God Bless us, Every One ...

There were two school Christmas events at Wynberg this year capping off what will, in years to come, be regarded as a successful year in the long history of this school.  Both events took place in or near the school -  emphasising the role of WBHS in the Wynberg community.

Detail of St John's Church, Wynberg:
a copy of the original painting 'circa 1800s' hangs
in the Headmaster's residence, Kaplan House

The Carol Service took place at St John’s, the historic church on the Wynberg Hill, which was built in the 1834 and suffered the indignity on the day after the official opening when one gable and a number of the buttresses fell down. Inferior clay was blamed. Work started shortly afterwards on a new building which was opened in 1839 under the auspices of an army chaplain from the military camp next door.  Presumably the new clay must have been up to standard seeing that the church has now stood up successfully to the ravages of time and 173 Cape winters.

Over the intervening period since then, the church has been intrinsically linked with the various communities on the slopes below it.  It has been well placed to watch over the burgeoning growth of the Village and its environs for nearly two centuries. It must have been with a real sense of pride that it performed the role of midwife in the birth of the future Wynberg Boys’ High School in a cottage on their grounds in 1841.

‘In a Cottage ‘neath the Mountain,’ declares the School Song sung by generations of Wynberg Boys, ‘was the Seed of Wynberg sown.’

The memorial plaques on the walls of the church today continue to recall the lives and exploits of the inhabitants of the Village and the Hill – many of whom played a role in the life of the school which also bore the name of the suburb.

Even members of my own family became part of the Wynberg church action when one Sergeant Robert Torr of the 83rd Regiment of Foot (later the Royal Ulster Rifles) was stationed in the Wynberg Military Camp after taking part in the ‘Battle’ of Blaauberg.  A few days later after landing, one of his fellow non-commissioned officers had the misfortune to be struck by lightning while walking down Adderley Street (the only recorded case of this happening in Cape Town until 1968).  Doing what any soldier would do to help out a mate, Sergeant Torr married his widow, Sarah, in a cottage in the Wynberg military camp in January 1808.  I am pleased to record that a socially acceptable period of time did take place so that no tongues of snooty Cape Society would wag and no scandal would sully the Torr name. The result is now that his Great, Great, Great Grandaughter, Pippa, can take up residence as Headmaster’s wife  - an stone’s throw away from the future St John’s Church - 200 years later.

Bearing all this history in mind, it was wonderful to return this year to the Wynberg community, and St John’s Church in particular, for the annual Wynberg Campus of Schools’ Carol Service on the first  Sunday of Advent in the Christian Calendar.  Even the City of Cape Town recognised the importance of the Wynberg Carol Service by switching on their festive lights in Adderley Street that evening!

Every year the Carol Service is organised by one of the Campus Schools and this year it was the turn of Wynberg Girls’ Junior School.  Colleen Hart was Director of the event who had appropriately received her church music tutelage under the baton of Richard Cock.  Innovativeness, freshness and originality was very evident in the programme.

It is always extremely difficult at the end of a school year to enter into the Christmas spirit.  Exams, marking and end-of-year reports all rear their heads to serve as dampeners to any teacher thinking of Yuletide….  Vain attempts by Bony M and lashings of imitation mistletoe in the malls fail to inspire most of us.  However, after an hour of enjoying the youthful, exuberant choirs and listening to the sincere messages from all countries as part of the Nine Readings read out by various pupils, it finally became possible to immerse oneself in the onset of Christmas.

The theme stated in the programme was ‘From Different Lands – a Fitting Close to the Olympic year of 2012’.  Watching the opening ceremony in London earlier this year (on TV) and then two weeks of sporting contests, enabled me to set aside the daily grind of life and I was soon engrossed with millions of others celebrating our common sporting and athletic humanity.

The Carol Service had the same effect on me.  I could easily set aside thoughts of those end-of-year reports and together with a packed church, surrender myself to enjoying the age-old Christmas story.

The service commenced with the traditional solo of Once in Royal David’s City, but we were then thrown into a clever mix of old and new carols.  I saw the hand of Dave Burrell, my erstwhile Italian teacher, in the Italian lyrics of ‘The Little Drummer Boy’ sung by WGHS.  According to me, their Italian pronunciation was spot on.  However, my unsolicited advice to him afterwards, was that to be genuine Italians, they had to wave their hands around more while speaking and singing Italian…

We then heard the WBHS Vocal Ensemble showing us why they won a Diploma in the Eisteddfod with ‘Still, Still, Still’.

The WGHS vocal ensemble kept it European with their impressive rendition of ‘Noel’ in French.  ‘Were they all students of French?’ I asked WGHS Principal, Mrs Harding, later. ‘They sang it with such confidence and certainly sounded like Parisians to me.’

‘Non,’ she replied and in case I did not understand French, she translated it:  ‘None of them’.

To show that we weren’t too Eurocentric, we also heard portions of carols in Afrikaans and Zulu.  However, the piece de la resistance of the entire service, was all four choirs singing the African ‘Rain Carol’.

In Africa our cradle home, a land that breathes with grace and pain….

We trace the rain of our rebirth….

It was an uplifting and emotional experience.  Step aside Bony M  -  we were able to experience a genuine Christmas story through the voices of our young people.

The Jonny Cooper Orchestra performing at Wynberg Boys' High School:
The John Baxter Outdoor Theatre

Three weeks later and two days before Christmas, the Wynberg family was offered  another inspiring and enriching experience when South Africa’s premier Big Band, the Jonny Cooper Orchestra played in our own John Baxter  Outdoor Amphitheatre.  Jonny Cooper himself is a neighbour of the school and has made a national name for himself playing the popular swing music of the great Glenn Miller era.  Invited to perform for the second year in a row, he entertained an appreciative audience guaranteeing that all were ‘In the Mood’ for Christmas Day.

I was impressed to see that my mother-in-law knew all the words of the Glenn Miller numbers.  She insisted on singing along giving the benefit of hearing the songs in stereo to all those lucky enough to be sitting near her. She was oblivious to all the curious looks.  ‘Don’t you want to dance?’ she enquired hopefully of me during ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’.  Now THAT is pressure.  Remembering another embarrassing DJ’ing experience earlier in the year on the school fields, I declined (regretfully) knowing that there would be hundreds of cell phones immediately recording the sight of the Headmaster of Wynberg dancing on the lawn with his mother-in-law.

‘Shame on you,’ said her daughter to me accusingly.

