September 3, 2017 – Under an Endless Sky

It was a wonderful summer. I spent loads of time with Victoria and the kids, with friends and visitors. A time to play, rest and unwind.

I did spend time working but at my pace and without the sense of dread and impending panic I have known for the last few years.

Holidays used to be about trying to catch up or get ahead; data crunching; policy writing; filing; all of it a waste of time, none of it ever helped anyone. Least of all my pupils but there was always a pressure to get it done!

Not this year! The work I have done has been useful and productive. So much so that I was actually prepared for the start of the school year. Not only did I feel prepared for the start of term but for the first time in years I was ready and raring to go!

Looking forward to it.

I have had none of my usual anxiety dreams the ones I have come to associate with the last couple of weeks of a break. None of the nerves, none of the foreboding! Just a sense that this is going to be a good year!

For years the last nights of any holiday have been marked by one particular recurring dream. One that I wake up from every time, actually force myself to wake up from, wound up and worried.

In my dream I am back at school. More accurately back at boarding school and The Mount House.

All my friends, no, more than friends we lived together and grew up together, have left and I have had to stay on to repeat the sixth form and my ‘A’-Levels.

I just stand there in the lobby of my boarding house. Alone. There is no one there just me waiting for the new term… There in front of me is the big old oak table where Paul Holmes, our House Master, used to put the post but there are no letters for me. I’ve been forgotten.

You know I can still smell the furniture polish and the claggy mud on the floor of the changing room. A metallic clay smell.

It has been more than twenty-five years since I left Bethany but I could still walk the mile from my old boarding house, The Mount, to the main school with my eyes closed. I remember every step, every turn, every rise and fall of the path. We used to walk it morning noon and night. In rain, snow, sunshine and in the dark. I used to walk the whole route while reading a book and never had to look up and never a missed step.

Thanks to Raaaaay the cook, he was deaf and rolled the ‘a’ in his own name with a nasally flat quality, I to this day can not eat overcooked pasta or stand the smell of boiled minced meat and the smell of school canteen Bolognese still affects me physically!

I do however have very fond memories of the tea. Great metal teapots on the table with teabags the size of pillows stewing in them. On a cold wet evening or first thing on a frosty morning they made the mile trek from The Mount to the dinning hall worthwhile, warming your fingerless glove covered hands on the pot in the morning was heavenly.

Yes I went to school in a Dickensian novel. OK the fingerless gloves were a fashion thing but other than that a proper old-fashioned British boys boarding school where we called each other by our surnames.

The new boys were ‘plebs‘.

Brothers carried the monikers ‘major‘, ‘minor‘ and for some poor sods ‘minimus’.

The Prefects had their own common room, where by ancient decree the Masters could not enter without permission. I think they stayed out because the place was a health hazard, but we loved it.

The Boys used hide in the bogs and smoke while the teachers lurked about outside trying to catch the ‘giffers‘. At least I think that’s why they were lurking around the boys toilets.

Maybe now looking back at the Victorian monochrome memories of childhood with modern more cynical eyes the Masters motives were not so innocent. Not the harmless cat and mouse I used to think it was.

Yes, some of the Masters were sadist pricks (Chaz and Dave) but the majority were thoroughly decent chaps who not only made school bearable but memorable and fun too.

The colourful nicknames we gave them still make me chuckle, Bomber, Fritz, Grabber, Axe, Hammer, Bernie, Waggles, Monkey and Gut.

I still tear up when I recall Richard Ashlin’s death during the Great Storm of ’87. Bloody good bloke and story for another day.

We had a sailing club, tuck boxes and letter writing. Exiates at the weekend and had to polish our shoes and boots the old-fashioned way with brushes. Everyday.

Yes, there was institutional bullying and I am ashamed to say that I, in turn, played my part in that sad tradition. Not to the extent of some and thankfully not for long but Collison and Thurley have every reason to hate the young me. Sorry lads, genuinely.

I will always remember the comradery fondly and oddly the musty dog piss smell of wet duffel coats as they steamed, drying on the radiators on a rainy dark winter evening.

Oh and the mortar shell, mustn’t forget the UXB. Oh how we laughed when it didn’t explode. The sort of hysterical, ‘I can’t believe we are still alive’ laugh that follows a near death experience. Thanks Gregory. You dick!

Yes there were some real laughs, an unreality born of 250 bored boys boarding together. But the thought of an extra two years there is just too much!

This year there was no dream. I didn’t go back. I wasn’t stood in the front hall of The Mount. Alone. Forgotten. This year I was looking forward to the start of term.

I welcomed everyone back twelve days ago and we set about unpacking.

One of the realities of living and working in the Caribbean is Hurricane Season. From the beginning of June to the end of November the danger of a hurricane hitting is a reality.

Our schools are built to be public shelters in the event of a disaster. In term time we have to be able to switch seamlessly from school to shelter with 24 hours notice.

Back in June we mothballed the school prior to the summer holiday exodus. We just have to pack everything away as a precaution in case there is a hurricane and the school has to open as a shelter.

Clearly this has implications on how we resource and manage our schools and hurricane preparedness is part of our curriculum. Its a fact of life but for the next two months we will be watching the weather closely and following how each storm system over the Atlantic develops.

Ready to run.

During our set up week we were watching Cyclone Number 9 wondering if we would have to repack everything just as we finished setting up.

Cyclone Number 9 was predicted to become Tropical Storm Harvey and then a hurricane of the same name. Its track had it entering the Southern Caribbean and passing close by or hitting us directly. Predicting the track of hurricanes is not an exact science there is all sorts of room for uncertainty.

However it tracked westward and stayed south. We were lucky, it passed 150 miles south of the Cayman Islands. It swung past and we had a few days of very heavy rain and high winds but nothing too alarming. When it made landfall in Venezuela it was barely a category 2. Bad. But a miss for us.

In truth, after that, we dismissed Harvey we thought he was done and then it got up to the Gulf of Mexico and exploded.

You have seen the news. When Harvey reached the Gulf of Mexico he went on the rampage and devastated swathes of Texas!

$16 billion of damage and 50 dead. We were lucky but they have paid a huge price.

Hurricane season 2017 is in full swing, two months down and two to go. The peak of the season is next week, 10th September, but this is a statistical misnomer as lots of the real monsters come late in the season growing huge as a result of gorging on all the energy (heat) stored in the sea at the end of the summer.

We currently have four storms systems swirling around us. It is like living on a mythological Greek island surrounded by a wall of storms.

Watching Wonder Woman in the cinema here last month the audience just looked at the Amazons’ Island and went ‘yep, been there…‘

Cyclone Number 10, Irma, is a bit of a worry. She is heading west across the atlantic, already a category 3 hurricane and 1500 miles of growing to go.

She would be beautiful if she was not so scary.

The models have her shifting north and running up the east coast of the States or turning back into the Atlantic but the same models also say there is a good chance she will barrel straight into the Caribbean. As I said it is not an exact science.

Oh and then hot on her heals is Cyclone Number 11 or Jose to his friends.

Still, not as stressful as waiting for OfSTED to call. At least with hurricanes you know that they are mindless savage monsters intent on destruction. OfSTED claims to be about school improvement.

I digress. Storms aside it has been a really great start to the term and school year.

It was lovely welcoming the staff back and even nicer having all the children back filling the place with noise and life once more.

Last week also saw the official welcome for our new cohort of Cayman education staff. As a Principal I was invited to the briefing. The morning provided an opportunity to meet key personnel from the Ministry, Department of Education and catch up with my fellow school Principals. There was a lot of information for our newcomers to take in but the backdrop to the session reminded us all why we are here and why we work so hard to provide a world class education.