Fortiter et Humaniter
The Class of 1972
The Swinging Sixties
We've done larger things, but not better things. We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less. (Anon)
In
late 1965 the world was in a state of flux, as images of the Vietnam War were
broadcast on black and white television screens across the country. Death was
brought into our homes at a time when these images still had the power to
shock. Dr Martin Luther King was beginning to galvanise support for his Civil Rights
Campaign, as America struggled with the concepts articulated in Thomas Paine's
"The Rights of Man" and the promises inherent within their written constitution.
The
conflict in India and Pakistan was escalating, whilst Hindley and Brady, the "Moor's Murders" were arrested for questioning in England. At home, the Prime
Minister, Terence O'Neill, was making genuine attempts to reconcile the
communities within Ireland, much to the displeasure of an up-and-coming gospel-hall
preacher called Ian Paisley, who walked the same path decades later. We had not
quite begun our dark descent into the wasted-years that cost the lives of so
many loved ones over four decades.
In
many ways we had not yet lost our innocence despite the 1960s images of sex,
drugs and rock-and-roll. We were more familiar with the era of the Show Bands
and the pulsating effect of the wooden floor in Portadown Boat Club, which
seemed to defy the laws of physics.
Uniformity
The
challenge facing my parents was not the political ramifications of Vietnam,
civil rights or that pulsating floor but how to purchase the rather expensive
uniform and the equipment list sent out by Portadown College. They were
working-class parents far removed from the opportunities that awaited me at a
new school. Eight children and one working-parent did not leave much spare money
for life's luxuries.
However,
their financial challenges paled into insignificance, as they struggled to get
a uniform to fit a twelve-year old with a large body mass. My girth physically
challenged every hooker in the school, as they struggled inch-by-inch to reach
the other side of their prop's landmass. Consequently, nothing fitted, not in
the usual fashion, where children grow into their voluminous uniform that mum
had purchased in their first-year to last, but rather one where the buttons on
my coat could have been re-classified as dangerous projectiles, with the
potential to remove the eyes of my peers, should I have attempted to button-up
my school blazer.
That
famous skull-cap, which I will return to later, sat on top of my head like one
of those that the Jewish community wear on the back of their heads. The
religious cap was rich in symbolism but mine only served to restrict the blood
flow to a brain that did not reflect the girth of my other physical dimensions.
The uniform was a badge of pride then, and remains so today, however some
strategically placed whalebone-stays would have done me a great service.
The working-class boy bound for the Grammar school concerned about fitting into a middle-class school was much more of a worry for me than fitting into that posh uniform. Today I have a middle-class income with the same Protestant-work-ethic passed down by my parents; my working-class values are still there but they remain those of the 1950s and 1960s.
The Journey Begins
We must work to prevent intolerance from taking hold in the next generation. We must build on the open-mindedness of young people, and ensure that their minds remain open. (Kofi Annan)
The
first day was full of warmth and excitement, feelings that have remained with
me to this day for a school that transformed my life. Standing in the assembly hall waiting for the
day to start I met a boy called James Hampton, whose smile radiated from
ear-to-ear. James is still a personal friend and he symbolises all that was
good about the school and the Ulster farming community in particular.
We shared many adventures over the ensuing years even though, on more than one occasion, he "rucked" his boots frantically over the top of my body to get to that oval-shaped ball, on a cold and wet games-day. At other times he used his immense strength to remove the opposing players who were intent on strangling the life out of my rotund body. He remains a gentleman in every sense of the word.
Mr
Woodman knew every one of us on the first day and he never lost that personal
touch, as we progressed from the front of the assembly hall in first-year to
the rear of the hall in Upper-Sixth. This journey turned us into adults and
inculcated us with a broad and liberal education that has served us well to-date,
as we continue along the ever-decreasing road to retirement.
The school was never solely about results but spiritual, personal and social growth to enable us to serve within the community, both as leaders and followers. Mr Woodman was inspirational and I still detect the echoes of his teachings in my peer's conversations, as we fondly remember him. Today the world of education is catching-up to the point where he had already reached during the 1960s. Pastoral care has to be taught today but for him it was a life-well-lived, as he walked in the shoes of the fisherman from Galilee.
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!�
(Rudyard Kipling)
I Have a Plan
The bus journey to school was always enjoyable in the company of Philip Wright, Maxine Moore, Stephanie Weir, Daphne Bailey and Diane Rusk. They were, and are, great friends of mine and we have enriched each other's lives in so many ways; forming a bond that stretches back though the decades. However, the social group for me was generally a boy's club, comprised mainly of primary school friends and new acquaintances. Boys-and-their-toys, nothing changes!
My great friend, Annesley Renshaw, always had
a plan and we were daft enough "to-boldly-go" anywhere with him for the "craic".
One event has never left me, as it was one of Annesley's better impish moments,
and one that brings me back to those ill-fitting skull-caps. Someone at PC
decided that once a week we should learn how to make egg-boxes and pencil cases
at the "Old Tech" on the Armagh Road.
