Flying the Flag (2) with the Men of Wynberg

When parts of Windsor Castle burnt down in and marital scandals regarding two of her sons were rocking the establishment, Queen Elizabeth 11 is reported to have said that 1992 was an ‘annus horribilis’ – a dreadful year.  In the same speech, she said:  ‘Distance is well-known to lend enchantment, even to the less attractive views. After all, it has the inestimable advantage of hindsight.’

I am sure that no Wynberg boy would ever say that his school years were ‘anni  horribiles’ largely because I suspect that they would not be able to ensure that they could parse correctly the concord of noun and adjective in the plural!

Judging by the loud and noisy conversation at the London Old Boys’ dinner last week, all the attendees found their school years ‘mirabile dictu’ – wonderful to relate. The original author quoted by Queen Elizabeth was a Scottish poet,  Thomas Campbell, who wrote:

‘Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,

 And robes the mountain in its azure hue.’

There certainly was an ‘azure hue’ over the recollections of the evening – tinged later, I noticed, by the hue of London Pride.

Inside the Old Council Chamber, Chancery Lane, London. 13 November 2014

The concept of a dinner in London, after an absence of over a decade,  was conceived and driven by Grant Estherhuizen and his brother Craig – with, of course, a large dollop of help from Grant’s secretary.

The event was held in Chancery Lane – the home of London’s solicitors and barristers.  It was a most suitable venue with nearly 50 old boys attending - spanning 52 years of schooling at Wynberg from Malcolm Hunt (1952) to James Oliver (2004).  When I saw the guest list, I came to the sobering realisation that all but two of the attendees were at Wynberg during my years as teacher and Headmaster.

Surrounded by lads of Wynberg Matric 1989

Hugh Hurst, Matric 1981

Grant, mindful of the dignity of the occasion, had stipulated ‘black tie’ or ‘Old Boys’ tie and suit’.  To be safe, I brought both from Cape Town and only when I was in the hotel room, did I realise that there was no chance that I could work out the vagaries of a bow tie – certainly not without the essential support of my wife, Pippa.  I did not have the courage to put on a bourgeois clip-on bow tie certainly not after Hugh Hurst had severely wrapped me over the knuckles years ago for being so ‘common’.  He had subsequently bought me a ‘proper’ bow tie – which now lives permanently in my jacket pocket.  I knew that Hugh was coming up from Bristol for the dinner – so I went for the safe option of an Old Boys’ tie and a suit.  Throughout the evening, he made no attempt to disguise the look of disappointment on his face whenever he caught my eye, the disapproving shake of the head and the very audible tut-tutting.

It is very humbling to know that one cannot measure up to the exacting sartorial standards of one’s former pupils.

Joe Schubert (1979) was determined to attend and he made the effort to travel all the way from Denmark and a number of attendees made the effort to come up from the West Country and beyond.  Even a signal fault on one of the train lines, causing a two hour delay, failed to dampen the enthusiasm of most of those who were stranded.

One of these latecomers was Ricky Farrant, who had travelled up from Exeter.  He was in the boarding house in my first year of teaching and was one of the handful of Wynberg boys over the years who could boast a Nuffield and Craven Week cap. ‘But,’ as he said to me modestly, ’being asked to spend two years in Standard Nine did help…’.  He then proceeded to tell the entire audience (over and over again) about how my dog at the time had relieved himself on his shoes on the side of a hockey field.  He was disappointed that I had no recollection of this undoubted apocryphal  story.

Being 'restrained' by lads of the 1979 Wynberg Matrics

I was good to see Gary Sutter there.  He and I were both new boys together in Littlewood – he as a Standard Six boy and I – an equally wet behind the ears newly qualified teacher. Grant Sutcliffe, one of the stars of my first team hockey in 1975 bounced up to me.  We had so much catching up to do.  His mother, Val, was the school secretary and gave me the first welcoming phone call I received before I had even started at the school.  Grant and I reminisced about those early days where I coached all five hockey sides – three u19 and two u 15 teams.  John Baxter did assist – but his knowledge of hockey was limited to shouting ‘do something with it’ whenever a Wynberg player managed to stop a ball on that interesting field which we shared with the rugby players.  What a far cry from the quality coaches, the two astoturfs, nearly twenty teams, advanced technological assistance which characterises Wynberg hockey today.

