His black-haired, almond-eyed wife looked like a gypsy, taught French, and was the only attractive female for miles around.
He ran what was easily the most easy-going house in the school.
Discipline, however, was if not strict, at least predictable.
One would be invited to attend a private meeting where you would be asked to bend over a comfortable armchair and Mr Pearce would apply a large black plimsoll to your behind.
Six of the best and hard enough to sting but not really much to worry about for the average mischievous boy.
In fact, those of us regularly issued with Mr Pearces polite invitations would have a chuckle about it afterward.
The sound of plimsoll hitting bottom could be heard a mile away but it was infinitely preferable to a caning.
He was a large amiable, loudmouth Welshman who loved rugby and a few beers.
We could often smell the alcohol on his breath.