I Did it, Mom! I Did it!

This Blog is based on the numerous emails from Grade 10’s after they returned from their ten day hike in the Cederberg in December this year.

Heading off: Destination Cedarberg

In her recently released book 'Good Morning, Mr Mandela ', Zelda La Grange wrote that President Mandela often told her that ' Your mind is always stronger than your body'. History has shown us that he, himself, certainly revealed that personal trait often enough in the trials and personal challenges of his own life!

Every boy who volunteered for the Grade Ten Challenge this year - and completed it - has returned with a full understanding of that sentiment expressed by Mandela.

'I wondered (before the camp) why you kept calling it the Grade Ten Challenge. Now I am in no doubt!'

'At the time, I thought that the Grade 8 and 9 camps were testing, but we had no idea what was coming this year!'

I am a firm believer in Rites of Passage for our boys as they advance on their journey to Manhood. Appropriately, these meaningful milestones of life should be celebrated with family and supportive adults who have been part of their journey to adulthood. Confirmation, Blazer ceremony, Valedictory, Prize Giving, Founders' Day, 21st, Wedding Day.  The  empathetic and reassuring presence of adults at these ceremonies is important as it sends the message to the young traveller on his personal journey that he is valued and respected.

The Grade Ten Challenge has a loftier goal as parents cannot, and indeed must not, be there.  The challenge is a learning experience which emphasizes choices and decision making which the individual boys have to make on their own.  It tests their resolve as well as their friendships.  As they look at the timeless mountains, questions of spirituality are raised. The bottom line is that the decisions made on this camp have to be made without the well-meaning guidance of parents.  For nearly all the boys, it would be the longest period of time which they have been away from their parents.  Homesickness would undoubtedly be a factor. In short, this experience was destined to be the most demanding challenge of their 16 year old lives.

Arrival

Over the ten days that these boys trekked over the Cederberg Mountains, they were forced to take charge of their own growth. The experiential learning that took place over this time has so far been  unmatched by any other activity in school.

The sheer physicality of this Sisyphean exercise was the central theme running through all the feedback from the boys. 'It tested me in ways that I have never been tested before,' was one insightful comment. Another boy was typically blunt in saying 'that it was the most difficult physical and mental thing I have ever done in my life.'

'When we walked,' commented another, 'I would completely zone-out and day dream so that I didn't notice the distance we were walking.'

Making the choice of giving up or not seemed to be a constant negative thought among the boys. In reading their comments, I was reminded of a description in Lewis Pugh's book ‘Achieving the Impossible’ of the tough times he went through in his quest to earn the famous sandy-coloured beret of a SAS soldier.

200 soldiers started the course of which the final challenge at the end of three years was known as ‘Battle Camp’. For two weeks, he had to battle his way through winter rain, snow, sleet and howling winds over impossibly difficult Welsh terrain. All the time, there were officers deliberately placed on the route, urging him to give up; telling him that it was too dangerous and that he was risking unnecessary injury; reminding him that their friends were at home not going through all this pain; and the most persuasive argument of all was that no-one would blame him for giving up as he had already gone through so much.

He knew only too well that if he were to take up this easy option, there would be no award of the sandy-coloured beret.  120 Wynberg Grade Tens might recognise his sentiments:  ‘We had to find reserves of physical and mental strengths we didn’t know we possessed’.

Out of 200 who started in his group, only three claimed the sandy-coloured beret.  The Wynberg boys who successfully finished the Challenge will receive a lapel badge which displays a simple ‘Ten’ against the outline of mountains.

It was very evident in the emails to me that our boys heard the same voices - except that their persuasive voices were in their own heads and sometimes in the comments of the boys around them.

Intuitively, most of the boys realized this. 'During the hike I had a lot of time to think, which could be a good thing or a bad thing. Thoughts reminding me of how much my feet, legs and back hurt and how long and hard the hike was. There were also thoughts reminding me of how comfortable my bed was at home, and how nice the food always was;  thoughts telling me that I couldn't go on , and that giving up is so easy.  There were also positive thoughts. The thought of making my school, parents and myself proud was something that motivated me and kept me going. The thought of overcoming this difficulty and not giving up gave me strength to keep going.  Above all, there was the thought of being able to say that I made it.’

