CHAPTER 5

There are no bad schools

Rhodes High School was established in 1978 following the amal­gamation of Observatory Boys’ High School, founded in 1895, and Observatory Girls’ High School, founded in 1903. The new school was housed in the building formerly occupied by the Hoërskool Nasou and faced Devil’s Peak, with the Liesbeek River on its western boundary. It was a lovely setting.

I can only assume that these moves were the result of a significant change in the demographics of Mowbray, Observatory and Woodstock. These suburbs had an ageing population, and it was no longer viable to keep the two Observatory schools going as separate entities. In addition, the Afrikaans-speaking population had dwindled, with many younger couples moving to the northern suburbs.

On my arrival at Rhodes, I could not help but wonder whether the arithmetic that the authorities had done was accurate, as the total pupil numbers were under 200, with a staff of 19. One of the first things I did as I moved into my office was to look at the matriculation results for 1983. There were 23 matriculants, and the pass rate was below 50 per cent. It was obvious that one of the first major challenges was going to be academic.

The teaching staff was a healthy blend of experience and ambitious youth, and I realised that I had a great asset here, as they were very caring and aware of the challenges that lay ahead. The school buildings were functional and more than adequate for our numbers, but were characterless and tired-looking. There was a vegetable garden next to the main entrance of the school, which did little for its general attractiveness.

It was relatively easy to identify the greatest challenge facing us, namely, that the vast majority of the pupils did not want to be at Rhodes. It was not their first choice of school, and there was a substantial group who did not wish to be at school at all. These were boys and girls who felt rejected, who had been turned away or expelled from the so-called good schools and felt that they had been dumped at Rhodes. We also had a substantial number of children who had been involved in various forms of antisocial behaviour, or who had been placed in care because of dysfunctional family situations of one kind or another.

It seemed to me that our first priority was to make the pupils feel proud and happy to be at the school. To achieve this, we had to set a number of attainable goals with which the pupils could identify. One was to make the physical environment of the school attractive and to provide amenities such as a decent tuckshop. We chose to concentrate on the sports that were already successful, such as basketball, netball and soccer, and to ensure that the facilities were in good shape. As a staff, we made a concerted effort to neaten up the appearance of the pupils, as well as improving their conduct and manners.

These short-term goals were designed to make the boys and girls feel that they mattered, even if they were struggling academically, had come from problematic backgrounds, or had somehow disgraced themselves. We had to come to terms with the fact that many of them had a low self-image, and provide the means to offset this. It was a case of ‘all hands on deck’ as we strove to achieve our goals as quickly as possible. A member of the senior staff wrote that one of his abiding memories was of the headmaster’s wife ‘wearing wellington boots, knee deep in compost, pulling out pumpkin runners and preparing the beds for roses while puffing away at the odd cigarette during a work break’.

We did not undertake any marketing of the school but must have reached some of our simple goals, in that our enrolment for 1985 increased by 20 per cent, which also meant that we were able to appoint two additional members of staff, both of whom proved to be enormous assets. The remainder of 1984 passed by swiftly, with my having to come to terms with a vastly different kind of school, and the staff with a different and demanding headmaster.

My open-door policy took a while to be used by both staff and pupils, but once it began to be understood, it proved to be most worthwhile and gave me valuable insight into both groups. One of the earliest bits of advice I received from one of my colleagues was to understand that girls rarely came to see the head on their own. With the open-door policy still getting going, he felt I could learn from a mistake he had made.

Rather like me, he was the product of a boys’ school, and in turn had been advised to offer a cup of tea to the first group of four girls who asked to see him. His secretary duly obliged, brought in the tea tray, and then returned to her office. He sat back in his chair and said, ‘Now, which one of you is going to be mother?’ The question was hardly out when one of them burst into tears and fled from the office. She was pregnant and, with the support of her friends, had come to ask for advice on how to tell her parents. When the first group of girls made an appointment to see me, I decided that it would be better not to serve tea in case I made a similar gaffe.

Sadly, my first experience of this type of visit was equally traumatic, if not more so. One of our senior girls, with help from a couple of friends, came to tell me that she was being sexually abused by her stepfather. She had spoken to her mother, who refused to believe her or even to investigate further. I have found that in any counselling situation, you can only assist on the terms of the person seeking help, and that you must guard against being intrusive or judgemental, as you have to build up a relationship of trust.

