Head Dog signing off

My first official function, with Him:
Wynberg's Rugby Festival in 2007

It has been a challenging few months. He has tried to be a stoic, but he can't fool an old dog like me - I have been round the block a few times and can easily see through a flimsy facade like that. In contrast, She wears her heart on her sleeve and clearly has found the various farewells hard going. As Head Dog, it was only right that I attended many of these farewell functions as I would be the one providing the necessary emotional support.

The Farewell from the Ladies of Wynberg one Saturday morning back in November is a case in point. The crowd of Mothers and Teachers from various eras spilled over onto the stoep of the Bill Bowden and even I could feel the emotion. The WBHS pipers, standing on the field with Table Mountain as their backdrop, didn't help and there was hardly a dry eye while they were playing. There must have been something stuck in his throat because He kept swallowing over and over. We were all very proud of Her because She even managed to deliver a speech - albeit with the aid of innumerable tissues. That was her maiden speech at Wynberg having taken her 17 years to pluck up the courage.

I was, of course, right by her side offering her moral and physical support which, considering my position at the school, was not only appropriate but expected. 'Noblesse oblige' was how I heard Him once express it which made his subsequent rejection of me even harder to bear.

This betrayal was when they were getting dressed for the official farewell which would be attended by Old Boys, Parents and Colleagues from over the years. Judging by his comments, He did not have a clue what to expect, but I knew exactly what was coming. People think that I am sleeping in the corridors of the school but I hear everything - even when I am lying on my back. I knew that it was going to be a 'Roast' of note and I was delighted to hear that He would receive a deserved comeuppance. Quite often of late on the grounds of the Campus, I had been seeing Chloe, a spaniel friend of mine. I took great delight in telling her of the great event coming up. The person she looks after, Judy, was also attending and I could see the envious look in Chloe's eyes.

'Only for Head Dogs, I am afraid, Chloe,' I told her rather self-importantly as I didn't want her to feel too left out.

Overseeing the bathroom renovations
at Littlewood House - never any rest
for a Head Dog

When He was ready to leave for the function, I dutifully followed the obligatory two paces behind and couldn't believe my ears when I heard Him say, 'No, you are not coming.' What had I done to deserve this humiliation? What price loyal service over the years? Who tirelessly twice a day after breaks had gone hoovering round the tuckshop area after the boys? Who ceaselessly offered a friendly face and wagging tail to every visitor who came in the foyer? Who cleared the campus of those pesky hadidas?

I suspect that He was still ratty with me for coming on stage during the Prefects' Inauguration in 2013. Rather a long time to bear a grudge if you ask me.

'You were just showing off,' He said to me afterwards. 'It was not your show.'

Ouch. That hurt. Surely every formal occasion at school is the Head Dog's show? I was under the natural expectation that all events fell under the auspices of the Head Dog.

In spite of my absence, the 'Roast' clearly went well as they returned very late and talked long into the night. I decided that the usual 'welcome home' from me was not warranted on this occasion. Some rebuffs are just too hard to bear.

The final humiliation came after weeks of watching Koos strutting around campus where I heard that he was referring to himself as the incoming Head Dog. Doesn't he realize that he has to earn this moniker? In any event, who calls a Head Dog 'Koos'? Doesn't he know that he is laying himself open to constant spoonerisms from the boys? I fear that with that name and with the fact that he looks like a newly skinned meercat, it will lead to the title of 'Head Dog' becoming a laughing stock. I strongly maintain that there surely should be a certain dignity and gravitas associated with the role of Head Dog.

Lost Sandwich Patrol: one must keep this Campus hoovered ..

Koos announced his arrival at Wynberg in spectacular fashion some weeks back by disgracing himself in the middle of the school foyer. The boys gave the deposit a wide berth with no-one being prepared to pick it up. Finally our front of house secretary, Christelle Lefson, sensibly placed a box over it. I was just relieved no-one blamed me - but then some Head Dogs clearly have breeding.

Jan de Waal was then phoned 'to come and collect a parcel...'

He is the first Headmaster in the history of Wynberg to receive a 'Sorry' Award in the staff room before even taking up office!

To be fair, I once did something similar, but it was in my back garden - a totally different scenario from the school foyer - as I maintain that I have every right to regard the Hawthornden field as my back garden. How was I to know that Bishops were about to play the opening game of our annual rugby festival in a few minutes time?

'You had to choose the centre spot, didn't you?' He hissed at me in an aggrieved whisper when He dragged me off.

'I hoped you picked it up,' I heard Her say to Him later.

'Well, I had no choice - there was the crowd on the bank where everyone of them obviously knew who Sandy was, plus a grinning Basil Bey, who was with the Bishops side!'

Apparently to this day, Basil reminds Him of this memorable start to the 2010 WBHS rugby festival!

All was forgiven, when both Storm and I were allowed to attend the assembly where the boys said farewell at the end of term. Storm, of course, was far too immature to realize the significance of the occasion and ran around generally making a nuisance of herself. Naturally, I was far more dignified and lay in leonine fashion at the front of the stage surveying my fiefdom and listening to the Question and Answer Session which He was holding with the boys about his time at the school. The boys sang the hymn which they had been practicing all year 'I Vow to Thee my Country' and I heard Him say afterwards that it was the best that He had heard them sing it.

Um, this bowl is empty?

The highlight of the assembly came when Storm and I were presented with our own bowls and some canine biltong sticks. Now THAT is what I call a proper present. Storm promptly went all coy and refused to come a on stage so I felt that it was only appropriate that all the biltong should come to me. They made us share it in the corridor later and Storm certainly wasn't shy then!

The assembly finished with the Wynberg Pipers playing 'Men of Wynberg' while the two of them emotionally exited down the centre of the hall. Unfortunately I could not be part of that as I was sidetracked with some urgent hoovering round the Fish Bowl area. A Head Dog's work is never done!

I also later attended a farewell braai laid on at the Bill Bowden by the Old Boys Committee. I have traditionally taken my duties of upholding barbecue culinary quality testing control very seriously, so I am pleased to report that the Old Boys did the family proud. So did the speeches and the very generous gifts to which Old Boys around the world contributed. I note with pride that She made her second public speech - She is now becoming a seasoned speaker on the cocktail circuit!

I have spent virtually my whole life on the Wynberg Campus. It is now time to move on. I will miss Chloe and all our friends. I will miss the energy of the boys. I will miss our Mountain.

But, hey, all is not doom and gloom. Rolling in the sand at Fish Hoek beach and chasing those irritating noisy seagulls poses the next enjoyable challenge!