In my second year at Wynberg, I prevailed upon a young Neil Crawford to coach the second team hockey on his ‘off’ days i.e. when he was not coaching the u14A rugby. I wonder how many teachers would do that today?  Neil went on to coach the first rugby team at Queens College – but the second hockey team of 1976 at Wynberg will all testify that he was a far better hockey coach!

There were a number of past pupils from my Latin classes over the years.  Sean Malherbe (1979) was in my first Wynberg Standard Six Latin class.  I must have given him a good linguistic foundation for he finished off the evening speaking all sorts of languages – and Latin must surely have been one of them.  I saw a momentary look of panic in Anthony George’s (1989) eyes when I asked him whether he still owed me a Caesar translation. ‘You nearly caught me for a moment, then,’ he said clearly relieved that (he thought)  I was pulling his leg.

It was also a pleasure to see a father / son combination of David (1957) and Alan (1987) Bradley.

Once the folk from the late train had arrived, Grant Esterhuizen started the proceedings by reminding everyone that we were all Wynberg men from whatever era we were at school and wherever we were in the world.  He then announced that we would be standing to sing the school song.  There was an air of panic amongst the assembled gathering.  One half of the audience (pre-1984) did not know that there was such a thing as a school song and the other half (post 1984) had the embarrassing premonition that they would be carrying the singing.

Then Grant played his trump card.  He gave a signal to his brother Craig – who pushed the button and lo and behold, the Wynberg Boys’ High choir appeared on the screen giving vent to the first verse of the school song. Chris Merrington had organised this back in Cape Town and it set just the right tone. The entire gathering from the oldies of the fifties, to the babes of the noughties, bellowed out the words.

The menu was not one that any Littlewood boy would have remembered from his days in the boarding house:  Aged sirloin of beef, braised beef crepinette, road shallot, fonant potato, stuffed cabbage roulade, Madeira jus.  Obviously there was no call on this occasion for Lappies to travel with his spit braai to London to do the catering.  However, he is under a certain degree of pressure to come up with new culinary names at the next old boys dinner in Cape Town.

It was coincidental that Lappies, having gone over to watch the rugby,  was on the same plane with me back to Cape Town.  For reasons of tact, I did not discuss the London menu with him.

With the Wynberg 175 flag behind me and a youthful Queen Elizabeth smiling down at me from the opposite wall, I went up to the podium to apprise everyone what had been happening at their old school in recent years.  I dubbed my talk: ‘Standing on the Shoulders of Giants’  saying how the icons of the past had all influenced me and had all contributed to the Wynberg of today which was a testament to the passion and commitment of generations of educational leaders.  Neville Blackbeard, Rowan Algie, Bruce Probyn, Ray Connellan, Kobus Blom and many others all helped to build transepts of the proud cathedral which is the Wynberg Boys’ High School of today.

I told the audience that the purpose of my visit was to fly the 175 flag in London and to inform everyone of the exciting events of 2016. Our aim of the 175 year was to ‘reconnect the links of the endless chain’ and to encourage all old boys to visit the school at some stage during the year.

I shared with them the story of the 175 flag being ceremoniously piped into the hall on Founders’ Day this year to the tune of ‘Men of Wynberg’.  I mentioned the story of a grade eight boy who informed me, in all seriousness after the ceremony, that the Scots must have learnt the tune from Wynberg, because they call the tune ‘Flower of Scotland’  and sing it before their rugby matches!  I went on to play the emotional video of the procession wending its way to the stage.  In addition, they were able to listen to the pledge of matric pupil, Anthony Rowe,  as he wished the flag well on its journey to various chapters of old boy gatherings around the world.