It was not only their own personal tenacity which enabled the boys to complete the challenge, but virtually all of them acknowledged the positive role played by their friends.  For some, friends became as close as family.

'I certainly learnt who my true friends were - because in that tough environment you needed them.'

Another boy was appreciative of the bonding value of friends. 'When we were struggling, we motivated one another. I strongly believe that the hike would have been much harder if it hadn't been for our friends.'

Some also had to learnsome hard truths. ‘One of the boys in our group was not co-operating. He would eat the group’s food on the sly but not help cook dinner…..  I lost all respect for him.’

To balance it out there were some feel-good stories:  'On the second day, we were on the top of a mountain when we heard that one of our group had fallen back and was badly dehydrated.  Eight of the group immediately put down their bags and went back two kilometres to help him. For the remainder of the hike, we allowed him to set the pace and we followed behind.'

Judging by the comments, the highlight of the hike was the rest day. The boys were allowed to swim and to laze around. 'Proper' toilets were also a much appreciated feature of the day!  Letters from parents were handed out that day which evoked moving responses.

'I decided that however hard the hike was from then on, I was going to make my parents proud of me.'

Another boy really opened up.  'I felt much closer to my father after reading his letter.'

And then this one.  'We re-read our letters every day at Quiet Time. I know that some of us even shed a tear or two..'

Initially the daily Quiet Time was not taken seriously but after parental letters were read, it became much more meaningful. 'At first, Quiet Time was taken as a joke, but as the days ticked over, it became more important to us.'

This thought was echoed in this comment:  'My parents told me to appreciate the opportunity of being on the Challenge.  As I started thinking more about it, I realized that the same applied to my school and family.'

To notice one's surroundings is not a trait immediately associated with an adolescent boy. 'You cannot imagine the beauty of the mountains, the rock formations, the colours, the trees.... To see a sky so full of stars and to watch the shooting stars made us forget the cold....'

At the conclusion of the Challenge, I was waiting at school for the return of the boys on the busses. Their faces clearly showed the paradox of their experience. Pride was striving to trump the obvious weariness they felt. One boy alighted from the bus and abandoning all normal adolescent reserve,  rushed to hug his mother. He soon gave up the struggle to hold back his tears. 'I did it, Mom. I did it.'

Home again!

Surely there can be no greater justification for Grade Ten Challenge than this single comment? As parents and teachers we cannot give pride to our boys - they have to earn it themselves.  Clearly this young man took ownership of his own accomplishments.

I silently applauded that mother who had the courage to send her son away on this challenging and lengthy hike exposing him to discomfit and struggle.  I wonder if she will ever know how much she has enriched his life?  She has consciously given him one of the greatest gifts a parent can give her son - the opportunity to develop his own pride, his own confidence, his own self esteem.  This intoxicating discovery of inner strength will give him power for the rest of his life.

The school journey which began with her letting go of his hand on his first day of Junior School now took another giant leap forward in his quest to become a responsible adult.

At the same time we can all sympathise with the boy who told me that he found the experience rewarding 'but to be honest, I won't be walking up Lion's Head for a while!'

Following the Flag to Twickers

Crowds arriving at Twickenham

‘You do not have to worry about finding the ground in time, mate.  Just follow the crowd.’  So said the man at the Wimbledon ticket office when I enquired how I would find my way from Twickenham railway station to the stadium.

In retrospect, it was a really stupid question even for someone who was clearly a rookie Saffer miles   away from home.  When I alighted from the train, I found myself immediately swept along in a swarming crowd of white-shirted people.  Dotted here and there were the familiar green and gold jerseys and every now and again, we would catch one another’s eye and give a nod of recognition. Although it was a very mild day, I felt the need to put on my jacket as a cold breeze enveloped us, reminding everyone that it was officially winter in the UK.

I had hardly put on my jacket – a Wynberg branded one – when I heard a shout from across the street.  ‘Hey, Wynberg!’  A young man with a broad grin came over to me holding out his hand. ‘SACS!’  he said with pride.  I commiserated with him before discussing the chances of a Springbok victory in the match ahead.