My final public duty as Head Dog: a last check on my Hawthornden Field with Him and Deputy, Storm

The Roasting

For weeks I was on tenterhooks. I had no idea what to expect.  Everyone was tight-lipped and giving away nothing.  If I ever raised the subject with Larry Moser and Jeanette Muller about what the intended format at my farewell was, a quiet and secretive smile would play around their lips.  All very unnerving.  They did tell me that Bruce Probyn was in charge of proceedings - which did not fill me with confidence as it meant that anything could happen.

Bruce and I were sitting on stage, while the audience of parents, Old Boys and friends entered the hall accompanied by the emotive sounds of the school pipers playing Auld Lang Syne on the bagpipes. I could not help but notice that a number of folk were continually glancing in my direction and grinning.  A remark was passed to Bruce to ‘roast him well’ and then the realisation that I had been well and truly set up, struck home. 

On Stage: L-R Derrick Fine, Jan de Waal, KCR. Bruce Probym, Greg Brown, Chris Luman and Neil Crawford

Couches were arranged on stage and I was duly instructed to sit down and to keep quiet.  The right of reply was denied. During the evening, there was no shortage of roasters who gleefully dredged up dubious and totally fictitious anecdotes of past incidents. As ‘Roastmaster’ (in 1937 Russia he would have made a good prosecutor in the notorious Moscow Show Trials), Bruce jubilantly latched onto every slanderous statement urging the ‘Roasters’ (state witnesses?) to expand on what was clearly libellous. Neil Crawford, current Rector of Grey High School, who used to be numbered in the ranks of my friends, was shameless in his scurrilous and totally trumped-up fabrications which he delivered from stage.

‘It serves you right,’ he said to me later without any mortification or embarrassment. ‘It is small recompense for what you have said about me in public over the years.’

He had a point.

Bruce Probyn

Appropriately, like Caesar’s Gaul, the evening was divided into three parts, with musical light relief provided between the sessions’ relentless character assassination.  An Old Boys’ Ensemble gave a superb rendition of ‘You will Never Walk Alone’, which was negated only by the fact that it bore no relation to what was happening on stage. I was totally alone - squirming in the limelight.

Bruce introduced the first witnesses who were part of my early days of teaching – Derrick Fine and Greg Brown of my Latin classes; Chris Luman, a history pupil; Neil Crawford (an ex-friend) and Jan de Waal, both colleagues at the time.  Bruce spoilt the effect somewhat by introducing Jan de Waal, incoming Head of Wynberg, as ‘Jan le Roux’.  Alerted by audience laughter, he immediately compounded his faux-pas by lamenting that Jan hadn’t even started at Wynberg yet and he was already forgotten.

Listen to Bruce Probyn introduce the panel on SoundCloud.com

Descriptions about those early Latin classes came pouring out.  How on earth those two ever passed matric if their tales were even 10% correct, beggars belief.  Why didn’t Larry Moser ask Owen Rogers, currently a judge in the Cape High Court, to speak? He was in the audience and he would surely have acknowledged my role in his classical education.  The fact that he taught me more than I taught him is incidental to this story.

Fortunately the Roastmaster had to bring these fictional narratives to an end eventually and the school vocal ensemble restored sanity with their rendition of ‘The Man in the Mirror’ which would have pleased Rowan Algie no end as that was a theme he punted endlessly in his tenure as Headmaster of this school.

KCR and Bruce Probyn

The verbal barrage continued when Jacques Kallis, Aubrey Martyn, Andrew Wiley, Fritz Bing, Chris Hyland and Paul Revington were invited to come on stage and talk about their sporting memories in various cricket and hockey teams. Apart from Fritz, who played in the same era as WG Grace, all the others were members of sides which I had coached.

Andrew Wylie retold the story of our game against Northwood, some years back, in the Alexandra Week. We were thoroughly outplayed in this match and when Aubrey Martyn, future Protea, came in as the last batsman, he needed to play out 59 balls to save the game.  This he did competently for 57 balls and then for some inexplicable reason, he chose the 58th ball to have a go.  He struck it superbly and it sailed over the ropes.  The rest of the team cheered lustily (for what reason?  We still needed more than a hundred to win…).  I shut them up tersely – but it was too late, the adrenalin was running and the inevitable occurred. Anyone who has coached schoolboy cricket could predict what would happen next.  Aubrey repeated the shot on the 59th ball of the match.  This time the result was different.  He was clean bowled on the last ball of the match, reminiscent of Rob Drummond at Newlands in 1977.

I was on the square before Aubrey had taken two steps.  I was still remonstrating with him two hours later back in the boarding house.  Eventually Captain Andrew Wylie came to see me to tell me that Aubrey was crying on his bed. ‘Tough luck,’ I said without any sympathy. ‘He must learn to put a price on his wicket.’

The incident had a sequel though. Many years later Aubrey invited me to his wedding, held on a farm deep in the Elgin mountains. We were thoroughly lost and arrived at the wedding well after it had started.  He was standing at the altar and had a clear view of the latecomers.  He stopped the ceremony.

‘What is this, then? Late again!  What would you have said if I had come late to a cricket match?’

What goes around, comes around….

Jacques Kallis recounted the story of how things were tough back in the day. At one Cape Schools’ Week, he had just scored his 3rd duck of the week, this time against Selborne, and, by his own admission, it was a shocking shot.  What made it worse was that it was caught by Mark Boucher who, when the circumstances are right, never ceases to remind Jacques of his debut match against his old school.  Jacques’ Dad was so irritated by another lapse in concentration,  that he drove off without him, thus making the future world’s best all-rounder walk back to Lakeside.

This gives another meaning to walking when you nick it.

Paul Revington had a sheaf of notes filled with anecdotes – not all of which (fortunately) could be read out.  He told me later that he had wanted to repeat the story of what happened after one tour game in Maritzburg where I was, again, allegedly somewhat grumpy over an inept performance from the cricket team. Dennis Bowditch decided to rectify matters by putting a note on my bed, purportedly from one of the attractive young matrons in the boarding house where we were staying.  Revs maintained it worked because I was all smiles the next day.

No, Pippa, there is no vestige of truth in that story. It is entirely the product of adolescent fantasy.

I am often asked what the highlight of my teaching career has been.  There have, of course, been many – but one involves Revs himself.  In 2004, I was at home watching on TV the Opening Ceremony of the Athens Olympic Games.  Revs was coach of the SA Hockey team and I beamed with pride as the hockey boys marched into the stadium behind the South African flagbearer, Mbulaeni Mulaudzi.  A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with an SMS message from Revs standing in the middle of the stadium.   ‘This  amazing experience of walking into the Olympic Stadium in South African colours is all because of Wynberg and my hockey coaches there. I will always be appreciative of where it all started for me.’

