The Roundup - Edition 45

A message from 
Rich Jones, Head.

“You’re as thick as two short planks, you are. Daft as a brush”

This was how my Grandfather, Tom, responded to me as a 10-year-old as I announced that it was my intention to join the military when I was older. I was slightly baffled by his response. I explained that I wanted to be a navy frogman, jump off battleships, and attach mines to enemy ships … dashingly and heroically. He just shook his head. I went further and explained that it was his fault – he told me about seeing the world when he was in the Second World War, he told me about the friends he made and he told me of all the excitement he had had.

I just wanted the same…

His countenance changed and he wearily got up, took my hand and off for a walk we went.

He then, of course, explained that whilst he had seen the world, had made great friends and had experienced exciting times; he also still struggled to sleep at times, found the two minutes silence really difficult ("I need longer than two minutes a year") and then asked me how many of his ‘great friends’ he’d introduced me to? I confirmed that it was zero and he looked at me and simply nodded. He then said, “Remember, we didn’t have a choice”.

That has always stuck with me. I know that it is not everyone’s experience of the armed forces, but it was my grandfather’s. Brutal and honest, yes, but that has always stuck with me.

With the recent Remembrance commemorations, I was once again transported back to that conversation and I often wondered what he would make of Remembrance these days.

I must admit, I am a reluctant member of the LinkedIn community and recently I found many schools posting pictures of their Remembrance activities and even a few rather distasteful selfies as I trawled through the other day. I was most struck by the similarity of all the photos – all the ones I saw were pictures of heads, teachers, governors and vicars talking on stage to large groups of mournful (or bored looking) students. This rather bothered me.

I think Remembrance is hugely important but I think our role as educators should be to engage, involve and hear from our community of young people. Of course, there is a time for instruction and presentation but for us to truly participate, think and interact surely the students should be at the heart of it. Therefore, it was with some pride that I attended both our Junior School and Senior School Remembrance activities. In the Junior School we heard from the children as they read out poems and thoughts. In the Senior School, we heard from a number of students about their experiences on their recent battlefields trip and they authentically and sensitively shared how the trip had helped them understand more and think more about those who died and the nature of conflict itself. I will also never forget the entirely haunting rendition of the Last Post performed by one of our III Group (Year 9) students on the cello.

That is what is so important about our ethos and values at St Chris. We don’t want our young people to be passive passengers as they travel submissively through their time here nodding sagely when required and responding with clear-cut, concise and clipped answers to all questions posed. We want them to be fully engaged participants and directors ready and able to jump in with their own truths, their own understanding and for us to value their own experiences, which then bleeds into the rich tapestry that our community holds so dear.

There are lots of us who will have had our own experiences on battlefield tours, and some of us will have been shaped by conflict directly (or will have had family members who have been) and we will all have personal notions, ideas and understandings of what Remembrance means. It is no different for our young people.

I will always think of Tom on Remembrance Day and the sombre and drained look he eyeballed me with when I was 11. I also always look at a photo of him where he has my mother, as an infant, on his shoulders as the look of joy on his face seers through the lens. When he returned from the war, according to my mum, he was consumed with ensuring his family had peace and had comfort and would often say his experiences were just 'investments’ in his family’s future. I guess that’s what we all try to do.

Interestingly, the final gift I ever received from Tom was just after I graduated and it was a book called ‘A Diver’s Story: Underwater in the Military’ – he wrote on the sleeve and it merely says “Still daft as a brush”.