Walkway at Twickenham

Grant Esterhuizen, organiser-in-chief of the London reunion dinner, had invited Ricky Farrant and me to the test match between England and South Africa at Twickenham.  We had been instructed to meet outside the Marriot Hotel entrance.  As predicted by the railway official at Wimbledon, I arrived well ahead of our meeting time and certainly experienced no trouble in finding our rendezvous point.  As I had time to kill, I wandered round the stadium admiring the statues and especially the walkway with its famous names etched in stone.  I spent some time reading the names which made me even more determined to ensure that a Walkway of Wynberg names comes to fruition in the 175th year of the school.  We aim to build it from the Memorial Gates above the bank of Hawthornden field around to the nets and will invite families to immortalise the names of generations from their family who have attended the school.

Walkway of Wynberg Names - artist's impression

In due course, Grant and his entourage arrived. Ricky was once again regaling the group about what my dog had allegedly done to his veldskoene all those years before, when he expressed an urgent need to quench his thirst. This, naturally enough, met with a chorus of approval.   We presented our tickets at the gate and made a beeline for one of the many beer stands dotted around the stadium.  When I saw that the beers were six pounds each, I immediately lost my thirst.  No matter how parched one was feeling, forking out a R100 for a beer would undoubtedly cause a vast amount of internal damage to the stomach linings.

No sooner had we finished the beers and I was wondering how I was going to reciprocate the round, when Grant (fortunately) announced that it was time to go up to the hospitality area.  The lift in that part of the stand was not working so we had to walk up what seemed like twenty floors – which resulted in Ricky Farrant’s thirst returning with a vengeance.  The hospitality suite had clearly anticipated this and we found tables groaning with food and drink.

No sooner had we started tucking in, than Grant announced that we had to go to the Lion Gate and have photos taken with the flag.  Luckily the lift was now working and we found ourselves sharing the space with Springbok, Francois Louw.  We gave the nod of South African recognition when he suddenly spotted the badge on my jacket.

‘Ah, Wynberg,’ he said.  ‘I was there for Grades One and Two.’  Before I could utter the usual chirp which I give in these circumstances:  ‘Well, imagine how good you could really have become if you had gone all the way through to matric!’, Grant jumped in and demanded a photograph.

Wynberg Links: chance meeting with Francois Louw

So another historic photo has been added to the journal of the 175 iteration of the Flag around the world.

At the Lion Gate

We found throngs of people around the Lion Gate as the arrival of the teams was expected.  ‘How will folk know we are here?’ I asked Grant.

‘Wave the flag,’ he suggested – and so I did.  The immediate response was the emergence of Brandon van der Westhuizen out of the crowd.  So the next historic photo was added to the journal.

We hung around for a while but we were never going to find anyone in that crowd and Ricky was making constant reminders that his thirst was returning. So back up to our hospitality area we went.

Half an hour before game, we went to our seats in order to enjoy the atmosphere of a stadium of 82 000 spectators.  It was right up there with two other great spectator experiences of my life – being at the stadium to watch the archer shoot the flaming arrow to light the Olympic flame at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics and the second was being part of the Welsh singing ‘Bread of Heaven’ and ‘Land of our Fathers’ at the opening of the Millennium Stadium before the Springbok match in 1999.

Until last Saturday, that match was an historic occasion in that it was the only time the Welsh had ever beaten South Africa in a rugby test match. Although it was only on television that I was experiencing the second Welsh victory on Saturday, I noted that the singing of the crowd was just as emotional and uplifting.

A packed and noisy Twickenham is hard to beat as a spectacle and sporting experience.  The announcer set the tone when he announced as South Africa ran on:  ‘Let’s welcome our friends from South Africa… The S-P-R-I-N-G-B-O-K-S!’

The crowd cheered politely. I couldn’t help wondering what the Newlands crowd would have done if the announcer had welcomed our friends from Pretoria so warmly - the B-u-l-l-s?  I was so struck by this, that I bought a scarf when I left the ground which was half Springbok and half English and had the date of the match on it. What chance is there of a half WP and half Bulls scarf being a commercial success at Newlands?  If any good can come out of the Phillip Hughes’ recent unfortunate death in a cricket match, it can be to remind us that sport is not war – and is just that, sport.   I thought the announcer at Twickenham had it right that day.