'Jingle Bells': Old Boy Ian Anderson, 3rd from left, and other 'choristers' 

Fortunately the band then started playing a medley of carols inviting six members of the audience to assist them.  One of them who volunteered to go on stage was an Old Boy, Ian Anderson (1984) who was a past Drum Major in the school’s cadet band.  Jonny Cooper had asked for volunteers to be young, blonde and female.   None of these were applicable in Ian’s case, but Jonny was far too polite to point it out.  It was a good thing that Ian played the trumpet at school because his backing singing to ‘Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer’ was not going to ensure him an invitation to join their orchestra.  However, his chutzpah ensured that he won himself the band’s latest CD.

The Jonny Cooper Concert, with its 19 musicians, has now ensured that it has cemented an integral and special place in the school’s annual cultural calendar.  ‘Soon we will outgrow this amphitheatre,’ said Jonny to the crowd, ‘and we will then have to move to the fields up top.’ The band gave us a wonderful evening and set me wondering why the supermarkets don’t scrap those tired Bony M numbers and play Jonny Cooper CD’s instead….

As the audience reluctantly picked up their picnic baskets to go home, it was great to see people embracing one another or shaking hands as they wished one another a Happy Christmas.

God Bless us, every one.

Perhaps Tiny Tim, in Charles Dickens’ Christmas Carol, put it best.  ‘God Bless us,’ he said to the Cratchit family, ‘every one.’

The Day of the Goose

The walls of any Headmaster’s office can tell many stories - so many of life’s vignettes take place within these surrounds. Many stories of triumph, tragedy and courage happen in the ambit of this office in the course of a normal week. Adolescence is about making mistakes and thus the role of all of us in education is to mentor and advise our teenagers on how to cope with the slings and arrows which life throws at them. Headmasters’ offices can be emotional places.

There are, however, many amusing moments which lighten the atmosphere and cause much mirth.  I wonder how many Principals around the world have had to babysit an Egyptian gosling - as I once had to do?

It was a Friday in winter some years ago when a passing neighbour came into the school office with a Egyptian gosling she had found in the morning traffic floundering in a gutter .  Where else but the nearest school would you take a lost gosling which had been separated from its family? The front of office secretary, Charmaine Manley, was more than helpful.

Charmaine Manley and friend ...

‘We have a Headmaster who has ducks at home,’ she said.  ‘He will know what to do!’  No first centre in the Springbok rugby team could ever have passed a ball more quickly and more skilfully than Charmaine did that day.  However, the statement wasn’t strictly true as it was my (then) ten year son who had the ducks – not me.  We had three of them whose names varied from ‘Daisy, Donald and Daffy’ (my son’s names for them) to  ‘Breakfast, Lunch and Supper’ (my names).  These ducks were forever in the vet’s rooms with a variety of ailments from torn webbing to lacerated beaks.

We were living in Hout Bay at the time and my injunction to my wife (a farmer’s daughter) to turn left into the Spar on the occasions we had to find treatment for these three  ducks rather than right into the vet’s rooms always met with a chorus of disapproval from my son and wife.  My plea that it would save us R50 on a vet’s bill, fell on deaf ears.  I have always wondered what the Spar would have paid for fresh duck ...

Neither solution (Vet or Spar) was an option facing me with this current Egyptian gosling problem on a Friday morning.   ‘Put it in a shoe box,’ I said.  ‘Someone can take it down to the World of Birds this afternoon.’

The shoe box was only a short term solution.  The gosling gave full vent to its disapproval about being shut away with a series of continuous and piping cheeps.  No amount of attention or crumbs (from the staff room at tea time) could mollify it.

Some teachers expressed the theory that it was the quality of the staff room sandwiches that was causing the protest, but Charmaine was having none of it.   ‘It needs warmth,’ she pronounced with authority and proceeded to put the gosling in her coat pocket.  To the surprise of all of us,  this did the trick and the bird was content to spend the day in her pocket untroubled by phone calls and passing schoolboys.

The crunch time came when Charmaine had to go home that afternoon.  I was addressing  a staff meeting when there was a knock on the door and she was gesticulating to me.  I went to the door.   ‘I have to leave  now,’ she said. ‘What must I do with this bird?’

Another first centre pass ...

I did the only thing possible.  We swapped it from her coat to my suit pocket.  I then went back into the staff room to continue expounding about education to the Wynberg teachers.  My suit pocket was obviously not up to the same standard as Charmaine’s Burberry pocket and the gosling soon let out a loud and indignant cheep.  It sounded not dissimilar to a cell phone indicating that an SMS was coming in.  This resulted in an air of expectancy around the staff room.  Someone hadn't switched his phone off and it sounded distinctly as if it emanated from the Headmaster.

At this stage, I was feeling the first beads of sweat ominously building up on the base of my neck.  I sensed an air of inevitability about what would be happening next.  I started stuttering in my talk knowing that the impending moment of doom was not far off.

When it came, it was spectacular.  The gosling, tired of this inferior suit pocket, poked its head out of the Stygian darkness and with a loud, strident and vociferous cheep, announced to the world that this nonsense had to stop.

The left hand side of the staff room heard - and saw - the saga unraveling.  The right hand side heard the cell phone going off and then noticed the ever-widening grins on the other side of the room.  The right hand side were obviously not privy to the real cause of the amusement.

‘Don’t ask,’ I told the meeting as if having a gosling poking its head out of a suit pocket was a normal occurrence in the life of a headmaster.  I then bowed to the inevitable.   ‘I think that this is a good point to call the meeting to a close.’

The beads of sweat had now become a stream and I fled the staff room endeavouring to hang on to the final vestiges of my dignity.  As I left the room, the cause of this mayhem rose from my pocket to its full length and gave a final triumphant and celebratory salute to the company.

Entering my office, I sank into the chair behind my desk wondering how I was going to pull my tattered reputation back.  Not giving me a moment’s respite, my secretary, Glenda Hepworth, entered my office.  ‘Your next appointment is here.  It is Mr Tipper for the English post you advertised.’

Decision time again. Do I come out with a full confession to Roy Tipper before we start the interview or just hope that the bird would be tired and would sleep through the next twenty minutes?  The gosling took the decision for me.  It lulled me initially into false hope by remaining quietly in my pocket for about five minutes, before erupting into a series in a series of shrieks .

Roy Tipper ... an interview with the Head Gosling

‘Sorry about this, Roy,’ I said nonchalantly  as if this was a normal occurrence in my office. ‘It is just an Egyptian gosling.  Perhaps I should just let it run around.’  Surely wading through an office knee-deep in guano was preferably to the insistent and peeved cheeping in my pocket?

Wrong call. After a morning of suffering the indignity of a shoe box and a variety of coat pockets, it took off round the room like Speedy Gonzales running round and round screeching at the top of its gosling piping voice.  ‘What on earth is going on?’ said Glenda, putting her head in my office. ‘Why are you terrorising that poor thing?’