Amid tears and prompting by her friends, the story came out. The abuse had been going on for over a year. It had taken enormous courage on her part initially to tell her friends and eventually to agree to approach someone in authority for help. I was out of my depth and had to get her permission to allow me to speak to a person better qualified in this area than I was, to assist her. She eventually agreed, and I am happy to record that there was ultimately a resolution to the problem. Without going into detail, the mother listened, the stepfather was charged, and the law took its course.

The girl became a completely different person and was one of the leaders in the school the following year. Her gratitude knew no bounds, and she was influential in advising others to seek help from their teachers. While we did have a teacher-psychologist on the staff, I believe that any good teacher is someone in whom troubled pupils can confide. I encouraged the staff to be receptive to pupils who felt that they could trust them to keep a confidence.

We had a significant number of pupils from Teen Centre, Boys’ Town and Marsh Memorial Homes, and it was important that we built up a good beneficial relationship with the staff of these institutions. I visited all three in my first couple of months and found these visits mutually beneficial. I gained insight into the running of these places, met the qualified staff from whom I learned a great deal over the years, and, where it was considered necessary, was given the background to some of the problems that our pupils had who were living there.

In turn, I was able to reassure the staff that the school would be totally supportive and involved with their children and give them the scholastic stability that was so necessary for those who had not had this at their previous schools, whether due to their own behaviour or background. There was to be no ‘quick fix’ for these boys and girls, but the fact that one year later a Teen Centre boy became head boy – and a very successful one at that – proved that it was possible to break the mould of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Appointments like this had an enormously positive effect on other pupils.

Particularly in the first few years, we had to deal with some serious social problems, and it was wonderful to have the support of well-qualified and experienced professionals when we felt out of our depth. One of the staff, after an especially busy period, remarked that all we had not had at Rhodes in those first few years was a murder. Another very kindly said that were it not for our philosophy of recognising the importance of the individual and helping them, he knew of at least six boys who would have ended up in jail. I am not sure of the veracity of that statement, but we certainly had a heavy run of serious incidents.

We had to deal with, among others, another sexual abuse case, an attempted suicide, both straight and gay sexual incidents, quite a bit of drug abuse (but fortunately mainly only dagga), alcohol abuse, theft, bomb scares and an 18-year-old who was a boy by day but a woman by night! The theft incident that affected us the most took place on a Friday night when one of our boys (aged 16) broke into the school to steal items from the media centre, which he was going to sell in order to have money to pay for a train ticket to visit his estranged father in Johannesburg.

He had managed to steal a key for the media centre, but had not realised that the centre was alarmed. There was a strong southeaster blowing that night, and he apparently did not hear the alarm going off. He went in and began helping himself to smaller items such as tape recorders and music players (this was well before personal computers), which he put into a carrier bag. With the bag full, he left the media centre, and as he made his way down the long passage he heard a policeman shouting at him to stop or he would shoot. The boy dropped the bag but foolishly continued running. He was pursued by a much faster policeman who thankfully did not shoot. He was rugby-tackled as he reached the foyer, arrested, and taken to the cells at the Mowbray police station.

I was phoned at about midnight to be informed about the burglary. I asked whether I could see the boy. After some hesitation, the police agreed and I arrived at the station about 15 minutes later. He was in a communal cell with some very murky and lecherous-looking fellow inmates. There was no way that our boy should stay in that cell, but there were apparently no unoccupied single cells. He was terrified and in tears, and after half an hour of pleading with the station commander, the police agreed to his being discharged into my custody for the weekend and to appear in court on Monday.

The police had not yet phoned his mother, so I did. I was allowed to take him to his home to get clothes and toiletries for the weekend, but he was not allowed even to enter the house. His mother was a rather pathetic figure. I consoled her and invited her to lunch on Sunday (I never found out whether that was allowed). When we arrived at my home at about 3 am, Cherry discovered that the boy had not eaten since that morning. She proceeded to cook him a meal, while I was instructed to get one of our boys to vacate his bed (we had no spare room) and to make up a bed for our visitor.

Needless to say, our children – the boys in particular – were totally intrigued by the prospect of having a jailbird for the weekend, and I think they gained celebrity status from the few who believed their story at school on the Monday. It was quite a difficult weekend for the whole family, but I think we gave him a taste of the family life he so badly wanted. I accompanied him to the court on Monday, and as I had refused to lay charges, the case was dismissed. He finished his Standard 8 (Grade 10) year at Rhodes and then went to live with his father in Johannesburg. I often wondered what became of him.

