Wherever you Go – Go with your Heart. The 2013 Unogwaja Challenge

I was walking into the City Hall about two weeks ago and was really looking forward to listening to an evening of Choral music.  Choirs from UCT and a number of schools were  about to take part in a Choir Evening hosted by Wynberg.  Word in the corridors was that the final massed Choir item, the Battle Hymn of the Republic, would blow us away.

They were right – but I was not thinking of this when my phone rang just before the start of the concert.  It was John McInroy. John was the son of an old school friend.  While a South African hockey player, John had coached our u16A side at the school and gone on to drive the concept of Red Sock Friday Charity.  Some days before, he had invited me to the dinner on the eve of the 2013 Unogwaja Cycle ride. I was keen to attend this function as Premier Helen Zille was to be the guest speaker – and she was always well worth listening to.

John McInroy

Some years before, John had introduced me to the story of Phil Masterton Smith. All current Wynberg boys know his story.  He had left St John’s Orphanage at the age of 18 in 1930 to run the recently inaugurated Comrades Marathon  - the idea of which was also conceived and brought to fruition by another Wynberg Old Boy, Victor Clapham.  Phil had come second to the mighty Wally Hayward in his first marathon, won it at 19 and two years later, not being able to afford the fare up to Natal,  had cycled up to the start in Pietermaritzburg, ran the Comrades Marathon and ended 10th – thereby winning a gold medal.

To this day, he still holds two records – the youngest ever winner of the Comrades Marathon and the closest finish of two seconds.  The first record will be held in perpetuity because there is now an age restriction of twenty years old for participants.

Masterton-Smith going into the record books in 1931 beating Noel Buree to the line. 1st: Masterton-Smith: 7.16.30 2nd: Buree: 7.16.32 

And so the legend of Unogwaja, the Zulu word for ‘hare’ was born.  Apparently it referred to the graceful way that he bounded over the hills.

Phil "Unogwaja" Masterton-Smith
died 5th June 1942
aged 30 years 11 months

One wonders how he would have done after that if he had not opted to travel the world, taking on a variety of jobs.  What a Comrades icon he might have been had he not lost his life nine years later at the Battle of El Alamein, fighting as a soldier in the Natal Carbineers Regiment – the colours that the Unogwaja group have been given permission to wear while running the Comrades.

This story may well have remained a by-line in the history books if two Second World War soldiers had not made a pact to remember their fallen comrades by wearing Red Socks every Friday, once the war was over.  One of them was a Grey Old Boy, who appeared at their Founders’ Day Ceremony at his old school every year wearing red socks.  As a schoolboy, Ian Symons saw this and related the story years later to his hockey team-mate, John MacInroy.  John pulled all the threads of these stories together and now on the eightieth anniversary of Phil Masterton Smith’s cycle and run, twelve gladiators were preparing to repeat his feat.

To put Masterton Smith’s feat into perspective, we must remember that this was eighty years ago. His bicycle would not have had gears; he would have had to carry all his kit; there was no back-up vehicle; the roads were presumably gravel and he would not have been able to afford accommodation en route.

None of this was going through my mind when I made the mistake of taking the call from John in the foyer of the City Hall.  He was at his ingratiating best enquiring after my health, the well-being of my family, the quality of hockey being played at the school – all we left out was a discussion on the state of the nation.  I was waiting with anticipation for the punch line.

Then it came.  Helen Zille -  unsurprisingly knowing her workload -  was otherwise engaged and could  no longer perform the role of Guest Speaker.   Could I do the speaking honours?  Now THAT is a first. I have never been asked to stand in for the Leader of the Opposition before. 

Visions of grandeur flashed through my head.  What next?  Contracts for a national speaking tour?  Standing in for President Zuma?  This, though, could bring its own complications.  Which wife would I take round the country with me on these speaking engagements?  I knew that my first wife, Pippa, hears enough from me as it is and would be extremely reluctant to subject herself to more of my ramblings on speaking tours.

I could just hear her.  ‘Who will walk the dogs while we are away?’

