The last real journalist

on our state newspaper is about to retire. He is seventy-five. For some time now he has simply been writing a regular weekly column rather than reporting news.
I didn't always agree with him. He didn't always agree with me. That's the way it should be for a newspaper person I suppose. 
However there was one thing about him I consistently liked. It was his ability to write good English.
He should have had that ability. He was trained, like many of the journalists of his day, by my old English teacher - the last one I had.
Mrs S.... taught English, shorthand and typing. She was part-time at school and part-time at a "business college" which taught office skills and English.
I did neither shorthand nor typing. I did do English. Mrs S.... taught the set texts to everyone and she taught me much more. 
It was the year I was at "boarding school" and I hated it. I was, yet again, "the new girl" and there were some major problems...not the least of which was that the boarding house for the girls was a considerable distance from the main school - about a half hour walk for me. The boarders had to go back to the boarding house for lunch. As that would have taken up the entire lunch break and then some more I was given a sandwich and, occasionally, a piece of fruit. The other girls had a hot lunch. The sandwich was always made from stale white bread - usually with a filling of cold baked beans.  I was popular with the boy boarders. They took it in turns to eat it.  
Aware of what was going on Mrs S... tried to get permission for me to eat in the dining room with the boys at lunch time. Permission was denied. There was not much to be done about that but she had her own kettle and, when she was there, she would make me a cup of tea and talk to me about the books she thought I should be reading.
I read and read....and then read some more. While the others struggled through one set text for each area of the English curriculum she made me read all of them. 
     "At the end of the year you will be able to answer any question which is set," she told me. 
She set me extra assignments - and pulled them to pieces ruthlessly.

And Mrs S.... taught the journalists. Rupert Murdoch may come in for a lot of criticism but, back then, he still had an office in the city. He knew his journalists. He expected them to be literate. They were sent to be trained by Mrs S... - trained in shorthand, typing, grammar and general English literacy. 
It showed. Over the years I could pick out the journalists who had been trained by her.  Some of them moved on. R.... moved around. He was sent off to the nation's capital for a bit. He was sent overseas on occasion. In later years he mentored younger journalists. On his semi-retirement he wrote less but still well.
And through it all I could see the influence of Mrs S...  I know she would have pulled him up from time to time but generally she would have approved his style although I doubt she would always have approved what he had to say.
In recent years the style  has changed. It often seems clumsy. Grammatical errors abound. Spelling errors (rather than typographical errors) have crept in. The journalism seems hurried and, all too often, sloppy.  R.... stood out. 
I'll miss his regular column. He mentions he may write the occasional piece.
I look forward to that...and I thank Mrs S.... for teaching both of us.