That just about the last straw.  After an hour of trying to shut up a week old chick, losing any credibility I had left with the staff room and now conducting an undignified interview with a potential teacher, it was now becoming MY fault that this poultry item was cold, hungry and missing its mother.

‘You take it,’ I instructed her.

‘Definitely not, I have far too much work to do,’ she said and primly retreated to her office.

Well, thanks very much I thought.  What does that say about my work load?

I reluctantly put the bird back into my pocket.

The rest of the interview was not a success.  Both of us were waiting for the next episode from the side pocket and neither was really concentrating on why teaching Shakespeare was so important to boys of the 21st Century.  I concluded by offering him the post -  gloomily reckoning that no sane or ambitious teacher would risk his reputation by teaching in this madhouse.

To my surprise, he accepted.  He taught for five years very happily at the school before he moved on to teach overseas.  During this time, none of us mentioned the gosling incident – it remained one of those unspoken memories that it would be impolite to bring up.  Rather like a gin-swilling maiden aunt, it was deemed better not to mention the topic in polite company.

Later that day, one of the teachers, Don Allan, who also lived in House Bay, took the by now exhausted gosling to the World of Birds. I have often wondered over the years whether those families of Egyptian geese which take up a messy residence annually in our school pool or on the astroturf are progeny of my goose.  That would surely be his final revenge ...

Earlier this year, I was invited to take part in a staff development session at Fish Hoek High School – and there was Roy Tipper in the audience having returned from overseas.  I chatted to him afterwards about various inconsequential issues.

As we parted, he said, ‘It must be nice to give a seminar without any surprises popping up.’

We both knew what he really meant.

Dear Dr Verwoerd – An Open Letter

Wynberg Old Boy, Dr HF Verwoerd, was Prime Minister of South Africa from 1958 to 1966. He has been immortalised in South African history as the ‘Architect of Apartheid’.

H.F. Vervoerd
'Architect of Apartheid'

I was in our school museum the other day and I read that next year, 2013, will be the 100th anniversary of your Grade 8 year at Wynberg. It made me think how much Wynberg as a suburb and Wynberg as a School - or as it was known in your day, Wynberg High School for Boys - has changed in the intervening century.

The suburb you lived in after the Anglo Boer War must have been very English – what with the military camp, St John’s Church dominating the hill, hundreds of little houses built for British officers over the years. I wonder if your father, Willem, built any of the houses we see in Wynberg today? You will be pleased to know that the Dutch Reformed Church where Willem was a Lay Preacher still stands and the current minister, Ds Nel, sends his son to our school.

I wonder when you were growing up if you met Meyer Levis, pushed out of Russia by the anti-Jewish pogroms, who was also living in Wynberg? His son, Stanley Lewis, later became Head Prefect of Wynberg and went on to found the Foschini Empire. His family bought a house in the same road as your Church – but that was after you left to go with the family up to Rhodesia. I have no doubt that you would have attended Wynberg with many other Jewish boys whose fathers ran successful businesses in the vicinity of the Main Road. In fact the school house I live in, Kaplan House (part of Silverhurst) was built by a successful Wynberg businessman, Isadore Hanau. It was restored in 2006 by Mendel Kaplan in gratitude for the generations of Kaplans (who also had to leave Russia) who had received education at this school. I notice from the records that there were a number of this Kaplan family in the admission registers of your day.

Martha,
Countess Stamford

You might even have come across the daughter of a former slave, Martha Solomons, who married an aristocratic Englishman - the Earl of Stamford. Now THAT must have caused a scandal in Wynberg society – not to mention the gentry in England! After she inherited his wealth, she is reputed to have been responsible for building over 80 houses and buildings in the Wynberg area – including the Sending Kerk below your father’s church. Who knows? The odds are really good that your father, as a prominent building contractor in this area, might even have been employed by her.

John, Old Boy
& heir to
Earl Stamford

As a continual reminder of her considerable contribution to the suburb of Wynberg, the road leading off near the front gates of our school is called Stamford Road.

You are unlikely to have known her son, John, though. He also went to Wynberg Boys’ High School – but he was a few years ahead of you. He then went on to start a career in England and his descendants are living in New Zealand today.

I was really interested to see that you had outstanding results in Grade 8 in 1913 coming second to the only other Afrikaans boy in the class – I.D.du Plessis who became very well-known later as an Afrikaans poet and writer. That is a singular feat for two Afrikaans boys to head up the grade in an English speaking school. I would like to think that Wynberg laid the foundations for your later matric result at Brandfort where you passed with distinction and came top of the Free State matric lists – and fifth in South Africa.

What a privileged education you had at Wynberg in that you would have been able to discuss and bounce ideas off boys from different colours, languages and religions. Unfortunately, I was at Prep School while you were Prime Minister and did not have that privilege in that my classmates were all white and English speaking.

I really hope that it was not at Wynberg where you developed your antipathy to all things English. I remember a story I once heard where someone asked you in 1965 if you had heard that the English were not doing too well during the South African cricket tour of England. Your reported response was (apparently): ‘Wie se Engelse? Ons’n of hulles’n?’

Somewhere along the line you developed a conviction that Afrikaners had a unique identity and could only be saved from dilution by imposing strict limits on contacts with other race groups and other languages. It was that same year (1965) where you made that aptly named ‘Loskop Dam’ speech forbidding New Zealand from including Maoris in their All Black team which was due to tour South Africa. ‘National survival,’ you said, ’was more important than sport.’

You wouldn’t be able to say that to any Wynberg boy today. None of them care for a moment where a boy comes from, where he worships, what the colour of his skin is – they are just mates on the field trying to outplay the opposition. They seem to realise intuitively that everyone brings different strengths and that the school is stronger because of variety and differences.

Wynberg Boys' High 8 - 7 SACS
August 2012 

I wish you could have heard the school singing ‘Men of Wynberg’ at our sport fixtures this season or chanting ‘Supera Moras’ (Never Give Up) while our rugby team defended their try line for twenty minutes in the pouring rain in a recent game against SACS.

I wish you could have seen the first cricket team mob Jason Smith when he took five wickets in his last ever game for Wynberg last week. His colour was not even a consideration when he gained a deserved selection for the SA Schools Hockey side earlier in the year. He capped off a fine school career by winning ‘Sportsman of the Year’.

Jason Smith & his father

All of these sportsmen were wearing the navy blue and white hoops of your old school.

I wish you could have experienced the emotion when the dual leads in our school production this year ‘How to Succeed in Business without really Trying’ sang Brotherhood of Man. Mark Timlin and Stefan Botha are the best of friends – and it showed on stage. Over a hundred boys and girls from the Wynberg schools participated in this ambitious and successful production.

