Speaking of Her Majesty -- which I was a couple of months ago -- by the time I realised in the days of yore that the annus horribilis attributed to her was not a chronic colorectal condition but a reflection of a period of challenge, I was swimming around my own stormy teacup of a difficult professional stretch. In the autumn of 2001 I had been in post at Gordonstoun for eleven years, confident, having endured and enjoyed a fullish stint, that life would only get better, when I was assailed from many sides by the slings and arrows of at least highly unpredictable fortune.
It all began in New York, whither I had travelled to raise funds for scholarships and bursaries. The event was a disaster; the city was subjected to its fiercest thunderstorm in years; no-one of interest attended a poorly attended event and we were all looking forward to flying home the next day. However, the following morning was the not easily forgotten 11th September 2001 and my colleague and I found ourselves caught up, as fringe spectators, in the most celebrated of terrorist attacks. When I eventually returned to Scotland, I gave our school community a full description of our experiences, not excitements of biblical and life shaping proportions but events that were of reasonable interest at the time.
Eighteen years later I thought I would publish that school address in full by way of my next blog but there was one aspect of the aftermath which for me rather overtook the historic events themselves. I had noted in the speech how, compelled to stay in, and not move from, a small suburban hotel on the outskirts of New York, I was interested to see how the local populus, quite understandably, were consuming substantial quantities of alcohol in an attempt to obliterate the effect of recent traumas.
The British national press obtained a copy of the speech and set about enjoying a field day of excoriation. The Daily Telegraph headline told its readers ' Head drank to blot it out ', spawning a series of letters to the Editor, some of which pointed out that this was not actually what had been said and generously giving me a reasonably sound bill of health. But the damage was done; The Mail on Sunday went with: ' Principal fights for job, telling pupils he blotted out terror with binge. '
The press will do as the press feels it needs to do but the varied response from elsewhere was interesting. Those who mattered by and large didn't mind; they knew the situation and rode through the media storm but members of the public, completely unknown to the school or to me, waded in, animated to a major degree -- and gosh, I began to learn that year just how unnecessarily rude people could be. Mr and Mrs McF of Dorking wrote: ' Dear Sir, What an utter prat you must be. Do you really think it clever to be so infantile and useless to go on a binge ( in your tweed suit of course, despite it being summer in NY ) and then make your idiotic behaviour public. God help those few pupils ...... ' etc. I did ask the anxiety ridden couple if they would like to visit the school at my expense or for me to call on them at number 27. I still await their reply.
Scarcely had this transatlantic storm begun to subside when the next tsunami of outrage reared its somewhat nonsensical head. This time it was the Head who cheated his entry in Who's Who. The facts were simple; my university career, along with most of my youthful experience, was a self made cocktail of enjoyable achievement and shambles, characterised by an early departure [ entirely voluntary ] from Oxford University and the completion of my degree as an external student at London. All of this was of course known to those who knew me and openly presented on cvs and letters of application as my career progressed. Indeed I managed to make something of a virtue of the supposed qualities of decisiveness and self-reliance which the move displayed. However, the Who's Who entry failed to make mention, in its very brief summary of London University. The question was: had this been an intentional omission buried as a desire for brevity or was there no sinister motive, merely a human error? I could not say then, and certainly cannot now, whether I intentionally omitted a detail. My general belief has always been that practical considerations, quite apart from morality, render honesty the wisest course of action and the evidence elsewhere tends to support this. Every other document told the full story.
In independent schools covert opposition can lurk in the shadows of dusty cupboards and long forgotten passages. These schools have often generated societies or clubs of former students. These associations hold social events; they encourage ties that bind. They also assume the role of defenders of the faith, where faith can be defined as tradition interpreted by themselves. These semi or fully autonomous bodies can be a hugely positive force of support and simultaneously be a nightmare for the parent organisation, which has limited control over conduct, expenditure [ monies often coming from or through the school ] and most significantly expressions of opinion.
This was fairly standard and, apologies, rather tedious stuff. New Heads make changes; former students don't like change in or to 'their' school and are difficult about it -- all absolutely fine and a cross to bear with resignation and a smile. There was one gentleman, organiser of the Old Boys' cricket team [ and appropriately sharing the name, though not the spelling of a famous New Zealand cricketing dynasty ]. Bearing in mind the school's overall requirements, he was asked to change the date -- and in some ways the style -- of that most significant occasions, the Old Boys' Cricket Match. This he found difficult, which was a shame as he retired instead, Achilles like, to his tent possibly to read Who's Who or certainly be ready to pounce when the news on the Pyper entry appeared ten years later. He wrote to the Chairman of Governors to inform him how unsuitable I was in a variety of ways to be Head of his old school, while Newspapers again had something of another indulgence of sledging, to keep us with the cricket theme; ' Gordonstoun Head guilty of forging Who's Who entry ' and so on. The Board of Governors, under Sir James Weatherall, stood firm. In fact he ensured that the storm blew in the right direction; the enemies were scattered and problem number two evaporated.
