I was at Watford Boys Grammar School in Paul’s year from 1981 to 1986. Although we were not in the same Form, we did share some classes together.

We were in the gang of smokers that used to “bunk off” to the shop by the tube station, or into the park, or the shelter by the Sports Hall. It is where we would tell stories, and share best (or worst) practices – and generally rebel against “the dish” we had been served of a school that gave out 2-3 hours homework a night, when most of our mates at other schools had none.
We were Mods (Heavy Metal, Casuals and New Romantics were the other choices) and for people that disliked school so much we seemed to manage to attend more than most others due to the number of Detentions, which were mainly for bad, but humorous behaviour.
Probably a good way to surmise Paul at that time would have been that when most of us bought a Parka, stuck on a Fred Perry and bought an album by The Jam to become Mods, he went the extra mile. He was wearing button down shirts, Polo necks, tonic trousers, Prince of Wales cheques, bowling shoes, Chelsea boots, and much more – all bought with his own money. Musically he was so far ahead of the game and introduced us to Northern Soul and would know the best radio stations to listen to and know all the best music. One I do remember was Zoot Money and his Big Role Band – Big Time operator. The way Paul carried this off was the Big Thing, that he didn’t make a big thing out of it, and if you showed interest he would help and guide to help you get the knowledge you wanted.
Was Paul his own man, or just following the crowd? At this time everyone at school were Thatcherites and loving characters like Loadsamoney by Harry Enfield. People always want to follow the winners, hence half of Watford supporting Liverpool or Man Utd, rather than a more local team. But not Paul. He was “the one” reading The Mirror, rather than The Sun, or sometimes catch him possibly even reading The Morning Star.

We did see each other outside of school, too – even though he was living by Midnight Motors in North Watford, and myself in Radlett and reliant on a less than reliable hourly bus service, that took and hour. He was the guy that could play drums, trumpet (from Boys Brigade) and guitar – super cool, where the rest of us couldn’t even bang a couple of spoons together in time to music.

Paul and I shared a couple of things in common. The first was that neither of us had any interest in the school system, and what it was trying to force us to be. In reflection, most people leaving Watford Grammar became Accountants, Teachers or Middle Management in Reginal Perrins Sunshine Desserts and for our own reasons neither of us could see that as an end destination, or a help to getting to where we were going to. School was pretty pointless.

The second thing in common was that both me and Paul had the worst acne in our year – and probably the whole school. Often people, normally Skin Heads or Punks would chase us through Charter Place Shopping Centre shouting “Pizza face” or other insults.  Both of us had the misfortune of having zits explode while we were telling stories to “the chaps” during smoko. Luckily not the same conversation. Kids were cruel back then with loose lips and long memories, and that was our cross to bear.

The one grace we had during that time is our school opened a new computer department – and for our final 2 years we could do Computing GCSE. We both loved it. It was something we could use logic and problem-solving skills to achieve an end. Paul was far better than I and easily the best in the year. Where both of us would be getting C’s, D’s or worse in other subjects – for computing it was straight A’s.
I still remember one of Paul’s projects. He created a clock. When we were programming on BASIC in the mid 80’s that was a high-level thing to achieve, as that was better than our teacher could produce. How Paul managed to figure out how to create the graphics at that time was beyond me, with a perfect ticking clock. Long hand, shorthand. How did he work out the angles? Except, one in 4 times you ran the program for some reason Paul’s clock would run backwards. That did tickle us all, but it didn’t stop his straight A.

Although Computing was saving us academically, it didn’t stop us getting into trouble. One of the final occasions of note was that me, Paul and a lad called Nick Witteveen were caught throwing fireworks at each other during our lunch break in Cassio Park. Rockets, bangers, and the such like. We thought it was quite reasonable behaviour but for some reason the school did not share our views.
We were sent to Mr Hart, who was the Deputy Headmaster. We were marched into his office, and the 3 of us were stood up against a wall. Mr Hart then opened a draw, which was packed full of mainly our confiscated cigarettes, and a tennis ball. As he lectured us for a number of minutes on the dangers of fireworks, he threw the ball at the wall just missing our heads. He finished with a story of how when he was young one of his friends threw a rocket and by fluke ended up disappearing down another kids Wellington boot. Unfortunately, in his story, the kid had to go to hospital but he told the story in the way that could not have been delivered better than any stand-up comic. The 3 of us to tried desperately to stifle our giggles in this most tense situation. Then there were tears, shoulders jiggling up and down, and in the end the three of us ended up roaring and guffawing with laughter. We were thrown out of his office, but just managed to avoid Suspension – However there were many many Saturday Detentions instead.

Out of our whole year – 125 kids, there was only around 8 of us that did not stay on for A levels, which did include Paul and me. We may have caught up a few times after we left, but without mobile phones or the likes of Facebook, Instagram, catching up with people was hard and we all get consumed in our own worlds. I was off working in Bars abroad quite a bit as going to an all-boys school and having a face like a calzone pizza meant in my formative years, girlfriends were in short supply. There was time to make up and in the days before Tinder, or Grinder – depending on which way you butter your bread, statistically you would have more success working in the bar than drinking in the bar if you were looking for love. I think Paul managed to get himself a trainee tole in computing, and I guess his career moved on from there.

I am happy to say Paul found me on Facebook and dropped me a line a couple of years ago. With busy lives we didn’t manage to meet up but we were both enjoying the fact we had young daughters of similar ages, and also we both still got down to see the Mighty Arsenal when we could.
I was so pleased to get an invite to his 50th birthday – and as we know unfortunately Paul did not make it.

I have some great memories and emotions of Paul. He was a great storyteller and a fantastic sense of humour.
Paul told a wonderful little tale of his older brother, Steve. I think we were 2nd years – his brother a couple of years older in year 4 or 5 (years 8, and 10 or 11 in “new money”)

Steve’s class had a new teacher – a student teacher in their Physics lesson, which was on the 1st floor. Being a Student teacher in the 1980’s was not for the feint hearted, especially in a Boys’ school. As the teacher started to lose control, which would happen every lesson, he started shouting.
Steve – probably one of the causes, shouted back “That’s it! I can’t take it anymore” – and ran to the back of the class, diving through the 1st floor window in what looked like a suicide.
The teacher sprinted towards the back of the class in an absolute panic, screaming “BURKE! Are you alright?!”
Being a new teacher, what he had forgotten was that there was a little ledge, about 4ft wide that Steve Burke had landed on, and crawled over to the next window along.
His head popped up in the next window and with a big grin and a puzzled look said “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Much to the delight of the rest of the class, and a huge cheer.
If memory serves me well, that got Steve a Suspension – but it was the comic timing and delivery of the story told by Paul was what made it a story I remember to this day.

Tom Helliwell
Watford Grammar !981-1986 & Owner/Publican of The Woodman, Highgate, London