Mark Timlin & Stefan Botha alternated the role of  'Finch' in
Wynberg's 2012 production of
'How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying'

Six years ago, I sat at the cricket pavilion at the Jacques Kallis Oval watching your Great-Grandson play cricket for a Wynberg Invitation XI against the Blue Leopards – a team from Hout Bay. Wian, lives with his mother in Ireland but had come out to spend a term at your old school. On the field of play were two teams representing all shades of South African life battling it out for sporting supremacy with the only contest being between bat and ball.

I looked beyond the field. Above the trees was the spire of your father’s old church just peeking over the branches watching the latest Verwoerd doing what ordinary boys do – playing with his mates. You once said (in a broadcast to the nation on 3 September 1958) that ‘The policy of separate development is designed for happiness, security and stability … for the Bantu as well as the Whites.’

Personally, I think that our long-term ‘happiness, security and stability’ is better protected by schools like Wynberg (and hundreds of others) who are working towards assuring South Africans of a more encouraging and favourable future. I often wonder if the history of South Africa would have taken a different turn if you had been at Wynberg a little longer ...

Jacques Kallis at The Oval

It was interesting that the match involving your Great-Grandson was on the Jacques Kallis Oval. Jacques was sent to Wynberg by his Afrikaans speaking father and he matriculated in 1993 – exactly eighty years after your one and only year at this school. Since then he has become undoubtedly the world’s greatest all-round cricketer idolised by millions of South Africans – of all colours.

Isn’t that just how it should be?

Regards

Keith Richardson

Headmaster

Wynberg Boys’ High School

KCR: My thanks as always to the photo contributors

Look after that beautiful place ‘neath the Mountain ...

The alarm woke me up just after 06.00am on Friday 12 October. As normal, I groped in the gloom to turn the cell phone off and looked to see what messages had arrived during the night. One of them was a Face Book message from one of the matrics: Valedictory! The day I've been looking forward to since Grade 8, yet, I wish it were further away ... I hope I am able to sleep tonight …

I was reminded – again - that the Wynberg Valedictory Day was going to be another emotional one.

Phumlo Pityana, Matric 2012 & Keith Richardson

Table Mountain was looking magnificent in dawn colours as I walked across the fields to meet the Matrics in the Fish Bowl. One Matric boy was sitting on the stands polishing his shoes realising that you can’t come to school on your last day with shoddy footwear.

I walked into the breakfast area at 7:00am. Not one boy was late for the Big Day. The matrics sat in their houses and it was significant to see that van Riebeeck House had asked their Housemasterto sit with them. Then every House Prefect summed up his year -  finishing off by thanking his Housemaster.

Final Matric Breakfast

JP Jacobs, the de Villiers Prefect, set the tone: When I began writing this speech a few days ago I sat there thinking of all the memories of this past year. Memories that cannot be forgotten. Memories that will live on in each and every one of those who accompanied me on this journey. The emotion surrounding something as great as this journey coming to an end is great in itself as it is this powerful emotion that we share with each other when wearing our house colours ... From our house day at the UCT astro to the brave matrics who accompanied the grade 8's up the mountain, these are days that I will never forget ... The journey up until this point has been one to remember. Firstly, thank you to those who presented this opportunity to me to make a small part of this school my own ... We will all be moving on in our own directions but hopefully the time we have spent together will stay with you wherever you go.

All eight speeches from the House Prefects were superb.  Rhodes Prefect, Cuan Stephenson, struck a chord:

I would like to give you the Leon Joseph Suenens quote which I gave at my first committee meeting: ‘Happy are those who dream dreams and are willing to pay the price to make them come true!’ So I asked myself the questions, what was I willing to pay and was I dreaming? Yes,  I was willing to pay the price but what was I dreaming of? My dream was simple; it was to enjoy every moment as Rhodes House Prefect and give all the glory to God. My life and my leadership have been shaped by Him and there are still things that He is teaching me ...

I would like to highlight some of my favorite memories. On the top of the list would have to be interhouse singing. We came second last, but if I were to ask anyone what the other houses sang they would look at you with a blank expression, simply no one, except those who sang, will remember. However what most people will remember is the entire hall waving their hands in the air to the sounds of Rhodes’ Lose Yourself’. Some more memories would be the grade 8 hike, the Rhodes house braai, athletics day, and the 'Rhodes Revolution'. Not to forget our stall at the ‘Night of the Stars’ or the interhouse gala -  which Rhodes won!

The 'Rhodes Revolution'? Revolution means a complete ‘turn around’ – but it is not a war that we fight with others but rather a war that we fight within ourselves. It is an intentional decision to change whatever stands within your heart and make changes for the better – in yourself, in your house, in your school. 

From the breakfast, we went to the Clegg Hall to meet the Parents and Old Boys for the Handing Over of Old Boys’ ties.  One parent wrote to me later: Yesterday when we arrived at school was one of those mother-son moments for me. Just one look at my son in his uniform walking towards me as we arrived at school, had me undone. When had he suddenly become a man? How had it happened?

Chairman of Old Boys, Arno Erasmus, welcomed the Matrics and their Parents to this ceremony which mirrored the Grade 8 Blazer ceremony five years before. Now they were taking off their school ties and replacing them with the Tie which would bind them for the rest of their lives – the Tie of the Wynberg Old Boys’ Union. As every Matric came up with his family to receive his Tie, a picture of him as a toddler was flashed on the screen giving new meaning to ‘From Boys to Men’.

Head Boy 2012 Nic Martin and his parents
 Welcome to the Old Boys' Union

A member of the Old Boys’ Committee handed every father the honoured tie. He, in turn, presented the Old Boys’ Tie to his own son who then handed his mother a personally written letter. One mother reported: I don’t think I have received too many letters from my son in his 18 years, but when he gave me that note and the last paragraph read “God has blessed me with probably the best mother a boy could ever ask for”, I knew then that if I never got another letter from him, that sentence alone would keep me going!

After this ceremony, the rest of the school was ushered in to listen to the two Valedictorians, Darrin Page and Callen Souma who reminisced about the amusing incidents of five years of schooling. Their session was finished off by a memory filled video prepared by Stephen Howard Tripp and Christopher Kunz. Too late for school authorities to take action about some of those escapades now – but wonderful memories to be re-told at Old Boys’ Dinners for years to come!

After a tea with Staff, Matrics and their Parents, the youngest Matric traditionally tolls the bell from the balcony for two minutes summoning his fellow Valedictorians to their final school assembly. This year Jody Arendse did the honours. He was momentary thrown when the clapper came adrift in his hand. Fortunately Mickey Lumb, former Chairman of Old Boys, who was photographing the occasion, leapt to his rescue and re-screwed it in so that Jody could continue his important duty.

Jody Arendse, youngest Matric
for whom the bell almost didn't toll.