What a special moment!  To remember on an occasion like that where it all started, was quite extraordinary.

While Jacques was on stage, Charles MacGregor signalled another special moment.  A school friend from the age of six, he came on stage with the most generous presentation of a magnificent cabinet consisting of Kallis Memorabilia, which he had acquired on auction at the recent Jacques Kallis Tribute Dinner.  He said it was only right that a cabinet of such stature and importance was housed at Jacques’ Alma Mater. 

The sentimentality was soon over and the roasting continued in the last session when Shirley Harding - Principal of WGHS during my entire tenure, Barry Jessop – former Chairman of the Board of Governors and Peter van Schalkwyk, currently on the teaching staff all took up their roasting duties.

I was disappointed with Barry Jessop as I had been hoping to take advantage of his legal expertise later in order to serve writs and summonses for defamation of character on some of the roasters.  I wonder if Owen Rogers is now available to help me out in this department?  In a manner unbecoming a member of the legal fraternity, Barry proved to be a man of straw as he lowered himself to attacking me in my weak spot – my dog, Sandy. He besmirched the good name of the Head Dog as he strove for cheap laughs.  With scant regard for her advanced years and ailing alimentary constitution, he ridiculed Sandy by accusing her of disrupting important meetings by rumbling her discontent. I maintain that she had every democratic right to express in a canine way what everyone else was thinking.

Shirley Harding also went off on a tangent by repeating a long forgotten story of yesteryear when I had once asked her to pour the tea. As WGHS had emanated over a century ago from the School of Industries, I would have thought that this was a perfectly reasonable request.  It was not taken in that spirit and as she clearly cannot let go of this incident, I will not be asking her to tea again.

Of all the roasters, only Peter van Schalkwyk spoke sense. Perhaps it had something to do with an end-of-year bonus.

'Man in the Mirror' - KCR and The Portrait

The roasting ended with flattering words from the Chairman of the Old Boys’ Association, Arno Erasmus.  He thus remains on my Christmas card list as does Ryan Van der Vyfer, whose sympathetic portrait of me was unveiled by Pippa on stage.

As the applause for the portrait was dying down, my son, who was also on stage at that point, remarked, ‘Is that really you? It can’t be. You are smiling.’

This proved the point yet again - that at no stage in this job of headmastering is there ever any chance of acquiring a swollen head.

Building a Cathedral

Every year when the Matric exams are in session, my mind inevitably turns to my own matric exams a number of years ago.  The pain of practising innumerable Maths and Science papers has now receded but I do remember the setworks with fondness, both English and Afrikaans.  Today I am grateful for the opportunity to read literature which I might otherwise not have done in the normal course of events.  Oliver Twist, Henry 1V Part One, High Wind in Jamaica and Zeal of Thy House were some of the English books. In Afrikaans, we delved into Agter my ‘n Albatross by Anna M Louw and I remember my delight when some thirty years later, while driving through Calvinia, we popped into the local museum, which was housed in a disused synagogue and found a room dedicated to her and her books.  Apparently she hailed from the area. I paged through the dusty copy of our matric         set work with nostalgia.   Jetwa die Buffelbul was another one which really grabbed my interest.  It was about a hunter who tried for years to earn the trophy of the horns of a particular buffalo and when the moment came and he had the magnificent animal in his sights, he couldn’t pull the trigger.

On a recent trip to the Umfolozi Game Reserve with some Wynberg boys, we watched a herd of over a hundred buffaloes come down to the river. 

‘I wonder how many of them are related to Jetwa?’ I wondered aloud.

‘Huh?’ said the bemused boy next to me.

‘Never mind,’ I replied.  He would not have understood anyway.

However, it was Zeal of Thy House by Dorothy L Sayers which has been imprinted on my subconscious for years.  It is a play about the trials and tribulations of building Canterbury Cathedral in the 12th Century.

No cathedral can be built without the vision of the original architect who, because of the length of construction time of this grandiose and splendid edifice, is never going to see the final product.  Architects, designers, artisans all put time into their area of the expertise knowing that they are contributing towards something which they also might not see but will outlast them in the centuries ahead – possibly even long after their own names have disappeared in the mists of time.

When I read the play in matric, I suspect that I just enjoyed the plot, the intrigues and the come-uppance which came the way of the glory seekers – in particular of the architect himself.  Although I have not read the play since then, I now understand that it was giving us a metaphor for life at this school – always to aim for the bigger picture, inspiring others and leaving a worthy legacy.

For a number of years, I have used this metaphor in my letter to Grade 7 parents when I accept their sons into this school.  I give them the vision of the Cathedral of Wynberg and invite them to share in the ongoing building of this special place of beauty. I invite them to join the myriad skilled artisans who are giving of their time and their skills to ensure that our imposing Cathedral is enriched and improved.

And so the Ladies’ Association, the Governing Body sub-committees, the groups who organise a variety of extra mural activities, take up their tools of trade every year to enhance the cathedral – and we are grateful and appreciative.

I was explaining this concept to one of my Grade 8 Ethics classes the other day and reminding them, that they too, just like their parents, the teachers, the ground staff and the Old Boys, have to play a role in contributing to the constant construction of this cathedral.  I stressed to them that it was not necessarily bricks and mortar that builds a school. Building must also take place in the hearts and minds of all pupils at the school.

‘Does this mean that we can build our own Cathedral if we follow the Wynberg Brand?’ asked one boy showing real insight.

I was impressed. He understood.

As we stand at the eve of our 175th year, it is inevitable that the next twelve months will be filled with pride, but tinged with nostalgia and appreciation of the vision and determination of the giants who went before us.  We are in the foremost position in education because of the Cathedral Builders over the last 174 years.  Even more important, have been the Cathedral Thinkers who have seen the vision and prevailed on others to buy into it.  It is humbling to reflect on the thirteen Headmasters, the hundreds of teachers, the thousands of boys, the tens of thousands of parents who have made significant contributions.

Canterbury Cathedral - image source: commons.wikipedia.org

Building Cathedrals needs all the skills which are necessary in this 21st Century World  - inquisitiveness and a desire to do things differently; relationship building and, above all, resilience. At Wynberg we call it Supera Moras or ‘Never Give up’. Without it, Cathedrals cannot be built. There are plenty of people who offer opinions as to why something can’t be done and why it is not worth the effort.  They are the ones who will never see the grandeur of a Cathedral and marvel at the workmanship and the passion which has gone into its conception and bringing its splendour into reality.

A story I have often told over the years in school assemblies is of the three stone cutters who were asked what they were doing.