That variation of the old classroom story comes to mind if she were forced to listen to all my speeches.  ‘Will someone wake that person up in the back row?’ I would say. 

‘You wake her,’ shouts out someone in the audience.  ‘You put her to sleep.’

I decided that versatility in my selection of travel partners on speaking tours would be injurious to my health.  Wisely I kept my ideas to myself.

In the meantime, John was waiting on the phone for a reply.  He knew that I would never say no and so my evening of listening to school choirs was ruined as I started running through ideas in my head which I could use in my speech.

Consequently, a week later, I found myself in the Tsogo Sun with a variety of dignitaries, sponsors, twelve cyclists, Comrades officials and the press. I even spotted Proteas cricketer, Robin Peterson, in the audience.  Why wasn’t he asked to give the address?

At the end of the speech, I was presented with a personalised (tight-fitting) Unogwaja cycling shirt.  My wife was smirking at the back of the hall – obviously still awake.  ‘You will never fit into that!’

Later, in the privacy of our hotel room, I tried it on.  She was right.

Never mind.  I don’t have a bike anyway.

Here is an excerpt of my address:

“I am enormously impressed by your commitment, your tenacity and your resolve to undertake a venture such as this.  What you are doing is sending a message to thousands of young people that it is okay to dream big.  Let others lead small lives.  It seems to me that most youngsters today judge their role models by film stars – or over-paid football celebrities. 

‘He gave us horizons to look at,’ said one footballer this week on hearing the news of Sir Alex Ferguson’s impending retirement. By participating in the 2013 Unogwaja Challenge, you too are giving thousands of people horizons to look at.

I love the story of the tortoise resting at the waterhole when an eagle landed next to him. ‘Look at this waterhole and the reeds – this is all there is,’ said the tortoise.  The eagle took the tortoise into his claws and ascended into the sky. The waterhole became smaller and smaller.  He saw animals running over the plains.  He saw mountains disappearing into the curvature of the earth.

When the eagle put him down at the waterhole again, the tortoise couldn’t wait to tell everyone what he had seen.  His friends were dismissive saying; ‘Nonsense.  You were dreaming.  The waterhole and reeds - that is all there are.’

One tortoise quietly said:  ‘Where can I find that eagle?’

I think that John McInroy is your eagle. He is giving you a vision beyond which you have ever dreamed possible.

Now you must do an action similar to the eagle.  You must show others that we must not confuse the waterhole with life.  You must show people horizons.  You have been offered a chance to fly – and it is good to see that you are taking the opportunity with enthusiasm.

In many ways, our society is making our children -  especially boys -  tame lions in a cage.  Yet we all have a fierceness within us and every boy I have ever coached wants to know whether he has what it takes.  You are giving them permission to find out and to do something similar one day.

Every year at our school, we send all our Grades camping for a few days.  They are all given a challenge of some sort -  rivers to paddle, mountains to climb.  It is wonderful to hear them talk afterwards and give the ultimate schoolboy accolade about their experiences which is that they ‘nearly died’ when they swam across some river, or climbed some cliff or just worked their way through bloody blisters because they were pushed to a state where they had to dig deep.  We must never suppress the exuberance in boys. 

Some years ago, I commended a boy from stage for his selection to the Western Province team for biathlon.  I told the school how hard he must have worked and how much he must have sacrificed in time and sweat to have reached this standard in what is really a demanding and arduous sport.  He arrived at my office door afterwards.  ‘I must tell you honestly, Sir,’ he said with delightful schoolboy candour.  ‘I sacrificed nothing.  I enjoyed every moment of my training.’

Now THAT is a case of out of the mouths of babes.

Everyone here who has embarked on this enormous challenge must surely understand and appreciate his sentiment.

It is quite fantastic that there is such an international feel to this group – from Ireland to Portugal; from  America to Africa.  Your ages range from 26 to 38 and you weren’t chosen because of your cycling or running ability.  The Unogwaja Challenge is more than that.  It is about those who have a special spark, an energising vitality which is essential in galvanising a team.  You all have it – otherwise you would not be sitting here now ready to hit the road in a few hours’ time. You are going to need both these attributes over the next few weeks.