Another ongoing problem was drug-taking. We knew this took place at school, as was obvious from the behaviour of the boys (mainly) during the school day. We had a very good drug rehabilitation and counselling centre nearby in Observatory, and I asked professionals from the centre to come to speak to the staff and the pupils, respectively. Through these sessions, the staff came to know the signs to look out for and how to report miscreants to me so as to ensure consistency in our handling of the problem.

I was always prepared to help a pupil who had been referred to me, provided that he owned up and realised the need for help. However, when it was obvious that someone was taking drugs but was not prepared to be honest, I would deal more harshly with him, and I certainly would not tolerate a dealer in the school. In the rare cases when I discovered a pupil was doing hard drugs, other than smoking dagga or eating dagga cookies, with parental or guardian permission I would refer them (and normally take them personally) to the drug rehabilitation centre for more expert assistance.

One of the drugs that was prevalent among the harder users was the ‘white pipe’, a mixture of dagga and crushed Mandrax tablets smoked through a pipe or broken bottle neck. The symptoms were easy to spot, but this had to be dealt with professionally, as the long-term use of the white pipe could have serious health consequences for the user. The addiction was strong and the availability easy, as the pills – widely used for a variety of complaints – were available in chemist shops, which led to users breaking into chemists.

When I had to use tougher tactics to find out the nature of the drugs, the amount of drug abuse, whether others were involved, or whether those involved were dealing, I always made sure that I had a senior member of staff with me. The interview usually followed roughly the same route. I would pretend to become exasperated and then really angry. I would let the suspect know that I had had enough, and I would start dialling the local police station. While informing the by then less confident and arrogant young man that the police had harsher methods that were invariably successful, I would ask them to collect him from my office. I would always pause before dialling the last digit, to give him a final chance. These tactics inevitably worked, and he would sing like a canary, frequently telling us more than we actually knew or suspected.

Colleagues who sat in on such interviews (which sometimes lasted for a few hours) tell me that this was ‘vintage Schroder’ and ‘worthy of an Oscar’. But we never failed to get the truth. This was all well and good, but what was more important was the follow-up: making the young person know that we truly cared, and fashioning a programme, if necessary with the help of outside professionals and of course the family, that would provide lasting rehabilitation. Once again, I could not help but wonder whether our intervention and approach was of lasting benefit to users, as quite naturally the feedback we received was entirely from those for whom it had been successful.

Among the challenges I mentioned earlier were a number of bomb scares or threats. It must be remembered that this was the mid to late 1980s, and the country was in a state of emergency (the first state of emergency was declared in 1985). This meant that any bomb threat had to be taken very seriously, which was certainly appreciated by someone at Rhodes. If it was reported that there was a suspected bomb, the school was evacuated onto the field until such time as the police bomb-disposal squad were satisfied that all was well.

The first time this happened, after we had received a call, the pupils were on the field for close to two hours. The same thing happened a week later, and once again the pupils missed at least two hours of tuition. I became suspicious, as it seemed strange that Rhodes was being targeted and no other school. With the third call, I took a chance and held an outside assembly, did not call the bomb squad, and warned the school that all the time lost through what I was convinced were hoax calls would have to be made up after hours. Needless to say, this was the last bomb threat we had.

While these accounts may seem to paint a very bleak picture of life at Rhodes, at the same time there was much happening about which we could feel encouraged and excited. In 1985 a new school committee (governing body) was elected. At that stage, it was possible to have non-parents on the committee, and we were able to appoint some highly skilled people who were committed to quality education and who shared our vision for Rhodes.

A trust was established under the chairmanship of Theo Wiehahn, an Observatory Old Boy and a benefactor of note, as we realised that we could not rely on either the education department or parental fees to help realise our vision for the school. A very strong parents’ association was elected with a fundraising mandate as well.

On the academic side, we introduced a two-week timetable that resulted in fewer but longer periods per day. This required a great deal of additional preparation by the teachers, and some innovative methodology, but soon produced an improved academic climate as the staff bought into this wholeheartedly. We also introduced afternoon tutorial classes to help those who were struggling, and an academic merit award system as an incentive to encourage academic improvement.

As the school grew and became for some a school of choice for the first time, the staff grew as well, and we appointed a number of outstanding teachers, from Rondebosch and Westerford in particular. A number of longer-serving teachers retired during this period, while a further few moved on promotion, which, while a loss for us, was right for them and a recognition that the Rhodes experience prepared teachers for higher office.