A few minutes later, Michael Sullivan as Grade 12 Prefect and Nick Martin as Head Prefect, led the 2012 cohort into the hall to the strains of Rod Stewart’s ‘Forever Young.’ In my welcome, I wanted to say how touched the teachers were that they chose that musical number in their honour, but one look at the faces of the matrics reminded me that this was not the time to be corny!

Instead I quoted a letter written by a Matric to his Grade 8 buddy. These letters had been written last term and placed in the Grade 8 reports. ‘I wished someone had told me these things when I was in Grade 8,’ he said, ‘but when you reach my age in four years time you will have realised how important it is to have become involved in everything and anything – played in the bands, played sport, done service (we should all give back), joined committees ...’

While he was directing that message at his Grade 8 buddy, it was of course a message that all matrics should also be taking into post-school life with them.

To follow this theme, I then read out an extract from a poem which a father had written to his son:

What have you learnt from this journey through school? Would you have made different decisions?

Would you have gone in a different direction?

But do not look back at your journey and the steps you took with any regret –

For they must be lessons that you have learnt on the way so that you can have an even more glorious future.

Samir Daniels receives the Wade Bertram Award

Even the prize-giving which followed was meaningful. Samir Daniels received the prestigious Wade Bertram Memorial Award for initiating a number of projects at Wynberg, while Gere Cochlan received a standing ovation from his fellow matrics as the recipient of the David Heidmann Memorial Award for fighting back against the odds from a life-threatening motor-car accident. A first for me was seeing the matrics give a standing ovation to the academic Dux of the school, Nicholas Haralambous, who has also been astounding us for years with wonderful feats on the piano.

After the prizes and awards were handed out, Nick Martin delivered his final address to the school: ‘I hold a strong belief that a man is the sum of his experiences. However his greatest triumphs and his greatest mistakes should not define him, but rather mould him…… This school has become my life for five years. I have sacrificed  much in order to stay focused -  even in the most demanding of times. Sometimes I only carried on because my blazer made me feel like a superhero ...

The love I have for this school

and my brothers cannot be described ...

all achievements may fade in time

but I’ll always have Supera Moras inside.’

Dylan Grobler symbolically ends his school career

After the last rendering of the school song as schoolboys, a procession of 158 matrics wound their way through the hall to shake the hands of Mr van Winkel (Grade 12 Head) and myself. ‘I am no hugger,’ I have told countless people over the years. That was ignored by the majority of the boys. It seems that I AM now a hugger.

With Scottish Gap Year student, Matthew Horsman, playing ‘Men of Wynberg’ on his bagpipes, every boy symbolically rang the school bell signifying the conclusion of his school career. It was a fitting end to a moving ceremony.

Sometime later that afternoon, I drove out of the school parking lot. In the distance, I saw Nick Martin on his own sitting on the bank overlooking the Hawthornden Field, the school and the mountain. He was alone with his thoughts – and his memories. Perhaps he was thinking of his Grade 8 Camp which started off his Wynberg High School experience? Or the countless sport encounters? Or the innumerable break-time discussions with friends ...?

Later that evening, there was a message from Darryn Thomas on the school’s Facebook Page:

Wynberg is not my school, it is my home! I am going to miss my teachers and friends ... To the Grade 11's of 2012: Please carry our names with yours next year, look after that beautiful place 'neath the mountain ...

The Art of Coarser Cricket

'Our Beautiful, Difficult, Summer Game' is how CB Fry, an England Cricket Captain, once described cricket. CB Fry also played in a number of test matches against Wynberg Old Boy, Aubrey Faulkner.

With the winter we have just had in the Cape, it has been hard to imagine sitting on a boundary rope in bright sunshine watching a contest between willow and leather. As the donor this winter season of two umbrellas and a pair of Citrusdal's finest footwear to the good cause of watching Wynberg's rugby and hockey teams take on the elements and opposition teams, I have since then been looking in vain for weeks for signs of spring buds heralding the emergence of white flannels.

Azis Samaai, Chairman of United Cricket Clubs Youth Section, couldn't have put his request to me at a better time. "I know it is late notice," he said to me in my office one day early in September, "but would Wynberg like to enter an u15 team into the Cape Youth Festival during these holidays?"

I accepted with alacrity. Here was a chance for more boys to experience 'proper' cricket rather than the dreary diet of T20 whizz pops. Shaun Hewett, as Master in Charge of Cricket gave a more reasoned response, "I have six coaches away on three tours already," he said. "Who will take the side? Besides the boys may have holiday plans."

I saw my opportunity. "I will take them," I said. "I will put an announcement in assembly asking for all keen u14 and u15 cricketers who are not on tour to volunteer."

Larry Moser was disapproving. "How will you fit this in? You have 158 Matric report comments to write before Wednesday ..."

"No problem," I said waving the Deputy Principal off airily. "I have never missed a deadline yet ..."

There was a large group of cricket-smitten volunteers outside my office after assembly which disproved the theory that boys only want to play bash / wallop cricket. Now a major problem reared its head. How do we choose a side from a large bunch of willing and passionate young cricketers?

Kyle Williamson and Rodney Inglis volunteered to help me coach the team. Feeling rather like an executioners, we eventually whittled the names down to 13 - which became 14 when one boy refused to take no for an answer.

Then the practices began. First practice was on the tennis courts to practice stroke play (because it was raining); the next one was in a classroom to discuss field placings because it was raining); another one was on the artificial pitch (because it was raining). In between rain, we even managed to have some sessions in the nets. Now I await the time when these boys become captains of industry in future years and, knowing Wynberg's need for indoor coaching facilities, will donate copiously and generously to this project ...

On the Monday (a public holiday) before the festival began, we had a middle practice. 'Only at Wynberg,' complained Mrs Philp. 'I had to drive in this morning from Fish Hoek at 6.00am to deliver one son for his Grade 10 Camp and then drive back another 30 kilometres at 3.00 pm to bring the other one to cricket! This is meant to be my day off!'

Jared couldn't understand what his mother's problem was. Neither could I. This was, after all, in the fine cause of CB Fry's beautiful summer game!

The first day of the festival arrived with the players dutifully arriving 45 minutes before the game against Bergvliet ... to drizzle. A late start, then on we went to do battle in a 40 over game. We won the toss and opted to bowl first. Before every game, in order to forestall any unhappiness from three boys having to sit out, we cleared with the opposing coach that we could field and bowl 14 players.

After five overs, I was looking to the skies wondering where the rain was when we wanted it.  Bergvliet had gleefully clubbed 51 runs and were going like steam trains - eventually to close their innings at an impressive 243 / 7. Admittedly we did give them 7 extra overs and 41 runs by bowling 31 wides and 10 no balls. Maybe Larry Moser was right - I should have prioritised the Matric reports. Cricketers whom I have coached in the past, will knowingly predict how the lunch-time team discussion went ... It certainly did not follow the recommendations of Gary Kirsten and Paddy Upton who, in a talk I attended recently, advised coaches always to concentrate on the strengths and the positives which can be taken out of a game.