At anthem time, we sang Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika lustily.  ‘Not a bad effort,’ I remarked proudly to Grant when we had finished.  ‘Wait for this…,’ he said presciently.

I have never heard anything like it.  The Queen would have considered herself well and truly saved if she had heard the enthusiasm with which that Twickenham crowd belted out their national anthem.  It was a spine-chilling experience, evoking goose bumps. ‘That nearly turned me into a Pom,’ I announced to all and sundry around me at the conclusion of the singing.

Not quite – but it was a near run thing.

It was drizzling when the match started which resulted in a spectacular rainbow over the stadium.  ‘Well, that’s it then,’ said a spectator near me in his white jersey . ‘What an omen to start the game – a rainbow for the Rainbow Nation…’

This gloomy home town prediction was in the balance right up to the final whistle – by which stage the clouds had gone and it was a perfect evening – both from a weather and a result point of view.

Back in the office, with a depressed Ben Thompson (Wynberg's Director of Academics, our 'Englishman in the Cape')

I take away many many memories from my day at Twickenham – but there was one which I wish the Newlands crowd would adopt.  When Pat Lambie stepped up to take the first penalty, a notice flashed up on the screen:  ‘Respect the Kicker’ and the stadium went dead quiet.  Now THAT is how sport should be played!

I was due to fly back the following evening but spent the morning at the Tower of London admiring the ceramic poppies.  It was a moving experience knowing that every one of those 800 000+ poppies represented a young life snuffed out in its prime.  Every day, at sunset, during the time which the poppies were still in position, 150 names were read out - followed by the Last Post.  Relatives of those 150 names were invited to be part of the proceedings.  A moving and worthy tribute.

Twenty four hours later, after an uneventful flight, I was walking across the fields to my office.  The school was in exam mode but a few boys were playing a game of soccer.  I greeted them – but in the intensity of the game, they hardly noticed.

‘So did you lot behave while I was away?’ I said to them.

Only one boy paused momentarily.  ‘Oh, have you been away, Sir?’ he said before tearing off to take the pass.

Welcome Home.

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!

Daisies in Darling and other Distractions

It was a week or two before the matric exams started in 2007.  Westerford were having their final pep talk with the parents and the matric class of that year.  Advice was flowing freely to us parents – many of whom were writing matric again for the first time since our own personal experience many years before.  Deputy Principal John Broster had it spot on.

‘Since February we have been calming your daughters down,’ he said. ‘We continually have to remind them that the exams are seven months away and there is no need to panic. However, I now have an announcement to make to the boys –  the Education Department have decided to set exams for all matriculants and these start in two weeks….’

As the matric exam season approaches us at full speed, I feel like making a similar observation to some of our boys here at school. They all seem to have different ways of coping with this breaking news.  The predominant emotion seems to be one of nonchalance – under no circumstances must they be seen by their mates as breaking a sweat for something as minor as matric exams.  They have mastered the art of casual indifference and feigned deafness when they hear adult injunctions about these exams being their springboard for the future, the grand finale after twelve years of schooling, the culmination of twelve thousand hours of sitting in a classroom and, for a much smaller minority, the thankful conclusion of a similar number of hours doing homework and revision.

I found one of our matrics sitting under a tree recently after school one day working at some involved mathematical formula.

‘And now?’  I enquired, impressed that we were getting the message through to at least one boy about the academic importance of this time of the year.

‘I am working at how often I have heard a school bell ring in my time,’ he said, clearly engrossed by the enormity of his self-imposed task.  He was patently disappointed that we had done away with bells some years ago as that precluded him from breaking the five figure barrier.

I moved on back to my office but not before I heard another group discussing the flora of the Western Cape.  It seemed to me that the group was keen to see the spring daisies in the Darling area.

Rocking the Daisies: Cloof Wine Estate, Darling - Western Cape; photo courtesy Daniel van Hoff (Matric 2014)

Wynberg Matrics 2014: on a "floral excursion"
a fortnight before final exams commence.
Photo courtesy Daniel van Hoff (left)

There are some traits of boys which have never changed over the years.  The first is that if you keep putting off something for long enough, the problem will invariably go away. This goes back to pre-teen days where if you would leave your bed for any length of time, you could come back to find it made.  In years to come, mothers would come to regret these caring actions when they complain to me that their son never seems to take responsibility but ‘just waits for something to happen’.