The lads at the "Tech" were most amused at the sight of these handless
snobs in their black and blue caps, as they walked from one school to the other
like lambs to the slaughter.
The banter was cruel and mostly justified, but in truth many friendships from primary school were rekindled. The strongest of these friendships to develop over time, for many of us, was one with Kalbhushan Suberwal. Who could forget "Bushy", certainly not anyone who propped against him in later-years?
Back
to those skull-caps. Annesley told us that the headmaster had decided to relent
and caps were no longer compulsory. To celebrate this momentous day on the way
back to the school, having destroyed more perfectly good pieces of wood at the "Tech",
the sheep gathered on the Bann Bridge around AR.
Mr Renshaw had the bright idea of having a cap-race in the river. As usual, we sheep removed the offending piece of clothing and duly obliged by throwing them over the bridge and into the muddy waters. Our cheers became rather muted when we encountered a set of prefects on our return to school. These prefects did not seem to be aware of this new regulation pertaining to caps. On the horizon was our first detention in our initial brush with the law at school and perhaps his representations on our behalf inspired Annesley to study for a law degree later in life.
In Upper-Sixth he surpassed himself when he arranged a well deserved rest-day from learning for Philip Wright, Kathryn Lavery, Audrey Russell and me. What a glorious day it was, as we went down to the river near Maghery, where we enjoyed ourselves immensely. Unfortunately, when Mr Woodman heard that Wright, Tate and Renshaw were missing he made a general announcement in assembly to the effect that anyone meeting us later in the day should ask us to grace him with our presence.
In
love and kindness and with true Christian charity Mr Woodman offered us a
choice, a concept so highly prized in the world of education today referred to
as pupil-voice. Ours was the choice
between three of the cane, to be administered most accurately by DW across the
rear-end, or a Saturday detention. In a truly democratic manner Philip and I
allowed Annesley to choose wisely for all of us, as my pupil-voice was shaking.
I had never attended school on a Saturday before that day. True-to-form though,
he had another plan in mind.
As the Saturday in question dawned we attended school reluctantly because it was the F.A. Cup Final and our beloved Liverpool was playing Arsenal. Philip, as a Manchester United fan, was less interested in the match per se. We begged to be released early to see the match and Mr Woodman, with a broad smile on his face, gave us permission to leave early.
What of the plan? A gem indeed, Annesley had arranged for us to go to Brian Irwin's house to see the match in colour. This was probably the only colour TV set in Portadown at the time. I will not quote the final score of the match but even Annesley had his limitations. You will of course have realised by now that Kathryn and Audrey escaped Scott-free as we carried-the-can for our collective transgressions. In truth they prepared one of the best picnics on what was the only day we ever "mitched-off" from school.
The Teaching Staff
Everyone has their favourite member of staff and I apologise that I cannot mention them all because I both respected and valued every teacher at our school. Mr Jackie Mulligan and Mr Raymond Stewart in our early years attempted to make rugby players of us all and they did succeed in fostering a life-long love of the game. I can still see the concern on Mr Mulligan's face, as I waddled at top speed down the gymnasium towards his brand new trampette, which was meant to hurl my undulating body into the air and over the wooden-horse. That man was my hero at school and his patience with me was limitless, as my body mangled much of his expensive PE equipment.
In seven years none of us ever managed to tackle "Snowy" Stewart on the mud-soaked school rugby pitches. He was a talented rugby and cricket player; a man of warmth and enormous generosity to all in his care. Later Mr Derek Wilson joined the PE staff and some years ago he recalled an incident involving me, that he thought at the time had finished his teaching career in its first-year.
He
decided one day to introduce us to baseball, not a common inclusion on the
grammar school curriculum. I was behind the batter when Ralph Hanlon, who was
unfamiliar with the protocols of the game, came in to bat. Mr Wilson called for
the delivery of the ball and Ralph hit it with a degree of ferocity unknown to
man-or-beast. Unfortunately, for me that is, Ralph let go of the bat and it hit
me on the skull where my school cap formerly resided and I deeply regretted that
I had not worn it on that day. The offending bat knocked me out and left me
with a giant lump on the side of my head. I hit the ground with a proverbial "wallop"
inducing a second injury to complement Ralph's first blow.
Poor
Mr Wilson was in a bigger state of shock then I was but Mr Woodman rescued the
day. I was carried to the medical room by a team of students and staff who
still bear the consequences of the injuries to this day, forgive the poetic
licence. Whenever, I recovered consciousness Mr Woodman made a medical
assessment and decided that I should go to the newly-built Craigavon Hospital.
I
am sure that, in the politically-correct and litigious world in which we live, the
Department of Education would carry out a full enquiry if this happened in
school today. His decision to send me on my own in a taxi would undoubtedly
have led to him being incarcerated within the bowels of Rathgael House. However,
I must confess to an appreciation for Mr Woodman taking this decision because,
on my release from hospital, I kept the taxi money, walked home and bought some
sweets, thus adding to the pressure on my blazer buttons.
