Matt Nation tackles Jimmy Hill's life story, and a few demons of his own
His nickname was “Dirt”, he taught us chemistry and he had the demeanour and looks of a bar-room brawler in a road movie. For years, he shouted, smote and browbeat in order to gain what loosely resembled respect. Then one day, a group of fifth-formers locked him in the school greenhouse and treated it to a barrage of rocks. Even those of us who were too well brought-up or too faint-hearted to propel lumps of mortar at a figure of authority willed every missile to strike Dirt in the solar plexus at the very least. And then, last year, Dirt died, and a lot of those whom he had caused to whimper felt bad, and had no idea why this should be.