We continued to improve the facilities within the school, such as offices for senior staff, the media centre and the library. Our application to be a computer centre for the area was approved, and this enabled us to appoint an extra teacher to manage the centre. This scheme involved pupils from neighbouring schools coming to Rhodes after school hours for tuition in this new subject. It gave a whole new group of people an awareness of what Rhodes looked like, and our pupils did a great public relations exercise in a genuine and natural way.

The other area that we developed extensively was the extramural programme, which we saw as an important part of building up healthy self-esteem once significant success was achieved. Three new sports – squash, swimming and water polo – were introduced in spite of our not having facilities for these at the school. The participation in sport by the girls grew incrementally, and their participation in athletics and swimming became valuable. The traditional girls’ sports of netball, basketball and badminton flourished, and the number of boys and girls representing Western Province in a variety of sports was significant annually.

Boys outnumbered girls almost two to one, so the great challenge was to involve as many boys as possible in not only the traditional boys’ sports, such as cricket, soccer and rugby, but in the newer sports as well. The male staff played an important role in this regard, and challenged the boys (and themselves) annually by moving into higher leagues and pitting their skills against better competition.

There was one sporting occasion that lifted the school and many individuals to a level we never thought we would reach. Our First XI cricket coach persuaded me to allow our team to move into the first league, which meant they would be playing against the top boys’ schools in Cape Town. We did relatively well against a couple of co-ed schools, and then the big test came: we had to play Bishops at home. The Bishops team contained a number of provincial representatives, while the Rhodes team had to share various items of equipment such as helmets and bats.

My abiding memory was of our two young opening batsmen spending the first hour ducking and weaving while scoring about ten runs. I don’t remember too many other details other than that we were still batting at lunch and never looked back, beating Bishops by 20-odd runs. We received great accolades in the press on the following Monday morning, and every boy and girl in the school, whether they were cricket fans or not, walked that bit taller from then on.

We also participated in a limited-over knockout and reached the final against SACS at Newlands Cricket Ground. It was an unbelievable and unforgettable experience for these boys, but the occasion was probably too much for the Rhodes side, who were heavily beaten by SACS. Such was the healing power of sport in our kind of school that we undertook three rugby tours in successive years, to Natal, George (where we beat York High!) and Grahamstown, in the course of which the boys were exposed to top schools – Woodridge, St Andrew’s and Kingswood – and could benchmark not only their playing ability but also themselves as young men against some of the best schools’ players in the country.

Non-sporting extramural activities also received the staff’s attention, and catered for a large number of pupils. The choir grew to 50 members while drama expanded to annual house plays and culminated in an outstanding production of Philip King’s well-known farce See How They Run. To stimulate an interest in non-sporting activities, a societies period was incorporated into the school day, resulting in a widespread offering.

These developments, together with the formalising of the annual matric dance and the creation of a moving valediction service, with outstanding guest speakers, hopefully gave something for every boy and girl. We became involved in the Rotary student exchange programme and hosted students from the United States annually.

By 1988, the matric class had grown to 80-plus and the results had improved quite dramatically. As our students began to succeed in life after school (one example is Gary Murray, who some years later won a world-title boxing crown), we began to feel that we had found a recipe to give the young people self-belief and pride in their school and themselves.

There were a couple of non-academic and non-pupil initiatives that enabled the school to grow and be a force in Cape Town, and to fill a niche in the highly competitive school environment in the southern suburbs. The first arose from a newspaper article entitled ‘Good School: Bad School’. The writer’s hypothesis was that Cape Town had some of the finest schools in the country, both state and independent, and then went on to analyse what constituted a good school. I can’t recall who wrote the article, which was undoubtedly meant to be provocative, but it certainly gave me a genuine opportunity to argue for the important role that a school like Rhodes played in Cape Town at the time.

Without going into great detail, the criteria used were, among others, academic results, physical infrastructure, holistic education (sporting and cultural offerings and success), involvement of parents, involvement of alumni, quality and academic qualifications of staff, demand for places, boarding options and the profile of past scholars. While there is nothing wrong in identifying and discussing criteria, the ranking of schools based on these raised my ire, as Rhodes was ranked 49th out of 50 schools, and the schools in which I was previously involved – Rondebosch, SACS and Westerford – were all at the top.