Thankfully,
Mr Wilson went on to become the principal of a school in Dungannon, where some
of my pupils transferred to when I was the principal in Aughnacloy Primary
School. Ralph, unaffected by the incident, went on to study for a degree
related to health or safety.
To digress briefly, at university Ralph, Annesley and I were sitting in a pub in Belfast during the height of the "Troubles." The door swung open and a hand appeared holding a pistol and fired some shots into the saloon-bar. Ralph saw the gun first and shouted, "Duck!" Annesley and I, like sheep, duly obliged and I hit my head with such a bang on the corner of the table. Whereupon, a little boy clasping the gun looked into the saloon-bar and shouted an obscenity at us, as he emptied the rest of his cap-gun into the stale air. Once again Ralph had been instrumental in leaving his mark on my poor head.
Can anyone of us ever forget Miss Nora Harvey, who made teaching seem so effortless and enjoyable for her pupils? I am sure that many readers will remember the lugubrious Mr Bud Graham perched precariously on his seat, close to the warmth of the radiator and surrounded by a collection of books, which resembled that famous tower in Pisa. He walked that bike of his all over the County of Armagh. The debonair Mr Garfield England was a great teacher and a very rich source of humour. Miss Hannah Gilpin, whose life was brief, was a lovely young woman and is fondly remembered by her former pupils.
I am deeply indebted to Mr Uel Fulton, as he struggled manfully to convince me that quadratic equations have an intrinsic value in themselves. After I left school he became the vice-principal and I believe this was a just reward for getting me through my O Level Mathematics. I am sure that I was the one that drove him to the tobacco!
Mr
James McCormick was the Army Cadet Force officer in school and he was one of
the wittiest men I ever encountered. I will always remember him putting us into
a defensive trench and then throwing in a "Thunder-Flash" to test our state of
readiness for the next world war. Now remember, my body shape was not conducive
to agile movements and any manoeuvre that required a speedy exit from a trench
left me at a distinct disadvantage. Philip Henry, who later became an officer
in 4 Royal Irish mortar platoon, left more footmarks on me as he left the
trench than James Hampton had ever done in his prime on the rugby field.
Mr
McCormick was later to become very successful as a Principal in the Further
Education sector and his pipe developed a life of its own and was last seen
living in Virginia. "Puff" and Mr Alastair Uprichard taught us to shoot at the
TA Barracks' indoor-range. They collected the rifles from the RUC Barracks and
threw them into the boot of the car. Imagine that happening today; perhaps the
movement of guns through the town during that time was more prevalent than we
were aware of as school boys.
Mr
Woodman
We
did have some fun at Mr Woodman's expense but he always took it in good
grace. On occasion that suitcase he
carried, the 1960s equivalent of the Blackberry, that contained all of his professional
documents and text books could be found sitting in the middle of a corridor.
The owner, having remembered something more important to do, had set it down on
the floor and it just screamed out to be moved. The usual new location was the
girls toilets but wherever it ended-up he always found it.
It
was a privilege to listen to his talks in assembly and during Religious
Education classes. He challenged us intellectually and spiritually, both by his
actions and in his professional dealings with us in school. He led us from childhood
to adulthood during the most formative years of our lives. I remember his smile
on one occasion when he invited some of us to help with a group of disabled
people from the area. Philip Wright and I were tasked to help a gentleman to
get into the school building, at a time when there were no disabled ramps at
the front door.
Philip and I had never encountered a wheel-chair before and we nervously gripped the arm-rests to lift our charge up the steps. The offending handles were detachable and we were left standing with the arm-rests whilst the wheel-chair took off backwards, as the owner scowled at us. Mr Woodman retrieved both the man and the situation with his customary charm and we retreated into the sanctity of the school.
As
a principal, I have had to cope with those sad days in school whenever a death
occurs, especially difficult when it is that of a pupil or teacher. Sadly, Mr
Woodman had occasion to lead us during our time of collective loss. His sense
of grief for the loss of a member of his school family was self-evident but he
was only ever concerned for us, as we grieved for one of our PC community. He
never put his personal needs above those of his children and staff.
An understanding heart is everything in a teacher, and cannot be esteemed highly enough. One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feeling. The curriculum is so much necessary raw material, but warmth is the vital element for the growing plant and for the soul of the child. (Carl Jung)
Sometimes it worries me. I feel something's got to give. I know what Harry Secombe meant when he said he's worried that one day the phone will ring and a mystic voice will say, 'Thank you, Mr Secombe. Now can we have it all back? (Eric Morcambe)
The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.
(Leo Marks)
Instead of giving a rifle to somebody, build a school; instead of giving a rifle, build a community with adequate services. Instead of giving a rifle, develop an educational system that is not about conflict and violence, but one that promotes respect for values, for life, and respect for one's elders. This requires a huge investment. Yet if we can invest in a different vision of peaceful coexistence, I think we can change the world, because every problem has a nonviolent answer. (Rigoberta Menchu)