When you get to my age you realize that most people have skeletons in their cupboard. Now before you start getting too apprehensive let me raise a hand in caution. Indeed the following story is not one that I have talked about very much although it is an incident which, I now realize, has influenced my approach to a great many things and has been helpful not least in my troublseshooting career in disaster management. It is said the devil is in the detail which is nothing I would be inclined to refute only possibly point out that details are often of little use unless they are seen as part of a whole and also that there is a clear understanding of what that whole consists of and one´s own role at any one precise moment in time. This understanding should then be indicative to the next move which of course could be no move at all. The latter in plain English is knowing when to shut up. Knowing when to shut up does not necessarily have to be a defensive position it may well be the realisation that the battle is won and no more is to be said or in fact should be said thereby risking a return to GO.
The year was 1969 a time when the Beatles era was coming to a close and maybe even the impetus of Bob Dylan´s The Times They Are A´Changing. The teenagers of the sixties were growing up, cutting their hair and getting jobs. To earn a little extra money I was giving evening classes in London teaching German. I had never taught before and looking in my files can find no reference confirming that I had. Now references are strange things and are rarely straightforward, so as I have little recollection of my actual teaching and the meaningless absence of any reference leaves me in blissful ignorance of if any success. What I do remember most vividly are the people attending my class. If you think this sounds like something out of Cluedo please believe me I am not making this up. There was a Miss Brown who if I remember correctly was from London and there was a Mrs White, a lady originally from the Caribbean and not in any way representative of her name thus adding a third colour and more confusion especially for the teacher. The other two in the class were Tony and Dennis. Tony a Scotsman born in Liverpool and Dennis a Cockney with Irish parents. Now Tony, Dennis and I would sometimes round off our evening class sojourns with a few pints and then a curry. The term ”ring sting” was added to my vocabulary as well as one or two Irish rebel songs to my repertoire for drunken singing. Tony with his broad Scots dialect and wild temprement to match contributed on my part to an increased understanding of Hadrian.
On the 8 December 1969 our motley band found itself in a German Bierkeller celebrating the end of term. It was a pleasant evening although it ended in a rather unexpected way. Mrs White´s later analysis of the events that her presence was the cause is not one I share but for her to think as such is condemning in itself. Tony had gotten himself into a dispute with somebody on his way back from the gent`s toilet. The situation was obviously escalating and knowing Tony, Dennis and I attempted to intervene. Of little avail and the Old Bill (as Dennis would say) appeared as if from nowhere and began escorting Tony to a Black Maria. I soon found myself accompanying Tony and a very drunken Irishman on our way to Bow St. police station. The drunken Irishman was not Dennis who I believe was spared this trip due to his lesser sense of entitlement. What happened? Something like this: ”Now look here officer, there´s no need for this,” I exclaimed in my best what is linguistically known as received pronounciation. ”One more word from you and you´ll be coming along” He omitted the customary ”sir” which should have been warning enough. Watever it was I said is really of no matter and he kept his promise. A night in jail and standing next to Tony in the dock of Her Majesty`s Magistrates Court in Bow St. we both pleaded guilty to being drunk and disorderly resulting in a £2 fine. Looking back it was probably the best £2 spent in my life. Apart from having experienced the famous Bow St. Court at first hand albeit with a mighty hangover, I also learnt the necessity of taking in the whole picture, that negotiations are never only on your terms and there is a time and a place to just shut up.