I first became aware of Eileen Stamper in the hall of our direct-grant school in the north-west of England, with its large olive plaques of Oxbridge exhibitioners, writes Margaret Archer.There, we 11-year-old entrants were destined to sit cross-legged on the floor for the next three years of morning assembly. This daily worship was in strict conformity with the 1944 Education Act, even if its climax seemed to be our school’s undistinguished hockey results. Teachers were seated single file down one side of the hall (for surveillance or simply from lack of space, we wondered).At the end of prayers, the head punctuated the sacred and the secular by saying, “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost”. Eileen, I soon noted, was the only member of staff quietly to cross he