The first said:  ‘I am cutting stones.’

The second kept on hammering while he said: ‘I am doing the best job of stone cutting in the entire country.’

The third stonecutter said:  ‘I am building a cathedral.’

I then pose the question to the boys as to which stone cutter they are.  Answers to these questions will presumably change over the course of their lives but those who see the bigger picture will no doubt be happier and more fulfilled in their future careers.

Every year I ask the matrics to fill in an Exit Questionnaire.  There are two pages of questions and the boys are asked to comment.  In many instances, their advice as to how their school might be improved, reveal a great deal about themselves.

One question posed was whether or not the school ran efficiently.  ‘Far too efficiently,’ said one boy.  One is left wondering if that was a compliment or not.

‘Give two words which sum up Wynberg’ was another request. The first stone cutters were out in force:

‘Short Hair,’ was one reply.  I bet he has a number of war stories to tell.

‘Nothing at all.’  Presumably he wasn’t that good at Maths either.  Two words were all that was requested.

‘Doughnuts / Juice.’   Well, I am glad Founders’ Day meant something meaningful to him.

At the other end of the spectrum, were the third stone cutters:

‘Respecting others.’

‘Excellence in Difference.’

‘Creating Real Men.’

‘Lifelong Friends.’

‘What message would you give the 2016 matrics?’ gave the two of the ‘first stonecutters’ an opportunity to state what they felt:

‘Good luck and get out while you can.’

‘Kiss up. That is what the teachers want.’     I love adolescent boys – they keep you honest….

In answering the question above, the ‘second stonecutters’ were also evident:

‘Do your projects in Term One – especially EGD!’

‘Get enough sleep.  Sleeping in class has consequences!’

‘Matric is like a lion.  Approach with caution.’  

In answering the question: What do you enjoy most about the school?, most comments revolved around sport, extra-murals and friends. Some comments showed insight.  I particularly enjoyed the insight of one boy who said:  ‘The person I have grown up to be.’

The ‘third stonecutters’ were fortunately far in the ascendancy and many comments about ‘making a difference’ and ‘leaving the school a better place’ were in evidence.  A number referred to the opportunity of assisting their Grade 8 buddies through their first year at high school.  ‘I thought that our Grade 8 hike was good, but the hike which we did with the Grade 8’s when we were matrics, was even better.’

Thank heavens for the Cathedral Thinkers in our midst.  They realise that this school is more than an institution. Not only does it evoke a sense of permanence, but it continually reminds us of a vision so strong that it will continue over time. The Cathedral Thinkers realise that a good school is a source of inspiration enabling others to aspire and visualise beyond their own brief tenure at the school so that they can also leave a legacy which future generations will experience and appreciate.

I am not sure which one of the three stone cutters this boy is when he responded to the question: Did you feel comfortable talking to your Headmaster one on one?

His response could be echoed by schoolboys of every era:  ‘Oh, yes – except when I was in trouble.’

Joanna, Ganja and Steel Bands

It was Kirsten Marshall who can really take the credit for the formation of the Wynberg Steel Band. The school was on cricket tour in Barbados taking part in the Sir Garfield Sobers International Cricket Tournament and it was a day off for the team.  We were lounging around the hotel’s swimming pool – the boys were talking and tanning while Dave Russell and I were reading.  There were a number of other hotel guests around the pool, including a young, nubile Argentinean lass, who was attracting the lascivious attention of our hormone-charged cricket team.

Barbados 1994

Opening bowler, Kirsten Marshall, led the attack.  It was difficult to concentrate on reading while he was turning on the charm with a patter of inane comments. 

‘So where are you from then?....  Argentina?  I love Argentina....Don’t you play soccer there?.... No, we are not Americans…. We are from Cape Town…  Where is it? …..  It is quite near Argentina, but at the bottom of the next continent…’

I couldn’t take it anymore.  I closed my book and suggested to Dave Russell that we forego eavesdropping on these fumbling teenage conversational attempts and spend the afternoon walking around Bridgetown, the capital of Barbados, which was about five miles from our hotel.

It was always fun to walk along the noisy quays of the yacht basin of Bridgetown. The stalls and shops and people were a riot of colour.   We were browsing through t-shirts when I heard it.  I had never heard a steel drum before and, leaving Dave to enjoy his shopping, I followed the melodic sounds to find a solitary drummer, wearing a beanie of Jamaican colours, enthusiastically thumping out the reggae tunes of Bob Marley.  I sat down to listen at a nearby table.

I was still there half an hour later when he took a break.  Somehow or other, we caught one another’s eye and he wandered over to me. Perhaps he recognised a fellow musical artiste?

I was brought down to earth.

‘Would you like some ganja, mon?’ he drawled in his thick West Indian accent.

I thought I hadn’t heard him properly.

‘Would I like what?’

He proceeded to tell me, in some detail, about the quality of his merchandise. I was quite put out.  I had come to listen to his expertise on the steel drum – not to take part in some seedy drug deal. Stammering some inaudible excuse, I fled back to the hotel, stopping only to buy a CD of steel drum music on the way.

Roll on six or seven years. I was now Headmaster of Wynberg and had flown up to Grahamstown to participate in the annual Conference for Headmasters of Boys’ Schools.  It was being hosted by Peter Reid of Graeme College and during one of the breaks, as is the wont of visiting Headmasters, I wandered around the school to feel the vibe of the place. I then heard that unique sound again…. the exciting pulsating rhythm of steel drums emanating from a nearby room.

Steel Band performance, 30 October 2015

I followed the sound and it was a sight to behold. About fifteen boys were playing and dancing while they made music.  I was mesmerised.  Fortunately I wasn’t offered anything untoward this time and watched the group with fascination.  I later engaged the music teacher in conversation and soon found out that the manufacturer of steel drums in South Africa worked very near the school in Grahamstown.

I bunked the next session at the conference, borrowed a car and tracked the manufacturer down.  He tempered my enthusiasm by giving me good advice.  ‘Before you buy, first see if your boys like the concept.  I can put you in touch with a steel drum teacher in Cape Town, who will bring his own drums to practices at your school.’

And so it proved. Peter Catzavelos, always available to try something new, did not need much persuading to be manager of this new and exciting group of musicians.  Every Tuesday evening for a number of years, Kenny Gibe arrived with his trailer of drums and the coaching sessions took place in the front car park – right outside my office. The neighbours of Wynberg have had their patience sorely tested as generations of schoolboys have regaled them over the years with their early faltering (and stuttering) musical offerings as they struggled to master the bugles in the cadet band, the pans of the steel drums and, of late, the bagpipes in our newly formed pipe band.

