Monday 26 March 2012

An Uncommon Teacher – John Baxter


Wynberg Icon - John Baxter
On the last day of term, 23 March, there were many of us who remembered that it was exactly six years ago that a Wynberg Icon, John Baxter, passed away while still a teacher at the school.

He and I go back a long way.  I first met him while on enforced military duty standing in the ranks lining the streets outside the Goodwood Showgrounds as part of the 1971 ten year celebration of the Republic.  I remember this naval rating (Able Seaman 2nd Class – just like me) giving a running commentary on the Government and military officials as they drove passed. Audible only to those of us in the immediate vicinity, he compared every Homburg –hatted dignitary with some member of the Politburo or ranking general in Nazi Germany.

Pilletjies, our nickname for the Warrant Officer in charge of us – we knew he must have been taking something because he was so fanatic on drilling – knew that someone was passing comments, but fortunately for the future generations of Wynberg thespians and history students, AB2 John Baxter escaped censure, detention barracks and deportation and was left free to continue with his pedagogical career.  Those who knew him throughout this career know that he never lost the knack of criticizing anyone in authority.

I did not meet him again until in our final year of University.  We were both doing an STD -  in the days when it meant Senior Teachers’ Diploma and not the modern more pejorative interpretation.  It has only been comparatively recently that it was renamed PGCE (Postgraduate Certificate of Education) and thus freeing teachers from the stigma of probing questions on their social lives.

During one particular lecture I heard that familiar voice expressing a somewhat forthright opinion on the quality of the lecture and the teaching ability of the lecturer.  Turning round I saw the scowling face that I would later grow to know so well.  As luck would have it, we were both sent to Hoerskool Voortrekker to complete the Afrikaans segment of our Teaching Diploma.  I learnt my lesson on Bismarck off by heart and was first up with a Grade 9 class.  I duly rattled it off and with a feeling of smugness of a job well done, I accompanied John Baxter to his Grade 10 lesson on the French Revolution.  ‘Well done,’ said John. ‘You managed 40 minutes of an Afrikaans history lesson using only three verbs the entire time.’

Not that he was much better.  He started off by trying to set the scene of the differences between the classes in revolutionary France.  ‘Die ryk mense het in groot paleise gewoon’ he trumpeted to the class. ‘En die arme mense het in….. het in…..’ he was starting to panic as he searched for the word ‘hovel’ in Afrikaans, ‘…het in klein huises gewoon!’.  The class descended into chaos and remained that way for the remainder of the period as they chortled amongst themselves at how the peasantry could live their lives in toilets.

Somehow we both passed the Afrikaans segment of our Diploma.

At the conclusion of the year, Neville Blackbeard, then Headmaster of Wynberg, appointed us both to the teaching staff.  I had a History post with a Latin component and John had a Latin post with a history component.  John wanted it the other way round and spent a considerable number of weeks working at me to agree.  I eventually did, Mr Blackbeard concurred,  and thus began a very enjoyable 30 year career teaching a wonderful subject.  Thanks John.

I didn’t thank him at the time, though.  I had to spend a entire Christmas holiday revising grammar and Latin texts before the first year of my teaching career began.  In my first Grade 11 class I had Owen Rogers as one of my pupils who kept me on my Latin toes.  Now he is Acting Judge Owen Rogers with a string of law degrees to his name and is arguably South Africa’s finest legal mind.

Thanks John.

Describing Wynberg as a ‘cultural desert’, John threw himself into the production of plays. Wynberg soon became well known for his Shakespearean productions.  His first production was Richard 111 in 1976. He hauled in boys from the lst team rugby and those who were wee timorous beasties.  He gave them all the confidence to perform in front of large audiences.  He bullied, badgered and browbeat them all to have the assurance to rise to the occasion.  There are now hundreds of Wynberg men who have in their careers since then built on that trust and faith he showed in them.

He also gave the teaching staff the opportunity of showing their talent.  In 1978, he produced ‘See How they Run’ and it is a tribute to John that virtually the entire cast – including Neil Crawford from Port Elizabeth – arrived at his funeral to pay their respects to their former producer thirty years later.