I enjoyed John McInroy’s comment about his fellow cyclists.  ‘He / she is a champion,’ he would invariably say about every name.  Now it is time to be a champion team – no longer a team of individual champions. 

After her tragic accident in which she lost her foot, Natalie du Toit was asked why she was continuing her training.  Her reply was:  ‘There is a chance that I won’t make the Olympics, but there is always a chance that I will.  I want to be an athlete who gave it a shot.’

Congratulations on giving this 2013 Unogwaja Challenge your best shot. I congratulate you on being chosen for this life-changing experience.  I commend all of you who are providing the backup on the Support Team.  On behalf of all the charities who are destined to benefit from the sponsorship you have raised, I thank you.

I leave you with the words of Sam speaking to Frodo in Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers:

‘It is like in the great stories, Mr Frodo.  The ones that really matter.  Full of darkness and danger they were.  And sometimes you do not want to know the end…’

‘Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t.  They kept going.  Because they were holding on to something.’

‘What were they holding on to, Sam?’

‘That there is some good in this world, Mr Frodo, and it is worth fighting for.’

Good luck in your personal fight in the next two weeks. 

Thank you for showing us the horizon.”

After this speech, the following morning at 04:00  I was up in support of the twelve adventurers embarking on their 2013 Unogwaja Challenge. Premier Zille was also there to bid them farewell.  They were accompanied on the first leg to Franschoek by three Wynberg boys – Dylan van Zyl and the two Boulle brothers – as well as the McNaughton House Head, Gordon Taylor and Wynberg hockey coach, Steven West.

Maybe in time, they, too, will join the Unogwaja legend

Follow the Unogwaja Challenge Online

On Becoming a Teacher

I became a member of the world's second oldest profession because of a history teacher. In Standard 4, Doug Clark held us 11 year olds spell-bound as he described General Wolfe leading his troops in the dark up the cliffs of Abraham in order to capture the city of Quebec from the French in 1755. To make it even more vivid, he was a superb artist as he drew in coloured chalk on the blackboard the red-coated British infantry scaling what appeared to us to be 90 degree cliff face.  I was disappointed to read recently that it was only a 53 metre high slope – but ‘cliffs’ sounded much more exciting to an 11 year old. Without the aid of an overhead projector, smart board or video, he imbued a sense of adventure in a bunch of little boys - at least one of whom would have a life- long love affair with History. (1 & 2)

General Wolfe, who was mortally wounded in the battle on the plains outside the city, was then immediately given the honour of joining the eleven year old Richardson pantheon of heroes and his name was immediately added to those of Robin Hood, Biggles, Battler Briton, Douglas Bader, The Hardy Boys and Graeme Pollock. I fervently, and without reservation, gave my total support to the 'good guys'.  How could I not?  Doug Clark had held us spellbound with the last words of General Wolfe when, lying mortally wounded on the ground and hearing a soldier shout: ‘They run! See how they run!’ opened his eyes and asked who was running. Upon being told that it was the French, he turned on his side and said, "Now, God be praised, I will die in peace"   - and obligingly did so.

That was better than television!

Skilfully, as we grew older, Doug Clark started posing questions to us. He recreated a minute by minute account of the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. One hour of the battle would take us a week to discuss and dissect. At breaks, we would discuss with one another with the most advantageous positions for cannon, cavalry, infantry. We bored our parents at the dinner table with the defensive and offensive positions of both commanders -  with the salt cellar acting as la Hay Sainte and the side plate as Hougoumont – both crucial British defensive positions.

'Where would you put the least experienced troops in the battle line -up?' Doug Clark would ask us. The merits of that discussion inspired us during many breaks at school – and even on one occasion, while we were waiting to go in and bat during a cricket House match.