Wynberg's Junior Steel Band

I remember the first weeks of the Steel Band with less than fondness.  ‘Amazing Grace’ was the first tune learnt by our pipers this year and it sounded positively like a Carnegie Hall virtuoso performance compared to those initial Steel Band rendition of ‘Give me Hope, Joanna’.  Those early performers in the parking lot were not able to read music and painstakingly followed the diagrams on the pan without any regard to rhythm.  The result was stiff, stilting and excruciating:  ‘Gi-ve-me-ho-pe-Jo-an-na’.

I recalled the injunction of Ben Zander, conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, that true musicians move their ‘cheeks’ in time with the music:  ‘You can’t sit or stand still when making music,’ he said to us in the audience at Artscape one year when he was out on a visit.  Following this advice, I used to  shout out of my office windows at my steel drummers: ‘Dance! Show that you are enjoying it!’

Rigid and inflexible, they ignored me as they needed every ounce of concentration to read the markings on the pan.

How to navigate the pan ...

As I look back after a number of years, I have been truly gratified to see how many boys have started off their musical journeys on those steel drums and graduated to playing in our Concert and Jazz Bands.  Now everyone who plays in one of our steel bands can read music and they have fortunately moved on from giving Joanna hope.  The Steel Bands now stand proudly on their own as musical features of Wynberg.

After two years of car park practices, three events happened which changed the face of steel drums at Wynberg. 

The first was the sizable bequest of a Wynberg Old Boy, Stefan-Rolf Nussbaum for the development of music at his old school.  With this money, we were able to construct a 150 seat theatre in the Alf Morris Centre with six music rooms attached.  We now honour his memory every year with our annual Nussbaum Concert, ‘The Best of Wynberg’s Music’.

The second event was the attendance of Charles MacGregor, a long-standing friend from my own schooldays, and his wife Trish, at the first Nussbaum Concert. Both were captivated and enthralled by the Steel Band performance on that night. They offered to pay for the manufacture of our own steel drums which has resulted in future generations of Wynberg musicians enjoying the privilege of learning a different genre of music. 

The third significant event was the arrival of a young boy at Wynberg who had come from the Junior School. He was besotted with music – in all its forms.  The Steel Band was another musical avenue for him to explore.  By the time he was in Grade 11, Keenan Oliphant, was teaching and coaching the boys himself. He offered his services to the school after matriculating and, under his tutelage, we now boast a steel band for every Grade.  Traditionally, the first performance of the Grade 8 band is at Grandparents’ Day in September. Grandparents are about as appreciative an audience as any aspiring musician could ever hope for. Wynberg Steel Bands now play at a variety of events around the Peninsula and have been heard as far afield as Greyton, Hermanus, Ceres, Franschoek and Clanwilliam.

Keenan has now also started an annual concert (in the Nussbaum Theatre, of course) to display the talents of his five Steel Bands.  I sat through the recent performance and could not help thinking back to that Bajan wharf and the journey which the succession of Wynberg Boys’ High School steel bands has undergone since that early idea took root.

Wynberg's Senior Steel Band

I am pleased to note that Wynberg music has progressed beyond Joanna and that she has now been dispatched to the dustbin of musical history at the school.  It is wonderful to see that the current boys have the ability and expertise to play a wide variety of tunes reflecting the full spectrum of classical, modern and pop music.

At this recent Concert, I was astounded by the rendition of the theme tune ‘The Mission’ as executed by the Matric Steel Band.  They interpreted it with a sensitivity and feeling which belied their years.  Dancing and moving those cheeks like seasoned professionals, they finished off the evening by going back to the populist roots of steel drums and playing ‘Like a Wrecking Ball’ by Miley Cyrus.

Wrecking Ball

It was enthusiastically received by the audience – none more so than by the appreciative members of other steel bands standing in the wings watching their more accomplished compatriots turning in a breath-taking performance.  Clapping and weaving, they snaked their way down the aisle collecting members of the audience (mostly young and female) into their group.  What an atmosphere!  The band fully deserved their well-earned standing ovation at the conclusion of the evening.

Thank you, Mr Ganja Man.   If you are still around on that Bridgetown wharf, I am giving you advanced warning that we are planning to send the Wynberg 1st Cricket team back to Barbados in 2017.  I would just ask, though, that you refrain from playing them ‘Give me Dope, Joanna’.

The Privileges of Health

It was a Friday afternoon in February this year when Master-in-Charge of Cricket, Shaun Hewett, accosted me in the corridors outside my office.
'This is a leading question, but do you have any plans for tomorrow?'

I knew what was coming.  'I have a meeting at 9am and have rugby tickets for Newlands at 5pm. Where do you want me to umpire?'

'A touring team of disabled cricketers from Northamptonshire in the UK has been let down badly and has had a number of matches in Cape Town called off for one reason or another.   Bishops will give us a field as ours are all have matches on them.  I am calling for volunteers who would like a game on a Saturday afternoon. Can you look after the team at Bishops?’

It turned out that it was easy to find eleven keen cricketers who wanted an extra weekend game. U14, U15 and players from the 5th's and 6th's were all on hand to greet me when I arrived on Saturday afternoon 45 minutes before the game, suitably armed with stumps, balls and scorebook.

The tour bus was already there and was being used as a changing room for the visiting players – all of whom were disabled in some form or other. 'Just like we do back home for our football matches,' remarked one of their players.

I was about to laugh at the obvious humour when I saw that he was deadly serious about his team mates playing football matches.

Northants Disability Cricket

The players were deadly serious about their warm-up as well. Our Wynberg boys were open-mouthed as they watched their opposition - with their variety of disabilities - tackle their warm up with intensity.  Their side varied in age from 15 to 54. They were chasing down every ball to the best of their ability, throwing with purpose at the stumps and were cheerfully applauding their team-mates' efforts.

We lost the toss and our visitors opted to bat first.  'Let's make it a T25 rather than a T20 match,' I  suggested. 'It is a long way to come from England for only 20 overs.'

My suggestion was favourably received and I found myself walking out with three batsmen as one of them was in need of a runner.  While waiting for the fielders to walk into position, one of the batsmen asked me about Allan Lamb.

'We have an Allan Lamb Room in our clubhouse back home, ' he said. 'I believe that he was one of your Old Boys. '

All the team knew Allan Lamb.  'I live in the same village as he does,' another visiting batsman told me later as we were chatting in between overs. 'He and Wayne Larkins are real terrors for the local publicans. I believe he was a Wild One at school.'

'Not at all,' I said airily. 'He was just a normal Wynberg boy.'