Another trait of boys is that if he says something often enough, he starts believing it to be true. While he normally finds it somewhat easier to convince his mother, convincing his father is a much more daunting task. Fathers tend to have distant, uneasy memories of similar despairing attempts to convince their parents that they were putting in hours of honest academic toil.

I recollect having a conversation with Dennis Bowditch in the cricket nets many years ago.  He was a talented all-rounder in the early Jacques Kallis years.  It was a few days before a matric Biology paper and, standing at the end of his run-up, I asked him how his revision programme was going.

‘I have it all worked out,’ he said. ‘I put my Biology book under my pillow at night and let the information waft into my head while I am sleeping….’

He then took off on his run-up leaving me speechless.

To this day, I have never found out whether he was serious or not.

The third trait of a teenage boy in exam time is to irritate his mother.  During the school holidays before matric, one boy once told me that when his mother would leave the house, he would spend the time doing productive work. On hearing the car in the drive, he would turn up the music (loudly) and hop on his bed and close his eyes.  There he would lie, waiting for the inevitable explosion which would only be exacerbated by his plaintive comment that ‘he was only taking a short break!’  He even persuaded his younger brother to join the subterfuge and to back up his machinations by saying that he had been on his bed all day.

He attained an A aggregate when the final results were released.  I wonder whether that mollified his mother as she counted another crop of increasing grey hairs?

Desks ready for Matric Exams

I often speculate whether another Wynberg matric boy was having me on some years back with an incident before the boys started writing.  The entire class was seated quietly in the hall waiting for the exam papers to be placed on their desks.  Suddenly he rose and walked to the next desk and started talking. I was not amused. I reminded him that it was a public exam and once they walked into the hall, there was no talking or communicating whatsoever.

He endeavoured to placate me.  ‘Don’t worry, Sir.  I was just checking what exam we were writing today.’

Even for me, who frequently asserts that he understands boys, that was an astounding statement.  Clearly he was not having me on, as his name did not appear in the newspapers when they released the results some time later.

It certainly has given grist to the mill in my ongoing discussions with Shirley Harding, Principal of WGHS, that Heads of boys’ schools should be paid more than other principals.  Where other than in a boys’ school would a pupil ask a question like that on the morning of an exam?

Lack of preparation often causes internal panic and boys can react in interesting ways.  One year, a boy came into the exam and after taking off his blazer, placed it over the back of his chair.  He then took out his pencil case and set out his writing implements neatly.  He sat down and after a while, before the papers were handed out, asked to go to the bathroom.

We did not find him until the following day when his grandmother phoned from Johannesburg to enquire whether or not he should be at school.  It turned out that he had cycled to Wynberg station, locked his bike there, caught a train to Cape Town, picked up the airport bus and then flown to Johannesburg.

His name also failed to appear in the newspapers that year.

Another incident which I doubt would happen in a girls’ school and proved that I do earn my remuneration, was when I was phoned by a distraught mother on the morning of an exam saying that her son was refusing to come to school. 

I arrived to find the boy in full uniform hiding under his mother’s car in his Tokai driveway.  No amount of encouragement or conciliatory words from me would persuade the boy to come out from underneath the car.  Eventually I decided that enough was enough.  While his mother distracted him on one side, I grabbed his one leg and bracing myself against the back wheel, and tugged.  Inch by inch, a tear-stained face and filthy uniform reluctantly emerged.

I frog-marched the oil-stained and dishevelled boy into the exam room.  The chief invigilator raised a quizzical eye at the sight.  ‘Don’t ask,’ I said. ‘Just give him an exam paper.’

His name DID appear in the newspaper and he subsequently enjoyed a fine university career.  To my knowledge, he did not cause the vice-chancellor of UCT to scramble underneath cars.

It is really one of life’s ironies that boys have to write the most important exams of their lives when the cornucopia of life’s pleasures are opening up for them:  driving licences, legality in pubs and clubs, beautiful summer beach weather. When Ray Connellan was the Grade Head of the Matrics, he used to say the same thing over and over again:  ‘For two months just concentrate on your academics.  You have the rest of your life to enjoy the distractions.’