He sewed confusion in our minds when he proceeded to look at the battle through the eyes of all the protagonists  -  Ney,  Napoleon, Picton, Wellington, Blucher.  Something was wrong - it seemed that they were ALL good guys - even the Frenchmen!  Yet he managed to show us their common humanity and that they all had their own personal hopes, aspirations, fears and weaknesses. They even had their own families he told us  -  and probably had sons who thought that their dads were fantastic.  That was an interesting discovery – you mean the enemy had families who loved them??

History for this teenager was starting to take a less predictable line.  We never imagined that those ancient figures from history, or even literature, could be human and have the same emotions, foibles and desires.

Some years later, the film 'Waterloo' came out. I saw it at least a dozen times. It exacerbated my frustration. Just WHO were the good guys? The  courageous but limited Marshall Ney who kept charging at the guns to impress his boss? The lonely and friendless Napoleon portrayed brilliantly by Rod Steiger?  The arrogant Wellington seemingly so much in control?

In the film, I loved the line by Christopher Plummer who in one scene portrayed Wellington on his horse watching the progress of the battle with General Picton.  This short vignette temporarily took me back to the age of unquestioned heroes.  Displaying the stereotyped sang froid of an upper-crust  English officer while under fire,  Picton remarked to Wellington, 'My God, Sir! I have lost my leg!'

Wellington deigns to look down and says, 'My God, Sir..... So you have.'

That was better.  Heroes should not feel pain – or show unnecessary emotion…..

Rex Pennington, later to become Rector of Michaelhouse, took us for Latin for a number of years. An unashamed admirer of Hannibal, he could be readily side-tracked from Friday afternoon Cicero and Caesar translations.  After taking part in the Italian Campaign with the SA 6th Division in the Second World War, he used to describe to us how, after he stayed behind after the war, he retraced the footsteps of Hannibal through the Alps.

He held us spellbound as he told us Hannibal’s vision; how he had planned and prepared meticulously to tackle this vision and how he had ensured that his army officers bought into this vision. He compared it to the war he had taken part in as the Allied army in Italy attempted to strike Hitler in his ‘soft underbelly’.

Little did Rex Pennington know that these chats would be absorbed and banked by one 16 year old - who at the time immediately added Hannibal to his list of heroes from which the Hardy Boys and Biggles had been recently removed.

On course I had no inkling at that stage that running a school one day would not be dissimilar to persuading reluctant African elephants to walk over snow-covered Alps.....

Sir Wilfred Robinson, Grandson of Sir JB Robinson of Diamond Fields fame, was my History teacher in my senior years at school. Himself a decorated World War Two hero,  a Captain in the Regiment parachuted behind enemy lines at Arnheim and a survivor of a prisoner of war camp, it must have been difficult for him, after fighting a war to keep 'the world safe for democracy', to steer his classes impartially through the minefield of South African apartheid history.

He warned us that political leaders didn't always get it right and that true leaders considered the welfare of all - including the disenfranchised and the voiceless. We needed this type of liberal thinking in South Africa in the 1960's.  He urged us to question the status quo and he continually reminded us that contrary views were always valid provided that they were backed up by facts and careful consideration.  ‘I doubt that there would have been a Second World War,’ I remember him once saying to us, ‘if the German populace had been more critical of their leaders.’

He didn’t say it, but the inference was that the same could be said of the then Apartheid government.

Perhaps we should even be saying it of our leaders today.

One of our Standard 9 class, Grant Pollard, had recently had a run-in with an officious prefect and was keen to explore this matter further and enquired in the history class whether the same principle applied to pupil leaders.

It seemed it didn't. No need to rock the boat too close to home!

Wellington would also have thoroughly disagreed with this free-thinking modern sentiment. 'Scum of the earth,' he remarked about his own soldiers. 'I don't know what they do to the French, but they frighten the hell out of me!'

He should have tried running a school!

History is one of the finest vehicles to learn these lessons.  When stripped of emotion and personal agendas, it provides a safe house for discussion and critical debate.  ‘Why are you teaching History?’ enquired David Cooke, my supervisor in the MEd degree for which I enrolled some years later at Exeter University.