It was in his final production before he died, ‘Post Horn Gallop’ (2005), that I saw John Baxter embarrassed for only the second time in my experience.  As was his wont, he assembled the cast on stage to go through aspects of that evening’s rehearsal.  ‘Mandy,’ he said to Mandy Colman cast as a saucy Cockney maid, ‘I want more sex from you.’   Mandy stood up and displaying a full thigh of fishnet tights, said, ‘Anytime, John, anytime….’

Even John was at loss for words.

The first time that I saw him embarrassed was in 1976 when the school had a Panel Inspection.  The school had been painted, teachers had been exhorted to purchase suits, schemes of work had been dusted off and a horde of grim-faced inspectors from the Education department were due to spend a week descending on fearful teachers.

It was my turn and I had my Grade 11 Latin class (which included Greg Brown, now Headmaster of Bishops Prep)  and the imposing presence of an inspector, all dutifully listening to my stuttering offerings.

Half way through the period, the door burst open and without surveying the lie of the land, John Baxter asked me loudly whether that twit-of-an-inspector had been to my class yet…..

Pilletjies was avenged.

John’s open mouthed reaction was something I cherish to this day……

John was an outstanding history teacher.  He loved the subject with a passion and was extremely well read.  European Royalty and Russian history were his special interests and he was never, ever, short of an opinion.  I have yet to meet a Wynberg Old Boy who did not enjoy his history lessons.

As good as he was as a teacher and producer of plays, as useless he was with the mechanics of a car.  I once was a passenger with him in his much travelled Austin Healey which had broken down.  He opened the bonnet, waggled the dipstick, and pronounced the car to be @#$#@!.   We called a mechanic, who agreed with him on his diagnosis but not on his means of obtaining it.

On another occasion, he arrived in the staffroom and announced to all and sundry that he was selling his car because the gear box had broken down as he had just driven all the way from Plumstead in first gear.  Kobus Blom offered to assess the damage and returned later with a tennis ball which had wedged itself under the clutch….  Notwithstanding, the guffaws of laughter, he did sell the car a few weeks later.  ‘What kind of car did you buy, John?’ asked Kobus.

 ‘A white one,’ he replied.

John was unique in that he got away with comments in the staffroom what would have led to open warfare if uttered by anyone else.  After Alta Diederichs had passionately  raised a point in one staff meeting, John floored her by remarking ‘This is what happens when you give women the vote – the next moment they want to run the school!’

He reserved biting wit for Afrikaans teacher,  Piet Smith, who loved it.  ‘You are out of your league here, Piet. You are so common. Why did they let you out of Williston??’  (Williston is a village of a dozen houses in the Groot Karroo where Piet was born).

‘You are so common’ was John’s ultimate put-down.

'In fond memory ...'
Shortly after he died on 23 March 2006 after a long illness, two Old Boys Greg Brown (1977) and Chris Hyland (1976) came to see me offering to organise a memorial for John.  Both had acted in his plays while at school.  They wrote to all who had been in one of his plays and so the John Baxter Outdoor Theatre came to fruition.


Over the last few years it has seen many musical productions  - now it is time for a play.  John Baxter would expect nothing less and he would not have been backward in letting us know.
The Jonny Cooper Orchestra performing at the John Baxter Outdoor Theatre - Christmas Eve 2011

Saturday 17 March 2012

How to throw your name away - 'Blog DJ'

