of Enid Blyton and her tales of pixies and gnomes intended for much younger children, but C.S. Lewis wrote for children like me. His tales were of adventure, danger, good and evil. And Mr Woodcock was able to bring Mr Lewis’s magical realms to life with his inspired story-telling.

At the end of each school day we would down our pens and pencils, put the books away and pull our chairs up around Mr Woodcock’s desk to listen to a chapter. He started, not with the tried and tested old favourite, The Lion. The Witch and The wardrobe, but instead Mr Woodcock introduced us to The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. We sat, in rapt amazement, in absolute silence, as the tales of Prince Caspian, the mystical Aslan, the courageous human heroes and heroines (yes, heroines!)  and the magical world of Narnia unfolded in our imaginations. Mr Woodcock was able to do the voices, and somehow he always managed to finish on a cliff hanger at exactly the moment the bell went for home.

We would plead with him to let us stay and listen longer, but he was adamant. He knew how to work a crowd, did Mr Woodcock.

Next came The Horse and His Boy. By now I was well and truly hooked. By the time the summer holidays arrived and Mr Woodcock went the way of all gifted teachers, on to bigger and better things, I was an avid reader

Looking back, I do think my love of books and story-telling started there. I persuaded my mum to buy the Narnia books, the entire series, and I read them all. I read ahead, so I knew what was coming, but still, Mr Woodcock’s performances at the end of each school day held me enthralled.

There have been many since to rival C.S. Lewis’s masterpieces. My own daughter loves Harry Potter and prides herself on being something of an authority on all things Hogwarts. Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings, there is no shortage of literary enchantment to be had and comparisons seem futile and pointless. They are all quite, quite excellent.

But Narnia and Mr Woodcock will always be my favourites.