‘I want to change the world…’ I said immodestly – and now, years later,  I can imagine Doug Clark, Rex Pennington and Sir Wilfred choking in the background if they had heard me say that.  The decades since then have taught me the unlikelihood  of my changing the world and therefore my aspirations are currently much narrower.  My present aim is to send 150 Wynberg boys into society every year as critical, questioning but considerate adults.  Perhaps then, there will be parts of a future world that are better places.

Teaching History is a real privilege.  Intelligently taught, it does not insist on pupils being repositories of facts, but rather it instils age-appropriate real life lessons. Through History, pupils are taught to be anthropologists of their own lives.  History teaches pupils to initiate conversations and thus set vital thought processes into operation.

Mark Twain tells the story of meeting  St Peter at the Pearly Gates and enquiring of him who was the world’s best general.  ‘He is,’ said St Peter pointing to one shabbily dressed man. 

‘But he was only a labourer,’ said Mark Twain.

‘Ah, yes,’ said St Peter, ‘but he had the potential to be the best general. It was just never tapped.’

Warren Buffett once said that he was the luckiest man alive because he did what he wanted to do every day.  So do History Teachers  -  they are creating environments for pupils to grow and, in time, giving them the opportunity to realise their untapped potential and to make a difference in the world.

‘Neath the Wynberg Mountain

‘We are here to make friends,’ said Neil Crawford, Rector of Grey College, to all and sundry when he returned to the school where he started his teaching (with me) many years ago.  There were a number of parents in the Bill Bowden Pavilion on the Thursday evening before the start of the 17th Grey / Wynberg Derby Weekend.  They were waiting for the sons to finish their final practice before the Big Game and nodded approvingly at these wise words.  Two of them were Old Boys who knew him well as they had been coached by him in the u14A many years ago at Wynberg .  They smiled knowingly as they well realised that this leopard couldn’t change its spots.  Memories of hundreds of hill-sprints up to the Memorial Gates after losing a game thirty years ago still remain forever fresh in their memories.

Chris Merrington, Social Media Manager of the School, saw a photo opportunity and requested both Heads be photographed on the Hawthornden Field.  Neil Eddy was given a rugby ball and whistle and charged with referee duties, while Neil Crawford and I were given instructions to pack down like two front row forwards in the scrum.

‘Lower!’ said the referee.

‘I can’t,’ said the Rector.  ‘I will fall over…’

‘I will hold you up,’ I offered, ‘but Chris must take the photo quickly before we both collapse.’

And so it proved to be.  As we retired to the Pavilion for a post-match team talk, the realisation suddenly hit home.  ‘What are you going to do with that photograph?’ asked Neil.

Let the games begin ...

Chris Merrington was dismissive.  ‘Oh, it will probably go sometime onto the school website,’ he said airily.

He lied.  It went out on Facebook that night and the comments poured in.  Some were complimentary about the view of the mountain in the background, others expressed surprise that a quality coach such as Neil Eddy had lowered himself to be involved in this contest; a number of rugby cognoscenti expressed concern that the future of schools’ rugby was in the hands of two people who clearly had no idea how to bind.

Then some bright spark had the idea (not cleared by the hierarchy) of putting it into the printed programme for the weekend.  No need for it to go on the website now – the entire planet has seen it!

Ever since Neil has been Rector, he has persuaded me to speak at the Grey Assembly the day before the match.  Normally he tells me as we walk onto stage.  Now it was my turn – but at least I gave him eighteen hours warning.  I informed him that assembly was at 12:30 the next day and he could give his words of wisdom – presumably that the point of the weekend was to ‘make friends’.

‘Fine,’ he said ‘but in the morning, I will first go for a walk up to Kirstenbosch as it is such a beautiful day.’

He arrived back half an hour after assembly. ‘Did I miss it?’ he said.  First blood to Grey.

I will remember that next year….