That comment, in fact, sums up the dilemma facing everyone who has the challenge of exams ahead of them.  The ability to defer gratification is one of the key factors of successful people. 

Self Control Rewarded

Fifty years ago, Columbia University put hundreds of six year olds through the marshmallow test.   They sat them down individually in a room and gave them a marshmallow on a plate.  They were told that if they waited fifteen minutes, they would receive another one.  About a quarter of the six year olds, waited for a greater reward.

The University then tracked these children through school, university and their careers.  They found that those who had exercised self-control in that early test, performed far better later in their studies and in social situations.

I am relieved that I was never put under that pressure.  Wine, women and song at 18 was one thing – but a marshmallow to a six year old!  I could never have resisted that one.

I was always a sucker for marshmallows.

Standards and Selfies in the 2014 Invasion of England

I was still at prep school when I read the story of Julius Caesar’s invasion of England in 55BC.  The Roman legionaries were somewhat disconcerted by the appearance of the hordes of blue and red painted Celtic warriors lined up along the shores and for obvious reasons, the legionaries were displaying extreme  reluctance to leave  the safety of their ships.

The standard bearer, the ‘aquilifer’, of Caesar’s elite Tenth Legion, then decided to take matters into his own hands and according to the writings of Julius Caesar, shouted:  ‘Leap, fellow soldiers, unless you wish to betray your Eagle to the enemy. I, for my part, will perform my duty to the republic and to my general.’

He jumped off his ship into shallows with the standard of the legion, the Eagle, chained to his wrist, and waded ashore.  Chaining the standard to the wrist of the aquilifer ensured that the only way it could end up in the hands of the enemy, would be to cut off the wrist.  With the prospect of losing their Eagle to the English and with the inevitable subsequent disgrace to the legion, the soldiers of the Tenth Legion leapt into the water to follow the aquilifer and protect their Eagle.

To the Tenth Legion, their Standard was their rallying point, their source of pride, the personification of their history, their unifying emblem, their badge of honour.

The Eagle was to the Tenth Legion what the school flag and similar symbols are to the schoolboys of Wynberg today.  For the first two weeks of their school careers, Grade 8’s are not allowed to wear their school colours and only after completing a hike to de Villiers dam near the top of Table Mountain with their matric buddies and having learnt school songs and the expectations of the Wynberg Brand, are they then presented on stage with the school blazers by their buddies in the presence of their parents.  This ceremony inaugurates them as the newest links of the ‘endless chain’.

Together with their buddies, they sing the school song to their parents:

‘From the shelter of its branches,
Year by year go forth again
All the heirs of its traditions
Brothers in an Endless Chain.
Joined by pride and linked by honour'

They now ‘belong’ – united by the flag and the badge which they wear daily. They are now committed to promoting the Brand – Friendliness, Manners, Pride in Performance, Aiming High and Never Giving up.  They are now members of a world-wide brotherhood.

It has been over a year ago since we first started planning the celebrations for the 175th year which take place in 2016.  ‘We should design a Flag and take it around the world to all our Old Boys,’ said Chris Merrington.  ‘We should call it:  Strengthening the Links.’

Pipe Major Charles Canning

And so we designed that flag and the first steps in this journey were put in motion with the introduction of the flag to the school at Founders’ Day on 22nd August 2014.  Charles Canning, the Pipe Major of the Cape Town Highlanders (to which our former Cadet Detachment was originally affiliated) piped in the flag which was carried by a Matric boy, Anthony Rowe, and his buddy, Khaalid Saliem.  It was formally presented to the Chairman of the Old Boys, Arno Erasmus, on the stage.

It was appropriate that the tune chosen for the march, was Flower of Scotland – in honour of John McNaughton, the first Headmaster of the School who was brought out from Scotland in 1841 as a recent graduate of Edinburgh University.  In 1996, during the Rugby World Cup, the matrics of that year rewrote the words ‘Men of Wynberg’ to the same tune and it is sung lustily at all sporting events today.

In our newly refurbished Jowell Quad, many boys took the

Founders' Day in the Jowell Quad: Terry February, son Che & the 175 Flag

opportunity to have their photos taken with family members in front of the 175 flag – a sentimental piece of nostalgia for the family album; a vignette of history to be appreciated in decades to come; a snapshot for gloating to future grandchildren about what the school was like back in the ‘old days’.

