The blurred boundaries of the 1980s and the gift of an unguided, unguarded teacher

Liz Forsyth
23 October 2025, The Tablet

‘H’ was more interested in questions than in answers, presenting literature, like life, as flawed, fascinating and occasionally foolish. Responding to either with certainty was dull.

Do we love our teachers? If they help us to understand the world better, yes. But do they love us? H – I won’t use his real name, though with his typical disdain for niceties he said I could – was an English literature teacher of protean fluidity and wit. He taught at one of the great British institutions, the kind that’s all architecture, history and money, and those who met him rarely forgot him.

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