The initial results started coming in.  The Grey golfers were victorious.  So were their Chess and  Debating teams.  We watched the squash for a while and then wandered down to the Astros to watch the hockey.  Suddenly my phone rang.  It was Jeff Sternslow, organiser and self-appointed captain of the Old Boys’ Golf Team, who had spent the afternoon playing the Old Greys at Westlake.  He was ecstatic – not because of the narrow win by the Wynberg Old Boys – but because for the first time in the seventeen year history of the Derby, he had beaten Keith Clark.  All the golfers had come back to the Bill Bowden and now he wanted the two Headmasters to join them at the Prize Giving.

As soon as we arrived, Jeff announced that the Headmaster of Wynberg  would love to make a short speech.  He was right on the second part only – it was a short speech –  particular as I realised that he wanted to go through all eighteen holes of his personal victory in his follow up speech.  Neil and I slipped out before he had reached the half way mark because we needed to be on time for the first team hockey match.

Great Spirit on our Astros

What a scene greeted us there.  The surrounds of the hockey field were packed and heaving.  Chris Cresswell was in charge of the public address system and had the music blaring – most of it from the 70’s which would have been lost on 80% of the crowd.  Smoke from the braai fires added to the atmosphere under the lights.  The match was televised on Expresso TV with the commentator saying, ‘The whole of Wynberg came out to watch one of the biggest derbies in South African school sport.’

The match itself was a hard fought midfield encounter.  Expresso  TV called the first half ‘a cagey affair.’ The Grey defence closed down the speedy Wynberg forwards and scoring opportunities for both sides were rare.  As a stalemate looked likely, it needed a moment of brilliance to break the deadlock.  This was provided by Quintin Dreyer who eliminated  four Grey defenders before drawing the goalkeeper and  gifting Ryan Crowe with the opportunity of providing the coup de grace.

Grey threw everything into the last few minutes, but Rob McKinley in goals proved equal to the challenge.  1 – 0 remained the final score.  One boy wrote on Social Media later:  ‘We were so proud on our astros today that we could burst!  Wynberg Forever!'

Elation in the Wynberg Camp at the end of the 1st XI Hockey encounter

We went back to the Bill Bowden where a braai had been laid on for the two teaching staffs. Most of the Old Boy golfers were still there.  Jeff Sternslow, having finished going through all eighteen holes, had just left – exhausted.  Keith Clark was magnanimous in defeat but was already looking forward to the home encounter in Port Elizabeth in 2014.  ‘We will put him in the wind at PE Golf Course,’ he threatened.  ‘He will never cope with that.’

The rest of us will be avoiding Jeff for the next twelve months.

Saturday morning was another beautiful day under the watchful gaze of Table Mountain.  Surely when winter finally decides to come, it will be with a vengeance? 

The cross country runners started off the day’s activities with a relay of eight runners taking on the 3.8 kilometre course round the school.  In the absence of Migyle Stevens, Luthando Siboya was our number one runner.  Justifying his selection as a WP athlete, he led his team from the front and was overjoyed with the result at the end.  ‘My last run against Grey,’ he enthused.  ‘What a way to finish.’

The u14A rugby game summed up so many games of the weekend.  After being 10 – 0 up, the Wynberg side went down 10 - 15.  Sit back at your peril chaps – these are two proud schools who don’t know when they are beaten.

I watched the 15B match - which was a humdigger refereed by Peter Murison.  With two minutes to go, the game was still scoreless.  Wynberg finally managed to barge over and Peter signalled the try in front of the Grey reserve bench.  ‘Knock on!’ shouted the Grey boys in unison.

Peter, who was unsighted, saw a boy whom he taught.  ‘Was it knocked-on?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Sir,’ replied  Mthandazo Mweli  unhesitatingly -  to the consternation of the celebrating Wynberg team.

Peter reversed his decision.  ‘Five yard scrum.  Grey ball,’ he said.

Only possible in schoolboy sport officiated by a quality schoolmaster….

The sporting gods took note though.  The clearance from the scrum was kicked straight down the throat of Lutho  Mlunguza on the wing who burst down the line to score the winning try in the corner right on time.  Even Roy of the Rovers couldn’t have scripted it better.

With the main match kicking off at 3.30, the spectators started pouring in after lunch. One old boy complained that he could only find parking at the ‘other side of the Girls’ School’.