I decided that it would be politic at this stage not to mention some of the stories that Allan recounted in his autobiography, ‘The Silence of the Lambs is Over’. He revels in the graphic details about his escapades on school cricket tours with Wynberg. These stories would only spur current schoolboy cricketers to rise to the challenges of the past.  Knowing boys as I do, the real challenge to our boys today would be to match (if not surpass) the standards set by those of past eras.  It would be wonderful, though, if they rose to Allan’s cricketing standards!

We were still in the first over, when the opening batsman, having nudged a single came and stood next to me at square leg. While he was there, I heard a vibrating sound emanating from somewhere on his person. He gently subsided to the ground and lay on his back with arms outstretched. Now I was under pressure - what should I be doing for him?

The other umpire took the decision for me by wandering nonchalantly over from the bowling end.  'You all right?' he asked the batsman before putting his arms under his armpits and hauling him gently back onto his feet.

'On you go then.'  The Wynberg boys were unsure how to respond – so they all clapped him when he rather unsteadily stood on his feet.

The umpire’s sympathetic approach did not last long. A few balls later, the same batsman was rapped on the pads and the dreaded finger was raised.  Cricket is a cruel game.

After an eventful first over, I took the cap of Raven Smith who usually opened the bowling for our U15B side. He whistled his first few balls round the ears of the other opening batsman.

'What is his disability?' I asked the batsman standing at my end.  I had been impressed by the scampering of the batsmen between the wickets in the first over.  However, it had clearly taken its toll because he was now breathing heavily.

'Oh, he is visually impaired,' he said with a singular lack of concern.

I went cold. 'Must I tell the bowler to slow down?'

'Definitely not,' he responded. 'Our batsmen must learn to handle it.'

Evidently he had learnt by the next ball as he sent it soaring over the pine trees into the staff housing on the other side of the road. This signified the start of a rampaging mini run-fest which belied the assertion that he was visually impaired. As his confidence grew, he was keen to call his reluctant partner for sharp singles.

After one challenging run had been turned down by the still-recovering batsman at my end which had resulted in a near run out. This initially resulted in a fair amount of verbal abuse directed by his partner who then dusted himself off and cheerily said: 'No problem.’
And then, the dig. ‘Next time perhaps?'

His partner did not respond to this challenge but merely muttered something unintelligible under his breath.  ‘So in what way are you disabled?’ I asked him as we waited for his partner to take guard.

‘I just get knackered easily,’ he said, leaning on his bat to prove the point.  ‘I am definitely not running those sharp ones.’

His fitness was destined not to be tested again that innings as shortly afterwards his partner was the victim of a low one from Michael McIntosh, who trapped him in front, and the side was eventually all out for just under 90.

We trooped off to tea and to the delight of the boys, who had not seen food for nearly two hours, we were presented with hamburgers and chips by the Travel Company.

On our return to the middle, the ball was given to a young tearaway fast bowler. The keeper - the visually impaired batsman - opted to stand up behind the stumps.

'Best you stand back,' advised the youngster to the keeper, who was a good twenty years his senior.

'Nonsense!' was the curt response and he stood his ground firmly. He continued to stand firm when the first ball went careering down leg side for four byes.

The keeper remained impervious to the beseeching pleas of his opening bowler. However, his stance did serve to focus the youngster's mind on line and length.  It was not long afterwards that the inevitable happened.  The school opening batsman, Dale de Kock, let one pass harmlessly outside off stump. This was gathered by the keeper and in one movement, reminiscent of Mark Boucher at his best, coolly took off one bail with his left hand as Dale dragged his back foot marginally out of the crease.  Stumped.

‘I bet you are not unhappy with him standing up now,’ I said to the youngster, as he went back to his mark.  He had the grace to smile before asking me who would be credited with the wicket – the keeper or him as the bowler.

‘You,’ I said and the smile grew broader.

With one wicket down and 70 to win, it was time for me to go to the rugby match at Newlands and I summoned ‘Bomber’ Harris, the father of one of the players, to do the umpiring honours.  It was not a great rugby match and in retrospect I would have enjoyed the entertainment at the cricket far more.

John Ronaldson, coach of the U15A side arrived after I left and wrote the following to me the next day:

The boys won the match in 11 overs. I suggested that we continue to give all the visitors a chance to bowl - they were so keen and wanted to carry on playing! Consequently, we finished rather late as the remaining overs took a while for us to get through. I was so taken with the enthusiasm of the visiting cricketers - their surprising alacrity in the field and their never-say-die attitude. I am always encouraged when I witness the amazing courage and tenacity of the disabled (my sister was in a wheelchair for many years and continued to excel in her work and sporting career - this match reminded me so much of her).

The most important aspect of the match was what it taught our boys.  They saw a group of men who did not allow their disabilities to get in the way of their love of cricket.  They saw cricketers who played to the very height of their abilities.  They saw human beings with severe challenges who did not want one ounce of sympathy.

I would like to think that there was much reflection in the cars going home.  The next time these fit and healthy teenagers are asked to run in a heat or swim in a gala, all they need to do is think how much those disabled cricketers would love to be able to participate in the physical activities which we all just take for granted.

Some real learning took place on that Cape Town cricket field on Saturday afternoon, 21 February 2015.

Smoking with New Ideas

This is an iconic picture.  A rider in the 1913 Tour de France has been captured on camera offering a fellow rider a lit cigarette.  The rider next to him also has a cigarette dangling from his lips. In those years, it was believed that smoking opened up the lungs allowing more oxygen in so that athletic performance would be enhanced.

Image source: wikipedia.org

Clearly, nothing is the same anymore.  What was regarded as a universal truth in previous years, is laughed at in the modern era. In fact we find it difficult to imagine any elite athlete today resorting to smoking for health reasons.

We have to ask ourselves the same question about our attitudes in teaching today.  Do our classrooms look different from how they looked one hundred years ago? Do we still seat pupils in rows like factory workers, preparing them for the Industrial Revolution?  Is knowledge acquisition still dispensed in the HMV (His Master’s Voice) way?  Is discipline today still associated in teachers’ minds with punishment?

Wynberg Old Boys of the 1980’s will remember a popular Maths teacher and cross country coach, Mike Moore, who is currently teaching in Canada.  He was out in South Africa on holiday recently and popped into our staff room.  We had a pleasant chat about education and soon found ourselves involved in a discussion on the future of education and whether or not schools were teaching skills relevant to the 21st Century.

I was intrigued as he rattled off the skills which his school expected its pupils to acquire:  Communication / Collaboration / Research / Self Management / Critical Thinking / Resilience.  I immediately started to tick off mentally whether we cut the mustard in all those areas – or whether we were (metaphorically) cutting off the oxygen like Tour de France cyclists.

