The happiest days?

Leeds Grammar School was founded, like most of its predecessors, with such pickings as were left from Henry VIII's monastic takeover; we used to write in the grime of the windows ‘Last Cleaned 1552’. Its motto ‘Nttllius Non Mater Disciplinae’ (rough translation: ‘There's nothing you can't learn here’) was the exact opposite of the truth for the first 200 odd years of its existence, when it taught Latin Grammar and precious little else; it liberalised a little during the 19th century, in spite of a House of Lords action to try to make it stick to its charter and stop teaching mathematics; but the classics held up strongly, under a highly efficient system of railroading the victims at too tender an age for them really to know what was happening. I was one of them at the age of 12, and somehow found myself doing nothing but Latin, Greek and Ancient History for most of my so‐called education.