I updated them on the story of the Oude Wijnberg Wine – a shiraz grown from vines on the Wynberg campus.  I mentioned the coffee table book authored by Neil Veitch.  I enlightened them about the memorial walk which we were planning from the Memorial Gates alongside the bank of the Hawthornden field.  On this walk would be granite slabs commemorating any old boy who wanted to have their name inscribed into the history of the school.

It was an exhilarating evening amongst of group of men who were positive and warm  and were clearly enjoying the occasion. In the end, it was transport which broke up the gathering.  Trains had to be caught and in the case of Grant Sutcliffe, a boat down the Thames.

The following day, I received an email from Ricky Farrant.  ‘I am in Cape Town in December,’ he said. ‘Would you like to play a round with me at Steenberg?  Winner buys the other a pair of shoes. ‘

Why can’t Wynberg boys just let it go?  

Anyway, I don’t need another pair of shoes.

Flying the Flag in London

It all started with a leading question at the 25 year re-union lunch in August. 'Would you like a ticket for the Twickenham rugby test against the Springboks in November?'

With lads from the Class of 1989 after lunch, Grant Esterhuizen (back right) gets to hold the Wynberg 175 Flag - as you'll see, Grant gets a few other opportunities, 14 000 km from the Hawthornden Field

Grant Esterhuizen was sitting next to me in the Bill Bowden Pavilion with the other members of the 1989 Matric class reminiscing about past exploits and escapades.

Once I had ascertained that he was indeed serious, we started planning to take it further with a Dinner for UK Old Boys and a tour around the sights of London flying the 175 Flag. Three months later, I was striding into the hotel lobby in Russell Square to be greeted by Grant, his brother Craig (1986) and Brandon van der Westhuizen (1993).

It did not take long for Brandon to make it abundantly clear that he was in charge of the flag-flying expedition round the sights of London and that the erstwhile teacher / pupil role was from a previous and long forgotten life. The instructions flowed. 'We will start with changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. Then we will move on to Downing Street and finish up at the Houses of Parliament.'

'What do you mean by Downing Street?' I enquired, somewhat intrigued. 'They will have half the London constabulary ensuring that the likes of us come no-where near it.'

'No worries,' he said airily, 'I have made arrangements!' Time would prove that this was no idle statement.

With Sergeant Major vdW marching us along at pace, we arrived at Buckingham Palace and unfurled the Flag. 'Any chance of calling the Queen down for a picture with our special flag?' Brandon cheekily asked the local policeman guarding the gate. There is no end to the chutzpah of a Wynberg boy!

The thin blue line ...

Fortunately the policeman had a sense of humour. 'Just go and knock on the door, mate, and see if she will come down. She is in residence - that is her personal standard flying from the mast.'

I pulled Brandon back. There is just no stopping a Wynberg boy when he has the bit between his teeth. We took the second best option of a photo with the policeman and the flag - with the Palace in the background.

On we went to Horse Guard Parade. There we encountered an imperious and unmoving member of the Queen’s Household Cavalry, resplendent at attention with a highly polished sword over his right shoulder.

Not feeling terribly relaxed with that armed Guardsman lurking behind me

'Another picture,' ordered Brandon and I obediently unfolded the flag and we stood in front of a fine example of one of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces - who by this stage was showing distinct signs of discomfort and looked as if he had every intention of using the sword in the manner for which it was originally forged.

'Oi,' said the Guardsman without moving his lips. 'What is on that flag?'

'I thought you lot weren't meant to talk?' was Brandon’s riposte.

I attempted to appease the clearly agitated soldier. 'Don't worry. This is a school flag and one part of it is an emblem representing the Duke of Wellington. You should be proud of this being displayed in front of you. Weren’t you boys at the Battle of Waterloo two hundred years ago?'

With his fingers visibly whitening on the sword, we quickly took our photos and fled.

Next stop was the Cenotaph - where the Queen had laid her wreath the previous weekend. 'What is that flag?' asked an elderly bystander who had been reading all the notes on the wreaths.

At the Cenotaph: KCR, Grant & Craig Esterhuizen

On being told it was a school in Cape Town, she told us how touched she was that schools in the colonies still respected their war dead. 'Not like that anymore out here,' she said gloomily and shuffled off - presumably to vote UKIP in next year's General Election.