Wynberg's 'Elton John'
“Absolutely not.  Don’t even think about it.  You are crazy.”  I folded my arms in the time-honoured fashion which my family recognize as the signal that further discussion is pointless.
It was two months ago at one of the early planning meetings of the Night of the Stars Organising Committee,  Chairlady, Jeanette Muller had posed the idea of a Battle of the DJ’s culminating in a guest appearance from someone who regarded himself as being bashful and retiring.
“Anyway, I am the shy type,” I said, hoping that would put an end to this discussion, not liking the way it was going.  I was at the meeting to talk bookstalls and food outlets, not an excruciatingly humiliation in the glare of a public spotlight.
“Judd will show you what to do,” pleaded Gail Bevan.  “You will just have to stand there.”
Yea, right.
I fired my final shot – the coup de grace.  “Okay, but I want to play my music – Cliff Richard and Francois Hardy. And you are not to tell a soul.  Definitely not the teaching staff.”
They agreed with alacrity.  I only found out later that those musical peasants around the table thought that Cliff Richard and Francois Hardy were two members of staff.
I then heard nothing for weeks. Just like boys who have a problem at school, I thought that if nothing was said, it would all disappear.  It was not to be.  I knew I was in trouble when I found my wife, Pippa,  looking at me strangely over the breakfast table a week ago – a little smile playing on her lips. “Am I going to be embarrassed at the Night of the Stars?” she asked.
I played the innocent.  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” I said and went back dismissively to the newspaper.  It looked as if those piranhas had not forgotten.
They hadn’t.  On the morning of last Friday, Gail Bevan triumphantly arrived  at my office door with Judd in tow and plonked the sound system  down on my table and handed over an assorted of flashing t-shirts, twinkling glasses and a fluorescent wig which had last seen service in the Bo-Kaap on Tweede Nuwe Jaar.
Sweeping aside my protestations (who is really in charge of this school?), she instructed Judd to train me up.  He ran me through all the knobs and switches – which was wasted on me – and then said that if I wanted to wow the crowd, I must scratch.
“I know it is a male thing, but there is no chance of me scratching on stage in front of that crowd,” I told him emphatically.  Patiently, he instructed me how to scratch the turntable.
I watched the skies hopefully all afternoon.  Where was rain when you needed it?  The predicted showers had blown over by 3.30 and the crowds were pouring in.  “I think we are alright now,” said Business Manager Brian Wakeling with far too much enthusiasm. 
“No, we are not…”  I replied gloomily.
When the DJ competition started, the majority of my friends decided that it was time to go. “Good idea,” I told them all wondering what the result would be if I left with them.
Jordan Lamoral, one of the comperes, came to call me.  “I suspect that I am going to throw my name away here,” I told him as we walked backstage.  “What name?” he replied with a cherubic and innocent smile.   Little does he know that I still have to do his term report this weekend.
'Francoise Hardy' & 'Jack Parow'
Jake Rigby met me at the back of the stage.  He asked me what my DJ name was.  “Dinosaur Rex,” I announced firmly.  It was lost and him and I know that I was wasting my time.  “I am going to announce you as Jack Parow.  He is a famous DJ and the crowd will go wild….  You must walk like he does -  arrogantly with your arms raised.”
I did what I was told and strutted on, arms raised, feeling like Winnie Mandela walking out of Victor Verster. The crowd went quiet.  I thought Jake said that they would go wild…?  Then all hell broke loose.  I saw boys running from every corner of the ground and to my horror, I saw the Bill Bowden regulars stumble off the balcony.  I knew I was in trouble.
“Don’t worry, Sir.  It is only 13 minutes,” said Judd.  So I pranced and gallivanted for what seemed an eternity.  “That must be about it,” I gasped to staff members  Andrea van Eck and Daniel Ramage who were gallanting supporting me on stage – poor substitutes for Cliff and Francois.   “Thank heavens for that.”
“Twelve minutes to go,” said Andrea with relish, thoroughly enjoying herself.
I heard later that a neighbour came over to complain about the noise. “Where is the headmaster?” he complained to one of the parents.  She pointed wordlessly to the bewigged fool on stage gyrating in the smoke.  Shaking his head, and no doubt bemoaning the current state of educational  leadership in the country, he stalked off.
Thirteen minutes seemed like thirteen hours.  I met one of the Matrics,  Nathan Gogela,  as I came off the stage.  He was shaking with mirth and, giving me innumerable high fives,  collapsed quaking and quivering on my shoulders.  I must re-look at his report as well.
Trying to be inconspicuous, I went to the Bill Bowden. “That WAS embarrassing” said my unsympathetic wife.  “I had to take the dog home.”
Tim Timlin was more supportive.  “I thought that it was quite good, except for the jerking of the music.”  I looked at him more in sorrow than in scorn. “Surely you know what scratching is?”
I still think that I am the shy type….

Wednesday 7 March 2012

We’ve got Spirit, yes we Do…


 In the Sunday Argus 11 February 2012, the following SMS was published:

At a recent interschools gala at Newlands, Wynberg Boys’ High School were picked on by another school.  When they were asked by a few parents whether they would be answering back, their answer was: ‘No Ma’am, we are Wynberg Men.’ What a good answer….  Well done to them.

