RICHARD CLARKE AKA The Grumbler

Miss Rogers was a nice teacher. She was my form tutor for a year and, although it is four decades ago, I still remember her bubble perm, corduroy skirts and sensible knitwear choices.
I think she had arrived at my secondary school straight out of teaching college. Then again, at 11 years old, anyone between the age of 25 and my grandparents was classed as “an adult” to me.
But there was one other thing about Miss Rogers. She was one of a few passionate county cricket fans at my school. I recall one conversation we had on the top deck of a double-decker bus o...