At the security barriers at Downing Street, even though our names were on the list, the policeman in charge was clearly suspicious. I sympathized with his plight as terrorists come in all shapes and sizes these days. Brandon proceeded to drop names which were obviously impressive enough for security to allow us, reluctantly, into the street itself.

We wandered nonchalantly up to the door of Number Ten and enquired of the policeman how we were going to enter. He replied in a voice reminiscent of Mr Carson in Downton Abbey, ‘Just knock on the door, Sir…’

So we did and the result was similar to the sight we all see regularly on television – the famous black door swung open, courtesy of an unseen hand and we swept into the entrance foyer of one of the most recognisable houses in the world. Apparently President Zuma was unable to receive an audience with Prime Minister Cameron recently. If only he had known about the organising skills of Brandon van der Westhuizen – he could have joined us.

We waited in the foyer for David Cameron’s special advisor who was to be our guide. It was somewhat disconcerting to be under the constant, disapproving gaze of Robert Walpole (1735 – 1742), the first Prime Minister of England who once lived in the house. His huge portrait dominates the foyer and we gained the distinct impression that he, too, had critical views of presumptuous men from the colonies who did not know their station. In fact that steady gaze so unnerved two of our party, that they asked to make the use of the facilities – I suspect rather like dogs proudly marking the territory of an alpha male.

As we walked around the famous rooms, I had to pinch myself that this was really happening. The house – which is really four houses in one – was huge. I half expected to see Hugh Grant emerge from one of the rooms but our guide broke the illusion by telling us that Love Actually was definitely not filmed in these hallowed portals - but on set.

I gazed at the seats in the Cabinet Room wondering how many thousands of momentous decisions had been made round that felt-covered table. I pondered on how many kings, queens and eminent politicians had dined in those illustrious state rooms. We marvelled at the small decoration of a man thatching a house which had been fashioned above one of the doors. ‘That was Margaret Thatcher’s doing,’ our guide informed us. ‘It was her way of ensuring that there would always be a Thatcher in Downing Street!’

We were told the story of the mortar attack from the IRA in 1991 when the shell from the Horse Guards Parade narrowly missed its target of the cabinet room and landed in the garden of Number Ten. The windows of the cabinet room were cracked in the blast but none of the cabinet members, who were meeting at the time, were hurt. Prime Minister, John Major, with typical British sang-froid was reputed to have said, ‘Well perhaps we should continue our meeting somewhere else!’

We spent a considerable amount of time admiring the black and white photos of all the Prime Ministers on the wall alongside the stairs. Prime Ministers donate their picture after leaving office and our knowledgeable guide told us that only one Prime Minister has tried to be different and hand over a colour photo – Edward Heath. Apparently he was promptly told to replace it with a more acceptable version.

Quite right too. How else are we in schools meant to keep standards up if Prime Ministers can’t follow simple instructions?

After eventually being ushered out, we decided to take our chances with the flag outside the front door. Carson was not happy. ‘It is not customary to display ornamentation, Sir.’ Being a typical Wynberg boy, Grant Esterhuizenwith, with a wide and innocent smile, remarked that as we had had the tour, they could only boot us out of Downing Street. So with the crowd of tourists wide-eyed (hopefully with envy) and clamouring at the gates at the end of the street, we proceeded to make full use of the opportunity to record the occasion as we stood in front of the legendary door.

At Number 10: Brandon van der Ws\esthuizen, KCR & Grant Esterhuizen

There was never such insubordination in Downton Abbey. But then Carson never had to deal with colonials.

The Flag bearers

Brandon did not allow us to pause at the gates to bask in the adoration of admiring crowds as he chivvied us to our next assignation. Once again, he had woven his magic by laying on a personal guide for our trip around the two Houses of Parliament. As neither Commons nor Lords were in session, we wandered round the hallowed precincts, coming within touching distance of the Queen’s throne in Lords and Churchill’s revered green benches in Commons. We stood next to the Woolsack, the seat of the speaker in the House of Lords. ‘I think that this was named after a road in Rondebosch leading up to UCT,’ I informed our English guide authoritatively. Stung by patriotism, she didn’t see the humour in my statement and acerbically reminded me that this seat had been there, in some form or other, since the fourteenth century.