Every day in Founders’ Week to follow, the Flag was ceremoniously presented at various events:  Old Boys’ Cape Town Dinner; WBJS Flagraising and sports matches.

Then it was taken to Leeuwenhof, the official residence of the Premier of the Western Cape, Helen Zille. The flag was formally handed to her by Guy Bowden, Chairman of the Representative Council of Learners – himself the Great Grandson of the legendary Headmaster of the 40’s and 50’s, Bill Bowden.  The Premier then, in turn, handed it over to the Cross Country team who would run it in relays back to the school where they were scheduled to be greeted at the Memorial Gates by a cheering group of boarders – resplendent in their boaters.

The Premier also handed over a letter:  ‘To the Old Boys who encounter the Flag as it travels, you can rest assured that almost 175 years later, the rich traditions of excellent education, combined with good manners, fierce competition in sport, pride in uniform and respect for all, continue to be upheld.’

There was much clicking of cameras.  It was a beautiful day at Leeuwenhof with the spring flowers starting to bloom and Table Mountain looking more imposing than normal.  Robert Cook, in a conspiratorial stage whisper, said to me, ‘Do you think that I can ask her for a selfie?’  As I took a deep breath to tell him that he could do no such thing, we both were not to know that the Premier’s ears have been finely tuned over the years to catch any whisper of discontent in opposition benches.

‘Of course you can,’ she said graciously and moved towards him.  Robert turned round to me and winked.

Robert Cook and the Premier ...

I have banked that wink.  However, I do think that putting his arm around the Premier of the Western Cape and Leader of South Africa’s Official Opposition was taking it a little too far – even for a red-blooded Wynberg boy.  I bet that not even President Zuma has done that!

Waved off by the Premier, the first three runners took off through the streets of Cape Town.  They enjoyed the experience and the comments from the crowd so much, that they all continued running even after handing over the flag to the next set of runners!

Chris Arendse, posted this comment later:  “I felt a great sense of pride while holding the 175th flag up high as we ran a relay, 13km in total, from the Premier’s residence in town back to Wynberg. I had only imagined what it would be like to run the Olympic torch but today, I had a very similar experience. The great symbolism behind the flag in the accumulation of pride-instilling traditions cannot be described, only remembered in years to come, when we can say, ‘I was there!’ “

Nkosinathi Ganamfana, who had his picture in the Weekend Argus taking his selfie with Helen Zille, had this to say:  ‘A memorable day indeed. I never thought I would enjoy running my 4km leg after a long Wednesday at school. Passing people in the streets of Wynberg while carrying the Wynberg flag, and them giving me a death stare and probably asking their peers "What on earth are these school kids doing?"  was all worth it, and made me feel proud of my school.’

Incorrigible Robert Cook, emboldened by hugging the Premier and winking at his Headmaster, wrote this email to me later: I would just like to say a huge thank you for organizing today (3 September) and for allowing me the opportunity to meet such an enthusiastic and down to earth person as Helen Zille and allowing me to literally fly the school colours high! It truly was an inspiring moment for me.  I realised how privileged the boys and I are to be at Wynberg.  I appreciated the opportunity and one day I will ask you too for a selfie  - as I don't want you to feel excluded.’ 

On Wednesday 12 November, the 175 Flag is scheduled to fly to London to be presented at the London Old Boys’ Dinner which is being held before the Twickenham rugby test against the Springboks.  It will also go to the test ground where there will be similar blue and red painted Celtic warriors waiting for us.  However, like the Tenth Legion, we will also take our standard courageously  into the ranks of the foe.  Maybe those watching on television back in South Africa may even hear a small portion of the crowd singing: 

Oh Men of Wynberg, 
We've come to see   /  your pride again.
We fought and played for / Your endless years of strength
and so together  / the Wynberg's army
has sent them homewards  /  to think again.

For the 2014 Invasion of Britain, the Standard will be taken by Aquilifer Richardson.  He will be requesting the Queen for a selfie.

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Photos courtesy Tania Robbertze & Peter Catzavelos, Videos by Kyle Robbertze