‘If you weren’t such a skinflint, you could have paid R10 and parked on our school fields,’ I replied. 

‘If I had known, I would have gladly paid R20 and not had to walk up that hill,’ was his response.

Right then.  Regard it as done.  R20 next time.  That probably won’t worry the lady driving the blue Toyota, who when asked for a R10 donation by the duty prefect at the gate, asked him what he was going to do about it as she drove straight passed him.

Bruce Probyn, previous Head of Wynberg, was in the V.I.P. tent.  He was responsible – with Roy Simpson, the then Rector -  for organising the original trip up to Grey in 1996.  ‘We took up 15 busses of boys that year,’ he reminisced.  ‘We stopped for lunch at York High School in George who gave all our boys hotdogs and cooldrinks.’

That first trip involved the Junior School who have only taken part sporadically since then.  Various other activities have been added over the years – music, fishing, surfing amongst others – in an annual event which has become an iconic experience for thousands of Wynberg boys.  The beauty of it is that boys in C, D and E teams can have the opportunity of touring as well.
Bruce Probyn must be a proud man when he saw the fruits of his efforts seventeen years later.

Wynberg's 2nd XV en route to a win

This match was also televised on Expresso TV.  ‘Another wonderful day at Wynberg at a packed Hawthornden Field,’   enthused the commentator.  With a successful second team result in the curtain-raiser, the scene was set for a memorable first team game.

As has been the case in previous matches this season, Wynberg defended manfully as Grey went into a 15 – 3 lead and the history of the previous games on the field was looking to repeat itself.  However, as the commentator pointed out, Grey were taken aback in the second half by Wynberg’s belief that they could win the game.  They were ably supported and encouraged by the most positive Wynberg support of the season.  The cheerleaders deserve a High Five!

Going for posts: Karl Martin readies for the winning penalty

With eight minutes to go and trailing by two points, Wynberg was awarded a penalty just inside the Grey half.  Backing himself, fullback Karl Martin stepped up to take responsibility.  The ground went completely quiet.  ‘Newlands can learn from this,’ said Ray Connellan, previous coach of the Wynberg 1st team who was sitting next to me. To the joy of the partisan home crowd, it bisected the poles as did another penalty a few minutes later.  Wynberg had won their first game against Grey at home.  The commentator had the final word:  ‘What a rugby game.  The season can’t get better….’

The final whistle - and the school erupts ...

As the Wynberg boys poured onto the ground to mob the players and sing the school song, the Grey captain, CJ Velleman,  went out of his way to thank the referee, Joey  Klaaste-Salmans.   In an email later, the referee had this to say:
I wish to highlight the actions of the Grey first team captain on Saturday. Not only was he an absolute gentleman on the field but he composed his players when they needed it most on the field. I walked straight off the field once all the WBHS boys ran on but he ran 50 – 60 metres to shake my hand and say thank you. I wasn’t expecting him to as I knew that this must have been hard (the loss) for him but he did. In my mind, it was the highlight of Saturday afternoon. It is obvious that he was representing a school with strong values and traditions. I wish to thank him and his team for a great game of rugby and for never giving up.

Sharing the moment ...

That is surely the real reason why we play sport at school. A sporting gesture such as this when disappointment must be acute, is the sign of an emotionally intelligent young man from  a quality school.

During the week after the game, a Grade 8 boy sent me an email:  ‘To be honest with you, Sir,  I’ve never been so proud in my life then that moment on Saturday, 27 April 2013 when the final whistle was blown and Wynberg had beaten Grey 19-15. Sir, my career at Wynberg is not finished until I put on the 1st XV jersey.’

The final word must go to Daeyaan Wilson, Matric boy in McNaughton House.  When all the excitement had died down and the crowds were drifting off, he sat on his own on the benches savouring the moment of his last Grey experience as a schoolboy.  He told me later that he just wanted to remember the scene – the sun going down, the shadows on the mountain, the excitement on the field, the spirit of his friends on the bank.

I knew what he meant.