With winter darkness rapidly imposing itself, we finished off the tour by posing for a photograph with the ubiquitous 175 flag outside the Great Hall with Big Ben in the background. It had certainly been an eventful first day for the flag in its journey around the world.

There is more to come. But that is the subject of the next blog.

Bob Dylan and Tablets

‘For the times, they are a-changin', crooned Bob Dylan in the 1960’s.  As teenagers, we loved to accompany him, playing our air-guitars and blasting out the words.  We really did believe him when he assured us that the answer was blowing in the wind and all we had to do was knock (and knock) on heaven’s door.

Certainly from a technological point of view, times are changing even more rapidly fifty years later.  At a New Parents’ Evening recently, the incoming Director of Academics, Ben Thompson, told the Grade 7 parents to hold back buying tablets for their sons until the last possible moment before school starts in January to enable them to benefit from any significant technological  advances.

I don’t think for a moment that it was android tablets which Dylan had in mind in 1964.  I suspect that he would probably have agreed with the following sentiment expressed by a concerned commentator about new technology:  “This discovery of yours will create forgetfulness in the learners' souls, because they will not use their memories. People will be hearers of many things and will have learned nothing; they will appear to be omniscient and will generally know nothing; they will be tiresome company, having the show of wisdom without the reality.”

Watching the intensity of boys around the school as they use their tablets, one can soon see what the commentator had in mind.  Forgetful of the surrounding company, they whiz around the cornucopia of technology with the ease of the digital natives they are.  The commentator who expressed the sentiment above, would be even more horrified if he could see the modern scenario because it was the Greek philosopher Socrates who made that astute statement  – and all he was doing was expressing his abhorrence of writing!

I wonder what he would say about Twitter, Blogs, the Internet, Podcasts, Wikis, Mxit, emails, Whatsapp and BBM’s!

Dr Albert Hertzog, as Minister of Posts and Telegraphs, expressed a similar opinion some years later in 1964 when he was talking on the subject of introducing television to South Africa. ‘Over my dead body,’ he said, ‘will this country introduce television.  It is a miniature bioscope over which parents will have no control.’  Our deprivation was brought home to us when the rest of the world watched the images of Neil Armstrong landing on the moon in 1969.  Even our small neighbour, Rhodesia, could watch it.  What made that even more galling was that their state television was reputed to be sponsored by South African businesses.  After that, Hertzog  was helpless to stem the pressure, and  with him either mortuus aut vivus, television was still able to arrive in our sitting rooms in 1976.

Personally, I think that the advance of IT in the classroom is incredibly exciting – and especially the use of tablets to enhance learning.  I cannot ever see technology taking over from the committed and enthusiastic teacher because caring human relationships are still the most important part of education. It was certainly as true in the time of Socrates  in 300BC as it is in the classrooms of Wynberg Boys’ High School in 2014.

Mastering the intricacies of technology is the easy part for our digital natives.  They will do this through self-discovery and collaborative learning which have unfortunately been largely undeveloped skills since mass education took hold as a popular concept in society.  I suspect that our Victorian-type  classrooms will undergo vast changes in appearance in the next decade. The true test for our pupils in the future will be to handle the vast amount of information available to them at the touch of a button (or a screen).  Teaching them discernment is destined to be the real challenge of modern education.

Photo (taken on a tablet) courtesy Ethan Robbertze, Grade 8

The current Grade 8’s of 2014 are a case in point.  Introduced in January to the exciting concept of tablets, they revelled in the treasure trove of information, games and alluring temptations.  Their marks plummeted.  Anxious parents were wanting to push pins into effigies of Steve Jobs and were querying the educational value of anything electronic.  It took time, but slowly the boys learnt to discern gold from dross and by September, the average marks of the Grade were comparable, and in many cases an improvement, over previous years.

