How does one reflect on the Matric Class of one year of the ten that I spent teaching English at Paul Roos Gymnasium? These reflections and memories stretch unbroken over the subsequent five decades to the present and are influenced by my own experiences since then. That said, it seems that destiny determined that Stellenbosch and Paul Roos Gymnasium would figure strongly in my life span.
Stellenbosch is likely to enter prominently into any discussion of South Africa, from Muscadel to Matie Rugby, multilingualism to the Mafia. Scratch beneath the surface of any of these – and the spectrum of imagination that spans the space between them – and you will find a Paul Rooser, perhaps in every cohort of Matrics that has passed through its gates ‘Since 1866’.
The Matrics of 1973 are no exception. Some were born great (famous among our small-town aristocracy of notable farmers, cultural leaders, academics and entrepreneurs), some achieved greatness (at school, in town, country and abroad), some had greatness thrust upon them (being a member of the Student Council, even Head Boy?). Unlike Malvolio in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, some avoided greatness and preferred a modest role among the great masses, preferring to be regular citizens keeping the wheels of society turning. (A caveat on that point: the historians among you will know of Hitler’s ominous operational belief that ‘the great masses of the people will more easily fall victims to a big lie than to a small one’. That is not what I had in mind with ‘regular citizens’.)
Look back at the Matric photograph of 1973. Row by row, carry out a silent role call and test your recollections of fellow Paul Roosers at the time. Could you have allocated them then – or even yourself – to these categories of ‘greatness’? If I look back at my class register of that year, I doubt that I could have done so with prophetic accuracy. Yet, the potential was there, the promise in each young man that shuffled noisily back into my classroom at the end of second break, dragging suitcase or satchel and somewhat dampened by sweatiness after break-time games or winter drizzle.
That year I had most to do with 10E as well as the hockey players; I remember each of them vividly and their personalities are as distinct now as they were then. They stand before me now with a blush of beautiful vitality – yes, even the smokers. If I have a regret, it is for my own ignorance, for lost opportunities, for underutilising the precious time allotted to our shared path, that I didn’t have longer to walk beyond, alongside them, to discover and value more of the humanity of each individual there.
As for greatness, history shows that Paul Roos Gymnasium has produced more than its share of various shades of greatness in the contribution of its alumni to our country and beyond, including sporting giants, financial geniuses, critical thinkers, philosophers, dissidents and other creative minds. As a former mentor to some of these, I find myself deeply respectful – if not mildly intimidated.
Yes, those short years on the banks of the Eerste River, the daily PRG routines in classroom and boarding house, weekly assemblies in the Japie Krige Hall, sports practices and matches – all these and more did indeed lay invaluable foundations and open doorways, literal and metaphorical. Bums on benches may have felt numbed. Not so those lively bodies that were given sporting challenges, or minds, ideas and aspirations that were ignited, even though for the most part on a delayed fuse.
A typical school day may have seemed a chore, repetitive, even boring (and not infrequently probably was). Hours drifted past sitting in upright wooden desks that had been ‘previously occupied’ and scarred by years of scratched musings or signatures (sometimes perfumed by greaseproof wrapping paper concealing stale sandwiches or abandoned fruit). The teaching and learning experiences may have been good, bad or indifferent. Friendships may have been few or many, passing or firm and lasting. These all left their indelible mark, along with the red or purple marks, or stripes, that faded more quickly after some random rapid dose of cuts – an offence today that would have had a teacher charged with assault and probably sacked.
What are your reflections on these years? Not everything was glamorous, elevating or inspirational. For many young lives who pass through schooling it is a barren and unhappy experience. So, avoid the pretence of romanticising those years as uniformly idyllic, even at old and famous schools.
As a teacher I found this variety of experience among the young Paul Roosers who I encountered deeply worthwhile, especially on those rarer occasions when paths crossed in a way that yielded truly educational opportunities to explore the most important values and realities of life.
Many such occasions were to do with the heartaches, even failures, along the journey. These too are among the reflections I cherish most when looking along the rows in the photograph of the Matrics of 1973 in the PRG Yearbook.
What a privilege that many of those young men have remained friends to this day – in a curious way, for ever young. Thank you for the part you played in my life and still do in my memories.
Remember that ‘Semper’ means always. May you allow the best in you to provide that ‘always’ quality that will give high purpose and momentum to your daily life for all your days ahead.