The next chapter in this saga of educational cataclysm is a touch more exciting involving, as it did, a conflict between two veterans of the Falklands War, from different services, with myself perched precariously and reluctantly between the two. The former students' committee [ again! ], perhaps not appreciating the nice distinction between philosophy and tradition, remained in some respects opposed to a ' reforming' Headmaster and stood ready to take a swipe when occasion arose. This is a suitable moment to say that I hope that, once or twice during this action packed year under discussion, I spared a thought for my family for whom all this nonsense was a bit tough, especially the next incident, which centred round one of our nearest and dearest, giving a whole new dynamic to the challenge of impending disaster.
The Head's daughter committed, at fifteen years of age, a fairly standard transgression, causing me to ponder whether it is more embarrassing when the children in your own professional care excel at the things at which they should excel or are just hugely successful in nefarious activities. On this occasion it was a straightforward disciplinary offence but it reached the press [ not surprising as the going rate was £75 if a tabloid used your story ] where the interest subsided fairly quickly when it became clear that she was being treated in exactly the same way as other sinners [ of course ]. However, the somewhat over earnest and notably sensationalist editor of the former students' magazine grabbed the opportunity to embarrass the Headmaster and ran his front page on the topic under the banner headline: ' Pyper vs Pyper, Head suspends own daughter in drunken G'stoun scandal '. Almost twenty years later it still seems almost beyond belief that a school association should ever consider publishing something so divisive and scurrilous.
The Chairman of the Gordonstoun Association at that time was a retired Major, an extremely brave soldier, a veteran of the Falklands and a former parent, whose four excellent children had been highly successful students at the school. But he approved the editor's copy, to be swiftly reminded of the force of naval power in that South Atlantic conflict. The already mentioned Chair of Governors, the Vice Admiral, appalled by the disloyalty of the attack on the institution they claimed to support and the entirely unprofessional publicising of the private life of a young person, decided to ban the galloping major and the garrulous editor from entering the school -- richly dramatic developments.
More unwelcome newspaper headlines followed. The Times of 21 September 2002 had a lengthy article under the heading ' Head bans paper over daughter's escapade '. To some of course the Headmaster was to blame as the root of all evil; for others the revisionist clique of old boys [ and they were all male ] comprised a pain in whichever part of the anatomy you chose to name; most people neither appreciated nor cared about these local difficulties and just hoped that ' wiser counsel would prevail ' [ reference Willie Whitelaw about the IRA ] so that everyone should just get on with life.
And that is what happened. It took a little time but this episode was the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end. While an excellent staff member called Ben just kept his head down and looked after all former students, regardless of their proclivities, there were five gentlemen, John, Martin, Simon, Trevor and Peter consulted and thought and talked and chewed the cud for five or six years to very positive effect, preparing the ground for a lady called Sophie to appear and use her considerable skill to bring to a satisfactory and harmonious conclusion one of the longest running conflicts since the Hundred Years War. Peace and harmony took over.
Sadly it was not quite yet the end of the year of horrors; in fact the greatest was yet to come. North Foreland to most of us was a location mentioned to insomniacs during the nocturnal Shipping Forecast but with the word Lodge attached, it was also the name of a girls' school in Hsmpshire. In 2002 this previously excellent school was withering; Gordonstoun had the opportunity to acquire it, save it and start a feeder prep school on the same site. This was a noble and enterprising venture but it went wrong and the responsibility for that lay at least in part with Gordonstoun and therefore myself. We did not discover the full extent of the existing school's financial difficulties; we made a crucial decision early on but then changed course; we ploughed through the early stages of the operation with inadequate resources.
In the end closure of the existing school was the only solution and, with oceans of bad blood boiling in every breast and cauldron, Gordonstoun felt obliged to set aside its other plans and sell the property. The school would have closed in any case; Gordonstoun kept it operating for a further year so that students could finish their two year courses; the staff were properly looked after; the property was sold as a school and still is just that; the charitable proceeds from the sale exist today as a trust, helping dozens of young people every year to benefit from an education which they need and from which they benefit enormously.