Paarl Athletics - courtesy of Anthony Rowe
This response from the Wynberg boys stems back to 1999 when the school attended an interschools sports day at Paarl.  Not only on the track was School Pride at stake, but also in the stands as schools wound up opposition male testosterone with inflammatory chants such as ‘We’ve got spirit, yes we do.  We’ve got spirit how about you?’

A provocative chant like this, soon leads to surging of schools in the stands towards one another as they taunt and sling challenging jibes at one another.  Sometimes this is accompanied by a rain of missiles ranging from colddrink cans (empty, hopefully, as fortunately no schoolboy would waste a full can…), fruit or anything else to hand.  Someone on that occasion hurled a half-eaten peach at the Wynberg stand and the inevitable happened – the pip of the peach hit a boy in the eye with a resultant 30% loss of vision in that eye.

That was the last time that this chant was allowed and from that date onwards, Wynberg boys have been exhorted to enjoy the sport on the field, revel in supporting their team and to appreciate good play on either side.  Above all, it is now an acknowledged way of Wynberg life never to react to jeering or ridiculing from other supporters.

This is not to say that there have not been amusing incidents over the years..  I remember well an evening waterpolo game against Westerford some years ago.  Wynberg supporters were on the far side of the pool under the tree while the Westerford supporters (mainly girls) were on the tuckshop side.  Westerford were beseeching their Wynberg opponents to respond and were using all the feminine wiles to ensure a reaction……   We’ve got spirit, yes we do!We’ve got spirit, how about you???  This was far too tantalizing for our boys and it was obvious that a war conference was happening with many glances in my direction.  I responded with my best baleful and threatening stare which I flatter myself is usually enough to defuse a situation.

We've got Spirit - Yes we do!
Suddenly two boys were dispatched to the Pump House and they returned with two Waterpolo balls.  One boy then posed with the ball in one hand above his shoulder like a butler with a silver dish.  The other adopted a similar pose on the other side of the Wynberg crowd.  Then came the chant:  We got balls yes we do.  We’ve got balls, how about you…?

The crowd, including me, collapsed with laughter.  Don’t ask me how the game went after that!

One of the best put-downs I have heard from a schoolboy crowd came during a Paul Roos / Grey High School rugby match four years ago.  I travelled to Stellenbosch to watch the game.  The ground was full and the stands were heaving.  As the Grey team ran out onto the field, there was a loud whistle from the Paul Roos section of the stand and in the ensuing silence, the question was thundered out by the cheerleaders:  Where is Grey??  The entire Stellenbosch contingent roared back:  Nowhere!

'Joined by pride ...'
Fortunately in sport, there are the gods who are quick to bring down the overconfident down to size. As if in answer to this chant, Grey gave the perfect response and ran in three converted tries in the first ten minutes. On cue after the third try, came another loud whistle – this time from the Grey section of the stand.  We all waited with bated breath - and then came the roar:  Paul Roos!  Send on your first team!

They couldn’t  - and lost by over 40 points no doubt learning the lesson never to test the gods of sport!

Something similar happened during the Wynberg / SACS rugby game at SACS two years ago.  Played in a howling North Wester, Wynberg, captained by Dylan Frylinck, found themselves 3 -23 down before half-time.  You are not singing anymore…..challenged the SACS crowd.  That then roused the Wynberg cheerleaders who proceeded to exhort their charges to life.   Supera Moras.  Supera Moras they chanted non-stop for the next forty minutes as Wynberg clawed their way slowly back into the game eventually coming out 25 -23 winners.  The gods of sport hear everything!

In 2002, Wonga Matshabane was entrusted with the final kick of the game against SACS.  Hooker, Billy Onozawa had scored for Wynberg in injury time in the corner and replacement flyhalf, Wonga, was handed the responsibility to take the difficult kick from the touchline to ensure the draw.  He coped admirably with the pressure and sent the ball soaring through the posts. 27 all.  As it was the last game of the season, both sets of supporters poured onto the field cheering lustily and proceeded to give renditions of their respective school songs.  On my way to the SACS pavilion, I passed a Wynberg boy arms in the air, dancing on the edge of the Wynberg circle in the middle of the field.  ‘Did we win, Sir?  Did we win?’

Perhaps that is what supporting your team is all about.  Enjoy the game. Shout lustily for your men.  And dance on the field afterwards.

KCR

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