All well and good for them - but I bet that they never had one of their teams bowl 31 wides ...

Chris Merrington, the WBHS social media editor, rang during the lunch break to find out how it was going. "We will struggle to win this one," I gloomily predicted with the experience of years of coaching behind me.

Within half an hour Facebook was blaring out the news: 'Richardson's Invitation X1 sinking fast ...'

Fortunately my cricket teams over the years have traditionally never listened to me. Aidan hit 92 and then was run out attempting an impossible run. Pity - it would have been his first century ever. Justin contributed a stylish 51 and Dylan 37* and we passed the Bergvliet score with an over to spare and four wickets in hand.

After the match, we handed out the kit - a festival shirt and pullover. Paul, one of the smaller boys in the team received a large in both items. He was not happy. "How can I wear these?" he complained with the pullover nearly down to his knees.

"You're lucky," I said. "When the others outgrow their kit by next year, you will look good in yours ..."

That seemed to do the trick and he happily kept wicket for the festival - fortunately not tripping over anything.

The following day was against United on the Jacques Kallis Oval. "Now you all have to know the conditions under which Jacques gave his name to this Oval," I told them with due seriousness. "It was that no Wynberg cricketer will EVER throw his wicket away on this field ..."

"Wow," said Tim. "Now I am nervous ..."

Fortunately, United did not know these JK Oval rules and with Jared breaking through with three early wickets, United were all out for 107. One red-shirted spectator did his best to help their cause. "WIDE, Mr Umpire!" he shouted at me when the ball went down the leg side - unfortunately not seeing it clip the pads of the batsman on the way passed.

Proving that the view from the bank is not always better, he tried again later. A lusty blow stopped about a metre from the boundary. "FOUR!" he demanded - no doubt hoping that would encourage the ball to continue rolling.

The next over saw the same batsman launch into one of Phillip's leg spinners and dispatch it over the Oval Pavilion. It was a huge blow and dented Phillip's ego no end. "What did I do wrong?" he asked me disconsolately afterwards. I laughed (through gritted teeth), "Nothing! Just enjoy a great shot."

Having learnt from Mr Red Shirt, the United players kept up a steady stream of comments when they came on to field. "Don't worry about him," the cover shouted to no-one in particular about Matthew who was opening the batting. "He is just swinging like a rusty door in the wind."

The rusty door had the last laugh, as remembering Kallis' injunction, Matthew batted for over an hour for a well constructed 21. He eventually nicked one but was given not out by the United umpire. "THAT WAS OUT!" announced Mr Red Shirt from the bank. Matthew agreed and walked. Eleven United players ran over to him and shook him by the hand for his sportsmanship.

Our Captain, Shu-aib, also took flak. "You must be a vegetarian," he was told. "Your bat has no meat!" That comment was lost on Shu-aib. Ignoring all the advice from the fielders, we went on to win by six wickets.

Day Three saw Bergvliet convincingly turn the tables on us in a T20 encounter and then it was off to play Pinelands on the last day.

We won the toss, opted to bat and played well to get to 170 /4. Three run-outs later and we were 183 all out. Two of the run-outs were plain suicidal. The third was straight out of 'The Art of Coarse Cricket'.

Following instructions, Liam asked the umpire how many balls left so that he could check that they were up to the run rate for that over. "One to come," he was told. Unable to penetrate the field, he then hit the last ball straight to a fielder. No run. The fielder threw it in, hit the stumps and the ricochet rolled past cover. Liam called for the run and ended up standing at Dylan's end. The conversation was priceless.

Liam: "Dylan RUN ... the ball is live."

Dylan: "No, it is not - the umpire said it was last ball of the over."

Liam: "But he hasn't called 'over' yet - so the ball is live. Dylan ... RUN."

Three or four of the Pinelands fielders then wandered over to join in the chat. "It is dead because it hit the stumps," said one helpfully.

Liam knew his rules. "No it is not. Dylan ... RUN."

Dylan: "What for? The ball is dead."

In the meantime, the cover fielder sauntered over to the ball and lobbed it into the keeper - who for the sake of something to do, took off the bails and appealed. A surprised Liam did a quick volte-face. "It can't be out, the ball is dead," he announced emphatically denying his argument of the last three minutes.

Kyle Williamson was unmoved. "Out!" he said - and Liam had to go - understandably with very bad grace. The heated discussion between Dylan and Liam continued right through lunch break ...

The Pinelands innings was a nail-biter. They lost wickets but kept going. Suddenly 183 seemed a small total. With 20 runs to go and five Pinelands wickets in hand, we looked dead and buried. Kyle Williamson was pacing up and down.

"I have never been so nervous even when playing in a cricket game," he said.

"Good grief, Kyle, it is only a game," I said, gripping the sides of my camp chair. The last man came in with 9 runs to go. 4 off the edge to third man. 2 through covers - a misfield caused by the tension. My knuckles were whitening as they now gripped the camp chair with intensity.

Then Anele put us all out of our misery by bowling the last man neck and crop. We had won by two runs. Anele's first wicket of the festival was his most vital. Roy of the Rovers would have been proud of the subsequent scenes. No humility in victory here as players lifted one another aloft in delight.

It was a great four days. I am sure that no Wynberg player has heard of CB Fry - but they would certainly  understand his sentiments - it IS a beautiful Summer Game and no doubt these four days helped them understand how difficult cricket really is.

To cap it all, I met my deadline for the Matric report comments.

Sketches from the Chalk Face

I first met Clyde Broster when I was teaching at Plumstead High School many years ago.  His wife, Pam, was on the staff and she had the enviable reputation of being a more than competent, highly capable and very caring Maths teacher.  Appropriately, these were the same qualities that I was to experience some two decades later when Clyde came to teach English on the Wynberg staff.

In 1982, the Brosters accompanied me on a tour of Europe which I organised primarily for my Latin classes – but we also opened it up to other pupils who were interested.  One of them, Ian Gilmour, soon found out that he should have done Latin when he came out of his hotel room in Rome in a manner reminiscent of Obelix, cursing the stupidity of all Romans.  ‘The taps which have C on them are all pour out scorching hot water,’ he complained to those of us who were patiently waiting for him in the hotel foyer.  His hand was wrapped in a cold and wet handkerchief for relief.

‘It seems that you should be taking them all for Latin lessons, Richie,’ said Clyde with his dry sense of humour. That is education at its best – I have no doubt that if there is one word of Latin which Ian now knows is that ‘calidus’ is the Latin word for hot – which was the ‘C’ on the taps!