Ken Robinson, in one of his more well-known TED talks on ‘Creativity’ (2006), said the following:  ‘Teachers now have to make a case for an education system that nurtures creativity, rather than undermines it.’ I suspect that he had overemphasis on structures and completing syllabi in mind when he said this.  He wanted teachers to find ways of releasing creative energies so that pupils can be encouraged to work out solutions themselves – age appropriate, of course.

Click here to view Ken Robinson's "Ted Talk on Creativity"

I was intrigued recently to hear about one of our teachers who informed his class that they would be given a test the following week on work that they had not yet been taught.  He gave them the topic and a week to research the issue.  During this time, they would be expected to collaborate among themselves in order to conduct their investigations; think critically about what questions they wanted to ask; communicate among themselves and their teacher to see whether or not they were on the right track and above all, not give up when the going was tough.  It was certainly tough for these boys as he was disrupting their comfort zones, but by this process he was teaching them 21st Century skills.

What a far cry from the 1913 classroom where the teacher was the sole source of information and on his or her shoulders fell the responsibility of pupils’ learning.

I still have the notes of a talk I gave to the Grade 9 parents at the 1999 Subject Choice evening.  ‘There is a very good chance,’ I pontificated,’ that by the time your sons have reached the age of 40, they will have changed jobs, if not careers, two or three times.’

Well, seventeen years later those statistics have changed.  It now stands at 10 – 14 job changes by the time they are 40 – most of which have not been invented yet.  Those 21st Century skills are scheduled to be in great demand!

Our recent SEED Day (Social and Environmental Entrepreneurship Day) last term demonstrated these philosophies more than adequately.  The emphasis was on the fact that a greater variety of careers were now an option - beyond the usual traditional ones of law, engineering, medicine and accounting.

Laura Bergh, recently a high flyer in the corporate world, is now a sustainability advisor.  She was the driving force behind the organisation of the day and gave us her full and enthusiastic backing.  She addressed the teachers in a session prior to Seed Day where she explained the concepts behind the event.  She emphasised that the 21st Century skills had to be caught, not taught and should be the subject of ongoing discussions throughout the year among the boys and their teachers, tutors and coaches.

She sourced 24 entrepreneurs and the boys were instructed to sign up for three different entrepreneurs whose stories they would like to hear.  The instruction to the entrepreneurs was that they had to describe the trials, tribulations, pitfalls, excitement and rewards of starting their own businesses.  In addition, they were to stress that there were career options available which could add value to society by uplifting communities and at the same time would not degrade the environment.

Elon Musk is a South African whose name is cropping up very regularly.  He has apparently described himself as having struggled at school and not really fitted in.  He emigrated to Canada after leaving school (later moving to the USA) and now, many years  and umpteen failures later, this multi-millionaire has changed the lives of millions for the better with his inventions: Pay Pal, Space X, his electric cars and, recently, his energy saving batteries which can power a house for six hours.  He is the poster boy of Social Entrepreneurs.  He has benefitted personally of course, but then so will billions of people as well as the resources of our planet.  Just imagine, no more rolling blackouts!

Image source: globalpossibilities.org

How many potential Elon Musks are there in our Wynberg community?  The point was repeatedly made, both in the individual sessions and in the panel discussion afterwards, that our boys need to invest in themselves by putting in their best efforts at school to develop themselves academically and by taking up leadership opportunities.  This investment in their personal development should be ongoing as they continue to enhance their intellectual assets in tertiary studies.  Many of the successful entrepreneurs have given themselves a good foundation with post-school qualifications.

The boys were asked afterwards to give written feedback.  The majority were effusive in their appreciation of the day:

‘It made me think about the bigger picture.’

‘Not a single boy did not learn something.’

‘It was the best day ever. I now view the world in a different way.’

One boy gave a somewhat backhanded compliment:

‘To everyone’s surprise, this day was a fantastic learning experience.’

One response was very gratifying and showed that the message had hit home. He certainly understood what the day was all about:

‘SEED showed us it is possible to make money and to look after society and the environment at the same time.’

Yet those of us who have spent our lives working with boys, know that there are always some who will say it as it is. I would be disappointed if there weren’t. There were a few comments that were delightfully frank and brutal in their honesty:

‘A complete waste of my time.  The number of people who become social entrepreneurs is small – but yet you force the entire school to act interested in it.’ [sic]

‘I thought that it was a waste of a day – we could have gone home early.’

‘What about those of us who just want to make money?’

If Tutors take up these comments, they will be a great catalyst for discussion in our daily tutor periods.

78% of the boys (presumably minus the three above) rated the day as a 7 (or higher) out of ten.  The comment (reported in the Weekend Argus on Saturday 5 September) would definitely have been lost on them.  It came from one of the winners of the 2015 ‘Sanlam Entrepreneur of the Year Award’, a ceremony which was held last week in Cape Town:  ‘It is receiving a reward like this that reminds you that it is cool to be excited about new ideas.  It is cool to be pro-active.  It is cool to mess up.  It is cool to work your ass off on something that is meaningful to you.’

There were also pearls of wisdom from the 24 panellists when they discussed issues with the school towards the end of this very worthwhile day.  Laura facilitated the discussions and skilfully allowed different opinions and perspectives to emerge. She gave them some challenging and thought-provoking questions:

‘What was the trigger which made you make this change in your lives?’

‘What would you have wished that you had known back in your school days?’

‘What inspires you to continue this journey?’

Three responses stood out for me as being more than philosophies of entrepreneurship, but as a credo for life.

‘It takes guts to do something different.’

‘Get rid of poisonous people – they will just pull you down.’

And the best of all:

‘You either win – or you learn.  You never fail.’

Surely that applies to everything we do in life?  I was heartened by one of the panellists afterwards, who said: ‘I was amazed at the level of engagement of the boys.  It gives me hope for the future.’

So keep a sharp lookout, Elon Musk.  There are some Wynberg boys coming your way – and they will be smoking with new ideas. Nothing is the same anymore.

The F-Words of Raising Boys

"Damn!"

Times are changing. When I was growing up, saying ‘damn’ was definitely regarded as beyond the pale. As a pre-adolescent I used to love winding up my parents while we were driving through the Karoo by suddenly shouting out ‘damn!’ My mother would whip her head round from the front seat and open her mouth to berate me and I would virtuously point out of the window and say sweetly:  ‘Look over there, a dam…’

My mother fell for it every time which of course meant that by the end of a day’s journey, emotions were running high. Like any normal boy, I loved it.