The press were not so interested in this story which lacked glamour and sensation but there was a heavy price to pay, especially by him who was seen as the chief protagonist, with interested parties and an assortment of nosey parkers. When we thought all was possibly said and done, a group of the North Foreland governors demanded a wash-up session with at least one Gordonstoun governor and myself. I was told to prepare myself to soak up the pressure and the pain; the warning was entirely valid. A gentleman who shared the name with the leader of the Five Members, whose attempted arrest by Charles I sparked the English Civil War, felt the verbal and moral thumbscrews had to be applied as emphatically as they were in the seventeenth century and he was the person to do the business. The virulent peroration which took place was as rude as it was unnecessary, as ineffective as it was tedious. I hoped the gentleman felt better after his vindictive rant. I fear the causes of humanity and education were not advanced by one jot or tittle.
And were any lessons to be learnt from this chapter of accidents, this litany of sometimes assisted misfortune? I became first much more aware of, and I hope wiser about, the rudiments of sound governance -- both useful and important to me in the work I have tried to do in retirement. I served under three superb Chairs of Governors at Gordonstoun and the year of perdition, just described, happened when I was reporting to James Weatherall, whom I have mentioned -- a man of very considerable authority and stature, as straight as a dye and as true as a bolt from William Tell.
I became aware of the danger of assuming that others know what is in one's mind; of the importance of direct, and if necessary painful, talking; of judging each issue on its merits; above all of supporting the Head until and unless it becomes necessary to do something else, never brooking the actions of those who would snipe and stealthily undermine. Those found guilty of this were simply blasted out of the water by Jim Weatherall, in an atmosphere where the code of practice was grounded in perspective and untrammelled by old fashioned public school incest.
I learnt also, slightly more subtly, the distinction between loyalty and loyalism, where the former reflects a bond with an individual or concept, based on integrity and principle, where the recipient of the loyalty feels and appreciates the sentiment. Loyalism, on the other hand, expresses adherence to an ideology or creed seen purely subjectively [ and often historically ]. Loyalism can be as pernicious in schools as it can be on the Shankhill Road in Belfast.
Thirdly, keep apologising even when you are not guilty, either specifically or generally, but try hard not to find yourself apologising for the same debacle three times in quick succession. Otherwise, saying sorry is not a sign of weakness and won't be seen as such but smile in a non-committal and disarming way as you move quickly on to something else.
Then be a phoenix; demonstrate your resilience [ all the rage now but we didn't hear much of it in 2002 ]; when national newspapers speak of you as ' beleaguered ' and ' embattled ', gently flap your wings as you rise from the ashes with even paced determination and do something so that people know you are still around. As 2002 drew to a close, I think we just about achieved that.
There once was a horrible annus
When many endeavoured to pan us;
We came through the crises,
Atoned for our vices
And saw off the foes with no manners.
And were we eventually vindicated? Whenever I think of vindication, I remember Edward Gibbon, author of that mighty six volume work ' The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire ' which I enjoyed reading at Oxford University. I remember very little about Gibbon now, apart from the fact that, when tackled about the accuracy and veracity of some of his history, he published a separate learned Vindication and that the poor man suffered from a scrotal disease, involving an unwelcome enlargement of his private parts. Contemporary cartoonists were not kind, picturing him pushing all his most important equipment before him in a wheelbarrow.
So here, finally, is the unashamed, undiluted overdose of conceited vindication of myself. Nine years after the happenings described above and leaning heavily on a highly supportive governing body, a truly excellent group of staff and many wonderful students, despite the concerns of the opposition, we retired from Gordonstoun leaving the school larger than it had ever been [ well over 600 in number ] and, more importantly, a happy and thriving school.
In 2009 Gordonstoun had a full inspection by HMI [ in Scotland inspections of all schools, maintained and independent, were carried out by a single authority ]. It is not an exaggeration to recall that the officials were so impressed by our School Development Plan, they took a copy to use as an exemplar in all Scottish schools. They also wrote in their report ' The school has a very clear vision which is shared very effectively with young people, parents and staff. It focuses on preparing young people to take a full and active role as international citizens in a changing world. Staff across the school help young people to achieve this aim by providing numerous opportunities to develop their talent and potential, experience challenges and to develop as rounded, confident individuals. The headmaster provides inspiring leadership and is highly respected. He encourages staff and young people to take the lead and show initiative in a variety of situations and values their contributions to school life. '
After that, a little appreciation on retirement two years later from such variously diverse bodies as the Rank Foundation, the Tatler magazine and that great expert in horrible history, Queen Elizabeth II herself,was just the icing on the cake.
12th July 2019
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