Clyde of course revelled in this detail and for our remaining time in Rome, he continually suggested,  when we were wondering what to have for lunch, that we should give Ian a ‘calidus canis’ (literally ‘hot dog’….) for lunch.  Ian, still nursing his scalded hand, did not find this particularly funny.

That quiet, but sharp sense of humour is evident throughout the book Clyde has just published about his years in teaching:  Unswept Leaves:  A Teacher’s Life.  Using a technique perfected by James Herriot in ‘It Shouldn’t Happen to a Vet’, he changes names marginally and then describes characters, events, incidents  and schools with the canny accuracy, empathetic understanding and the insight born of the wisdom of years.  Throughout the book is the quiet, but sharp humour which we have come to appreciate from him over the years.

Clyde Broster aka Chris Barker

His final seven years of teaching were spent at Wynberg Boys’ High School thinly disguised at Waterfield High School in his book.  That name certainly reflects an accurate description of the school campus after the wet winter we have just experienced!  He makes it very clear in his reminiscences that a sense of humour is essential in dealing with boys and he shows through his journey of memories that throughout his career, tense and potentially explosive incidents could be turned to the positive by seeing the humorous side of any story.

He describes an incident when he taught a Grade 10 English class.  In spite of repeated instructions to the class to leave every alternate line open so that he could write in the corrections, one boy, ‘Chippie’, handed in the written work without the requested open spaces.  He asked him to do it again.

The next day the work was handed in – still without the required spacing.  Clyde held up another piece of work which had been done according to his requirements and instructed Chippie for a third time to do it overnight.  Chippie nodded ‘like a solemn puppy’ and handed in the work the next day – again with continuous writing.

‘What – are – you –  trying – to – do?’ said Clyde between clenched teeth.

‘Just seeing how far I could go before you crack,’ came the cheerful response….

Only at a boys’ school!  Which mother will not recognise her son in that story?

Joy Goodwin aka Joyce Goodman

Joy Goodwin was not amused to see how she was portrayed as ‘Joyce Goodman’.  ‘How could he do that?’ she exclaimed to me with righteous indignation in the staffroom when I showed her where she starred in the book. ‘He knows how I hate the name Joyce…’.

Bill Creed aka Bob King

Bob King was the name assigned to our Biology teacher, Bill Creed. Clyde took great pleasure in recounting the story of a boy who exclaimed in Bill’s class:  ‘Sir! You are a legend! I am going to be telling my children about you!’

Bill was astounded and in his uniquely dispassionate style stared at the boy: ‘Good grief, boy.  Don’t tell me that you have plans to breed….’

Bill’s caustic sense of humour is legendary.  At Steve Doidge’s (class of 1990) 40th birthday party last week, Bill brought a sheaf of papers containing Steve’s marks at school.  ‘Just in case he gets a swollen head after all the praise-singing  tonight,’ he told me while pointing out what Steve’s Maths marks at school were.

‘He was wasted as a teacher,’ said Kevin Musikanth at the same party.  ‘Bill Creed should have been a stand-up comedian.’

One theme that runs throughout Unswept Leaves is how lasting a teacher’s casual comment, throwaway remark or chance observation can be.  Clyde cites numerous examples of meeting past pupils years after they have left school who say what effect a spontaneous aside had made in their lives.

I can personally vouch for how a passing comment is remembered for years, when I received a letter recently from a 1970’s Wynberg old boy who said how determined he was to leave school in Standard 7 because school life was too much for him.  He chanced to pass the then vice-principal, Ray Connellan, in the corridors who greeted him by name and asked how he was. He had no idea that Ray even knew of his existence - as he did not teach him. ‘That was a defining moment for me,’ he said in his letter to me.  ‘I was noticed as an individual. That changed my whole approach to school.’

Clyde says it best in his book:  Perhaps it is those things we do when we aren’t conscious of doing them that count the most.’

I enjoyed the obvious love of teaching and the opportunity of making a difference in the lives of his pupils which permeates every page of this 348 page book detailing incidents in Clyde’s 43 year career spanning eight schools. In recollecting all the incidents mentioned in the book, his non-judgemental approach was the no doubt the reason why his pupils were prepared to take him into their confidence so readily.

I loved the story of ‘Warner’ – a pupil in one of the schools in which he first taught.  Like all boys, Warner dreamed of hitting on a money-making scheme. As teachers we know that entrepreneurship and personal aggrandizement is close to the heart of most adolescents!

Warner had a sure –fire scheme to start his financial money-making career.  He wrote to a cigarette company (using the formal letter format which they had just been taught in class) complaining that the tobacco they used in their cigarettes was defective and far too loose.  He requested the company to replace the carton.  Surprisingly, this is what they duly did, adding a few extra cartons for goodwill and public relations.

Unfortunately success went to Warner’s head and he then proceeded to write to other cigarette  companies with the same grievance.  What he did not realise was that the parent company of all these cigarette companies was the same…..

He was duly summoned to the Headmaster’s office to answer the subsequent complaint from the Cigarette Company and this is where, for Clyde,  the Law of Unintended Consequences kicked in.  In his defence to his Headmaster, Warner had cited Clyde as a co-conspirator because he had shown him how to write a business letter!  So Clyde ended up on the Headmaster’s Mat as well.

Not surprisingly Clyde opted not to teach Warner the following year!

Writing under the pseudonym of Chris Baker, Clyde clearly shows the paradox of teaching. On the one hand are the joys and the rewards.  He describes the fun, the laughter and the humour.  We celebrate with him the pleasure and fulfilment when a pupil, sometimes years later, expresses appreciation.

The other side of the paradox, revealed in these sketches, is the frustration of unrealised potential in his pupils.  Home circumstances and personal traumas stunted the growth of so many of them.  Clyde’s career took him to eight of the country’s top schools - all of whom are tackling the topic of motivating adolescents in their own way with varying degrees of success.  However, he leaves us with the elephant in the room – what about all the other schools in our country?  How are they coping with unrealised potential?

Are there other Clyde Brosters out there?  Schoolmasters in the true sense of the word – raising the bar for our boys academically in the classroom, challenging them on the sportsfield, widening their cultural horizons in film studies and theatre visits and thus by embracing all areas of school life, ensuring that they turn out to be better human beings.

Those of us who have taught for some time, will recognise similar events and incidents in our own careers.  However, this is a book for anyone who loves the teaching profession – especially those who are new in the game.  They will benefit greatly.

Write to bakerchris61@gmail.com for your copy.  It is R130 well spent.

In the course of reading the book, you could say the same as those boys whom he took to see the Oscar winning ‘To Sir with Love’ all those years ago. ‘What a load of rubbish,’ they said to him cheerfully as they came out of the cinema.