That really sums up the psyche of boys.  The job description of every boy it is to test boundaries.  If adults are to retain their sanity, they must understand this principle of adolescence. Those of us who are in the business of raising boys know that there is little point in getting upset when boys test those boundaries.  Our job is to ensure that we always find the time to nudge them back on the Road of Life where acceptable manners and behaviour have to be the norm.

That is why I think that it is important that boundaries are fairly tight for young boys so that when they test those boundaries early on, there is no danger to life and limb.  As they grow older, then the boundaries can be expanded as they show the maturity to handle this new freedom.  ‘You cannot bake bread,’ I keep telling parents, ‘unless you do your baking in a baking tin.’  Bringing up boys is the same – but the trick is to know when the bread is sufficiently prepared so that it can stand on its own without the support of the tin.

Nothing can be more testing for a parent than the alcohol and party scene.  In these instances, the sides of that baking tin have to be constructed from reinforced material – otherwise potential disaster is always around the next corner.

Society has now moved on from taking offence at ‘damn’ to taking offence at that infamous four letter word beginning with ‘f’.  Boys use it all the time without thinking, irritating their parents and all adults alike.  It is now used so often by boys that they regard it as socially acceptable.

I am, of course, referring to the word ‘fine’.  Use of this word is a boy’s way of trying to head off a difficult conversation.

‘How was school today?’

‘Fine.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine.’

Conversation over. Shutters up. Naturally enough, every parent invariably finds further discussion challenging. For those parents who feel that they are being stonewalled, here is a translation of FINE:  Feeling Inadaquate Need Encouragement.

My advice to parents over the years has always been not to allow their son to say ‘fine’ when he is asked how he feels about something, or ‘I don’t know,’ when he is asked why he did a particular action.  If parents allow these words to end a conversation with their son, then they are permitting him to abrogate his responsibility by not thinking through an issue for himself. 

Adults also have to learn to handle a number of f-words if they are to raise boys with proficiency. Firmness and Fairness are bedrock words in nurturing boys.  Boys will accept most decisions as long as they feel that these principles are being applied to all.

Another f-word, which is also a key tenet of leadership, is Fallibility.  Rule Number Six - Don’t take yourself too seriously - is what I keep enjoining our teachers.  Boys are adept in reminding adults that the emperor has no clothes on which very often leaves a teacher with no option other than to accept the situation with as good a grace as he can muster.

Undoubtedly, though, one of the most important F-words in teaching is ‘Funny’.  Not corny – but the ability to laugh at oneself.  An irreverent sense of humour always appeals to boys and many a wall can be broken down in relationships with boys by a quick chirp or humorous turn of phrase.

I learnt this lesson while a student teacher at St Georges in Mowbray.  I was assigned to Mr Foster, the history teacher.  On one occasion, after a break, we walked together to a Grade 9 class where we found mayhem had broken out while the class was waiting for us. He handled the situation brilliantly.  He stood silently just inside the door and waited for the clamour to decline to a mild roar.  The boys were glancing around uncomfortably - clearly disconcerted and  unsure how to handle these two silent figures at the door.  When silence eventually descended on the classroom, Mr Foster said very quietly to a boy sitting at a far desk near a window:  ‘Barker, come here please.’

There was a deathly hush.  Boys know when a teacher explosion is about to happen.  Barker protested violently.  ‘Why me, Sir?  I haven’t done anything.  It wasn’t me.  This is so unfair….’ His voice tailed off as the impassive figure merely repeated himself.

‘Barker, I am waiting.’

That started the tirade off again and an extremely reluctant Barker insinuated himself across the classroom floor complaining every step of the way.  A joyous and expectant class barely dared to breathe.  When Barker eventually finished his foot-dragging odyssey across the room, it became obvious that his voluble dissent and unhappiness was patently having no impact on the impervious Mr Foster.

In a quiet voice which carried all around the classroom, Mr Foster said, ‘Barker.’ Dramatic Pause. ‘Won’t you open the window, please?’

There was about three seconds of silence while the class absorbed the information that they had just witnessed a sandbagging of note. Then gale after gale of laughter broke out.  Even Barker had to give a rueful smile – mostly of relief, I suspect – and Mr Foster revelled in the knowledge that he now had the class in the palm of his hand.

A very professional performance with all the F’s of good teaching being applied!

Rowan Algie

I had a similar experience at Wynberg when I was a Matric Grade Head in the early 1990’s during the tenure of Rowan Algie.  It was the last official school assembly of the year and I had been sermonising at length with them about dignified behaviour during their last few days.

Rowan Algie and I arrived on stage together and then I saw it.  The matrics had dressed up a plastic skeleton which normally resided in the biology lab and placed it in the front row.  It was resplendent in full school uniform with blazer, tie and school cap. 

I was beside myself.  This was a blatant insult to me personally – especially as I had asked them not to do anything untoward.

‘Do you see that?’ I hissed to Rowan Algie. ‘I am going to nail every single matric to the yardarm!’

He said nothing and conducted assembly as if nothing untoward was happening.  Smoke was steaming from my ears as I contemplated what steps I was going to take.  World Wars, famine, natural disasters all were of secondary import as I contemplated the enormity of this matric escapade.

Rowan finished his assembly and stepped off the podium. I raced up to him.  ‘What are you going to do?’ I snarled at him through gritted teeth.

‘Oh,’ he said as if suddenly remembering something. He returned to the podium. I went back to my seat and folded my arms expectantly. Now the well-deserved retribution was coming.  The school knew it too and held its collective breath.

‘I have an apology to make to you all,’ he started off.  I was confused, where on earth was this going?

‘My assembly was obviously very dreary and uninspiring because I see that I have bored one of you to death. I apologise to the school.’  With that, he stepped out of the podium to rapturous applause and laughter.

Algie 10.  Matrics 5.  Richardson 0.

I slumped back in my chair as everyone led out.  What a lesson – never to be forgotten!

I am told that the art of good headship is to ensure that your teaching staff should have teachers with the Foolhardy enthusiasm of youth combined with others who bring the Fulsome wisdom of years.  I have worked with plenty of the former over the years and continue to learn valuable lessons from the latter.

I received an email from Denis Herbstein (Matric 1953) recently. He said:  ‘My wife and I were so impressed by the school when we were in Cape Town for the sixty-year leavers’ get-together two years ago... You have instituted many worthy changes, but you do not match Major Bill Bowden for military presence though.’

Well, that was hardly surprising as during military service, I – as an Able Seaman 2nd Class - was about 10 ranks lower than he was.

In spite of this martial shortcoming, it has been a Damn Fine experience running a school.