I responded forcefully, resulting in a fair amount of correspondence from readers, virtually all of whom supported my stance. My thesis was that there is no such thing as a bad school, and that a school serves the community in which it is set and as such reflects the demographics of that community. I felt strongly that Rhodes was a more realistic microcosm of society than many of the highly ranked schools, and that education should be about people and not statistics. The belief by many parents that social problems were less prevalent in the better schools was not necessarily true, as those problems cut across class and income lines.

Our neighbour, St George’s Grammar School, the oldest independent school in the country, was viewed as the independent-school equivalent of Rhodes. This produced a strong response, similar to mine, from Paul Cannon, the headmaster. He believed that there were boys who were sent to Bishops who would well have been better served at St George’s, where there was a greater emphasis on the individual and his needs, which were not necessarily served by a preoccupation with academic excellence. St George’s other great attribute was that it was ahead of its time in terms of admitting pupils of colour; in fact, at the time of this debate, 45 per cent of its students were non-white.

One consequence of the ‘Good School: Bad School’ article was that it not only raised the profile of Rhodes significantly in the state-school community but also brought Rhodes and St George’s closer together. We decided to drop the fences between the two schools, resulting in the facilities of the two schools being used jointly, and we even combined teams in various sports. We might even, to a degree, have become the first non-racial state school too.

Another initiative was to adopt the heritage of the two Observatory schools from which Rhodes had grown. A number of functions were organised to attract Old Boys and Old Girls from the Observatory schools, and some of the high-profile alumni were invited as guests of honour. Among them were prominent businessmen and sportsmen, civic leaders and a former Miss World. A foundation was established, which replaced the trust founded earlier, and in this way the history of the two famous schools was used to put Rhodes on the map, especially in a financial sense.

It was also important for the current pupils of Rhodes to understand that they shared in this legacy, and to remind them of it. We relocated to the foyer of the school the impressive war memorial, or cenotaph, formerly housed at Observatory Boys’ High, which recorded the names of those boys who had died during the two world wars in the service of their country. There was also a commemorative book, which we kept in a glass cabinet in front of the memorial, and the prefect on duty would turn a page each day.

In April 1988, a cocktail party was arranged to sound out the viability of establishing a structured association of past pupils. Some 600 people attended, and it was proposed that the association be known as the Observatory and Rhodes Past Pupils’ Association. It was also proposed that past pupils of Observatory Junior who might not have gone to either Rhodes or the Observatory schools be allowed to become members. I was thrilled by this initiative as it was a dream come true in my vision for the school.

My five years at Rhodes will always be a special time in my career. Up until joining Rhodes, I had worked in something of a professional bubble. I definitely learned more at Rhodes about the tougher side of life. Together with the staff and pupils, I was able to entrench the cornerstone of my educational philosophy that the individual is more important than the institution, and that where pupils, staff, parents and alumni matter and feel that they are cared for, they will improve. Too often, the name and reputation of a school takes precedence over the needs of individuals, and the individual is discarded if his particular problems are viewed as being detrimental to the school’s image. I abhor this attitude and believe it is educationally dishonest.

After I had been at Rhodes for about 18 months, the headmaster of Rondebosch retired early due to ill health. While I was a bit of a lightweight in terms of age and experience, the thought of returning to a boys’ school and my alma mater resulted in my applying for the position. Yet another protracted period of close to six months followed during which I made the shortlist of four, all of whom were Rondebosch Old Boys, but I was by far the youngest, academically the least qualified and the least experienced.

Rumours abounded. It appeared that I was the favourite for the post – or so I was told – and perhaps my head was turned. In spite of Cherry’s warnings, I became arrogant and overconfident. When I was told I would be the last to be interviewed, I listened to those who said that being interviewed last was significant and normally reserved for the favourite.

I knew all the governors, the interview seemed to go well, and I somehow believed the job was mine. The phone rang at midmorning at Rhodes: on the line was the chairman of the Rondebosch governing body to inform me that it was a difficult decision, that I was the second favourite, but the nod was not for me. I was mortified, told my secretary that I would be away for an hour, went home, threw myself on the bed, and sobbed like a small child. My dream, which had grown over the six-month period, together with an inflated ego and a heavy dose of arrogance, was shattered and I felt as though my career was over. It was a bitter lesson but a very valuable and necessary one.

After five wonderful years at Rhodes, I was approached to consider applying for the headmastership of Pinelands High, which was, in fact, a promotion post. A member of the inspectorate was keen to endorse the application, as was a senior inspector who was a former headmaster at Pinelands. I applied and was offered the position, with a starting date of January 1989.