It is only natural for parents to want to protect the children.  ‘Roots and Wings’ is one of my ongoing sayings and we hope that when the time comes for the first attempt at flying, parents have given their sons the roots of moral and ethical values.  If that is the case, then our boys are better prepared to make the right choices as they wing their way through adolescence and life.  Whatever else happens on this journey, our boys need to believe that they have the freedom to choose.  They will make mistakes.  They will make wrong choices.  They will visit unsavoury sites on their tablets.  They will play games when they shouldn’t.  

Schools are certainly a microcosm of the real world with the difference being that at no stage will we  adults stop checking.  We will never cease to remind our charges about the dangers of making wrong choices. Mentoring will always be ongoing – because that is our job.

As parents and teachers, we cannot wrap  and envelop our sons in monastic splendour or cloister them in the sterile air of sanitised prudery and then expect them to develop discernment and mature judgement.

The Gutenberg Press

The IT revolution is probably the most important advance for education since Johannes Gutenberg, a German blacksmith, invented the printing press in 1440. As a mobile delivery service of information, tablets, which for us are leading the education revolution, are ready and available to be used at home, in the classroom, before school, after school.   I enjoy seeing boys waiting for their parents at one of the gates engrossed in their tablets,  using their finger or a stylus as they catch up on their homework.  Tablets are enhancing the curiosity of our pupils; fostering their cognitive ability; boosting their IT skills and above all I can see their collaborative learning really being developed.  Before the advent of tablets, ‘doing homework together’ was bound to arouse the suspicion and the ire of teachers.  Now it is almost essential that our boys learn together on Skype, blogs and chat rooms.

‘It is quite amazing,’ said a parent to me in an email recently.  ‘My son and the rest of the class are engaging with their teacher at night discussing aspects of their homework.’

This is the true spirit of the ‘flipped classroom’ where academic learning must not be limited to the school hours.

Boys can no longer report back to class the next day that they ‘couldn’t understand’  a particular question  - a reaction which (before tablets!)  in the minds of adolescent boys completely vindicated the fact that they have not even attempted the question.

Our Maths Department is currently setting homework for which the pass mark is 100%. Boys can submit their answers online as soon as they have 100% - but they can attempt it as often as they like.  If they get an answer wrong, the programme gives them 0 and they then have to start again with the computer randomly giving them different figures with which to solve the same problems.  The programme also records how often a boy tries and where his major areas of misunderstanding are. What a great learning tool for teachers this is as they prepare their lessons for their next day.  The remedial possibilities are endless.

Without realising it, the boys are working over and over again on a problem – and they cannot take the easy way out and just abandon any question which demands thinking.  ‘I am not letting a computer beat me,’ said one boy to me, clearly a veteran of many computer games.

The role of teachers now changes as they embrace and welcome IT into their teaching and transform the pedagogical methods they have used for years and to help their pupils navigate through the content rather than just presenting the content.  The degree which teachers embrace this technological revolution will determine the preparedness of our boys for tertiary education.  Some tertiary institutions are now insisting that students  take notes, make scribbles, bookmark content, access links etc on tablets.

Boys laugh at me when I tell them that I learnt to write with a nib pen dipped into an inkwell in the desk.  Clearly that was in the ‘olden days’.  Well I predict a time where future schoolboys in the not-too-distant future will be laughing at the current generation when they talk about carrying bags of books to school; researching a history essay surrounded by a bevy of books; using a pen and notepaper; organising files of paper notes for every subject.

So, Bob Dylan, I am glad that times have changed as we are entering into exciting times as tablets challenge us to discover and store information in different ways.  Tablets must enhance learning.  They must make this learning stimulating and enlivening.  The days of listening to His Master’s Voice have long since gone.

There is, however, one aspect of modern times that no schoolboy of today can change – and that it is the immense primaeval satisfaction which is given to a ten year old boy when he pulls the nib full of ink back to its full extension and flicks the contents all over the backs of the boys in front of him.

Beat that, you digital natives with your tablets!