After reading this book, we now know not to take boys’ comments too seriously.

Teamwork. Precision. Perfection.

W (Bill) Lennox

Vincent Maphai was unequivocal. ‘We had no facilities at my township school all those years ago,’ he told 74 engrossed delegates, including myself, at the Allan Gray Conference at Henley on Klip last week, ‘ and we definitely had no text books. But what we did have was a committed and passionate teacher…’

Now many years later, Dr Vincent Maphai is the recipient of numerous awards from overseas universities including Harvard, Stanford and Princeton. He is currently Executive Director of SAB and on the boards of innumerable companies.

I heard a similar comment a few days after this which was made at our recent reunion luncheon of Cadet Band Drum Majors. David Richardson (1962) had flown out from Canada to propose the toast to Major Bill Lennox who resuscitated the Wynberg Cadet Band in 1951. For the next thirty years of his teaching at Wynberg, Bill Lennox inspired generations of boys to reach heights which they did not believe they were capable of achieving.

Dr Vincent Maphai

Appointed as a Maths teacher to the school, he took the Cadet Band to unprecedented levels and the results proved that they were a band without equal. From 1953 to their eventual disbanding in 1993, they won the Western Province Cadet Band Competition an unprecedented thirty times. The 1985 Drum Major, Ian Wilkinson says : ‘We had the best team in the school….we were mates with each other….friendships were forged that have endured to this day.’

 This quote is taken from the interesting booklet entitled ‘Teamwork, Precision, Perfection: The Wynberg Cadet Band’*. It was written by a previous Deputy Headmaster of the school, Ray Connellan assisted by Mickey Lumb of the Old Boys’ Union. Ray remarked in his Foreword that he wanted ‘to record this remarkable history of the Wynberg Cadet Band before it disappeared into the mists of time…… Bill Lennox needed to be recognised for his massive contribution.’

 He wrote to a number of past Drum Majors asking for their memories of the band. All these have been recorded faithfully in the school museum with some of the anecdotes finding their way into his booklet.

Vincent Maphai would nod his head in approval if he saw the depth of feeling and appreciation shown by some of the past Drum Majors when they wrote about their beloved Bill (Shorty) Lennox:

Hennie du Plessis (1958): He was a tremendous influence on my life in more ways than one. He taught us discipline. He demanded complete dedication. Second best was not in his vocabulary.

David Richardson (1962): Bill Lennox taught me more than mathematics or how to play the bugle. He taught me deep lessons about people; about values; about life.

Denver Coleman (1960): Every year he used to offer some so-called ‘breekers’ a place in the band. He usually managed to turn all of them into useful citizens and good team players.

Bruce Probyn (1966): I will remember with enormous fondness his patience, understanding and genuine concern he showed for every single one of us.

Brian Rookledge (1968): He had a fantastic knack of understanding all the boys he was teaching. His encouragement made you believe that you could do anything he was asking you to achieve. His principles and teachings have helped me enormously in my working life.

At the opening of the Cape Town Festival

Stephen Fay remembered that Bill Lennox introduced the Drummers’ Salute into Wynberg’s repertoire. It was appropriate that the luncheon on Founders’ Day this year had two side-drummers (Gary Beckman and James Hilbert) from the 1987 band who were invited back by Johan van Rooyen to give a loud rendition of the Drummers’ Salute. This summonsed the invited Drum Majors into the Bill Bowden Pavilion for lunch. Long standing neighbours must have thought that they were in a time-warp as their drumming echoed off the Wynberg Hill.

The memories and the reminiscences continued for the next few hours. The booklet was declared officially launched as was the Cadet Band Wall in the school museum. These are fitting tributes to a Golden Era in Wynberg’s history.

Many of the stories in the booklet were read out eliciting hoots of laughter.

Val Sutcliffe, mother of Grant (Drum Major 1976) wrote that she remembered Grant marching them through puddles of water, his reasoning being that if they could do that without flinching, then they could do anything!

Grant himself recollects marching down the streets of Paarl behind Paarl Girls’ High drum majorettes. Acknowledging that the ‘view was too good to be true’, he lost concentration on his primary job and it was only when he realised that the music was getting fainter did he glance behind him to see that the rest of the band was unable to keep up!

Andre Badenhorst, Drum Major of 1963, suffered from a similar affliction. He recounted that it was tradition to march back from the Wynberg Military Camp passed the Girls’ School. They would receive a warm and noisy congratulatory welcome from all the girls on the pavement. To seal the adulation, it was customary for the Drum Major to throw his mace into the air while marching, catch it and march on triumphantly. The 1963 Drum Major, to his undying and unforgettable embarrassment, dropped the baton in front of hundreds of girls and their parents…..

'Band Mothers' show the way ...

Helen Wilkinson, who took on the duty of Drum Major’s mother on two occasions, recollected that the post-competition band braais were always memorable events. In one year, the mothers decided to dress in the uniform of their sons and march up and down playing the same instruments. ‘We wanted to show them exactly how we thought it should be done!’

Knowing boys as I do, I doubt that many boys hung around to witness their mothers cavorting in their son’s uniforms…

The role of the mothers was a huge factor in the ongoing success of the bands. Steph Yates, Chairlady in 1989, sent out a note to all mothers inviting them to the staff room on a Saturday afternoon for an ‘ironing demonstration’. The mothers were given pages of detailed ironing instructions.

Here is one point for ironing of pants:

‘At the waistband at the back of the pants, using centre of seam as a starting point, measure 1.3 cm on either side i.e. 2.6 cm’s in all, mark with a pin and that is where your back crease commences. Hold pants by front creases, shake to straighten and back crease will fall into place NOTING 2.6 gap at waistband.’

Brian Wilkinson, whose own son is currently a Gap Year Student in Scotland, did not remember the process fondly. ‘Come the Big Day and my mother insisted on dressing me. Pins would suddenly appear in places you would not think possible….’

Members of the 1947 band still recall that the Wynberg band was chosen to lead the Royal Procession of King George V1 from Wynberg station to Youngsfield. The current Queen was Princess Elizabeth back then and Fritz Bing when he sat next to her at Lords as Manager of the Proteas in 1994, hopefully reminded her of her Wynberg connections!

Bill Lennox and many other band masters gave hundreds of boys over the years a glimpse of something greater than themselves. He showed them there are no short cuts to success. He changed lives.

Dr Maphai, just like your teacher all those years ago, Bill Lennox was also an inspiration to a multitude of Wynberg boys.

*Copies of this booklet are available at the school museum. Past Band Members who wish to obtain a booklet or who wish to contribute to the Cadet Band Display at the museum, or add to the memories, may contact Hugh Rowles or Ray Connellan in the Old Boys’ Office.