Pinelands was an excellent community-centred school, with an outstanding staff and a very strong and supportive parent body, as seen in both the governing body and the parents’ association. Similar to Westerford in many ways, it was slightly less strong academically but had an excellent holistic balance, with the sporting and cultural sides enjoying a good profile and a high degree of success. It was fed by three good primary schools and projected as a happy and successful school.

My daughter had matriculated at Pinelands a few years prior to my appointment. She loved the school, and through her a stream of superb young men and women came through our home. Apart from being privileged to be able to interact with outstanding girls and boys, and in particular the head prefects, I enjoyed a happy and informal relationship with the staff, who were responsive to new ideas and were a fount of innovative thoughts.

Four headmasters of Pinelands High with their wives (1989): from left to right are Jack Kent (founding headmaster), John Goss, Colin Thomson and me.

There is one funny incident from my time at Pinelands High that I won’t easily forget. One day, on a tip-off, I had discovered some very fertile and flourishing dagga plants growing among the beautiful hydrangeas just outside my office. I dealt with the matter at an assembly, which did not go down too well with a portion of the student body. I also harvested the dagga (I have no idea why … maybe to use one day when the students drove me crazy!) and stuck it into a drawer in my office, only to discover it at the end of the year, well dried out and ready for use. There was enough there to put me away for a while, so, with the help of my ever-faithful secretary, we disposed of it in the staff toilet.

There were the normal problems associated with a high school, such as theft, truancy, smoking and drugs – though no more than in any similar school. Where the difference came in was that I detected a tendency on the part of both staff and parents to want to make these problems disappear rather than to deal with them. There was also a tendency to be disrespectful towards the teaching staff. One way that I countered this was to ‘manipulate’ (in the words of the head boy) the matric class into not having their traditional ‘fun’ assembly, which, in my view, was inappropriate in relating to staff.

The anniversary of the 16 June uprising also presented me with an interesting challenge. A couple of staff members and a group of senior pupils wore black armbands to commemorate and identify with the tragic and shameful happenings in Soweto on that day in 1976. Later that morning, I received a telephone call from the office of the director of education in the Cape to present myself in his office as soon as I could get there. Somewhat puzzled, I left immediately and on arrival found the director waiting for me. Wreathed in cigarette smoke and looking exhausted, he asked me whether I had given permission for the wearing of the armbands, and looked temporarily relieved when I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about. It transpired that there was a mole in the school (shades of York High and the lawnmower!) who had reported the matter and implied that I had given approval, which I might well have done had I been approached.

We shared a cigarette and had a good chat about political sensitivities, which he acknowledged were about to change, and off I went back to Pinelands. I called a staff meeting and also summoned the pupils who had worn the armbands, explaining what had just happened to me. I told them I was proud of their courage and of their identifying with the educationally deprived but hoped that in future they would discuss such issues with me first.

My action and reaction to this issue somehow filtered out into the community, and I was severely criticised in some conservative quarters as I had not, in their view, acted more harshly against the students. I did discover who the mole was: it was a member of the academic staff, who, when confronted, admitted his guilt but felt no remorse as he believed he had done the right thing.

The following extract from my address to the pupils and parents at the end-of-year prize-giving encapsulates an important aspect of my personal and educational philosophy:

What I have tried to tackle openly and honestly with pupils and parents have been the real-life problems which beset the teenager in the 1990s. I know that some of the school community have been a bit shocked and possibly incensed by the openness with which we have dealt with the problems of theft, alcohol and drug abuse, the whole teenage party scene and so-called political statements by pupils.

I firmly believe that the only way to deal effectively with problems of this nature is to be open. Our task here is all about helping and preventing rather than hiding and punishing. The individual is and must be more important than the image of the school.

It is tough to be a teenager in today’s society, but it is equally tough to be a parent, so together the school and the family must share their experience, skills and expertise in an open atmosphere of mutual trust if we are to win the battle of producing worthwhile citizens. In attempting to implement a policy of openness in the school, I would be failing in being totally honest if I did not say that I have been disturbed by a lack of openness and trust from certain sections of our community.

There are still too many people who believe that they cannot discuss issues about which they are unhappy and concerned with the school as it may reflect poorly on and to the detriment of the individual and the family. There is still too much malicious gossiping, rumour-mongering and ill-informed chatter, which I sincerely hope a policy of openness will eventually eradicate. A holier-than-thou attitude towards those who have hit misfortune is dangerous and unacceptable because none of us, nor our children, are exempt from the pressures and blows of life.