Steeped in Blood Read Online Free

strict, demanding respect from his pupils. Often, at the slightest provocation, he would fly into a blind rage, leaving us fearful and uncertain.
    My English master was Jeremy Taylor, of ‘Ag Pleez Daddy’ fame. He left after my first year to pursue a musical career with the Wait a Minim! show. My brother Peter, being very musically gifted, wrote down the music of ‘Ag Pleez Daddy’ in note form so that Jeremy could get the copyright.
    Michael de Lisle succeeded Michael Stern as headmaster at St Martin’s. He was a rigid man, and I learnt some valuable lessons from him – including the fact that ‘military intelligence’ is a contradiction in terms! He had been a distinguished soldier during the Second World War, and we clashed from the word go, as he believed in creating and upholding rules, no matter what the consequences. Michael de Lisle and I were not destined to be happy with each other at all.
    I had set my heart on studying medicine after school, but my grades were poor. The only way for me to be accepted was to put in many hours of extra work, which would mean studying in the library after prep, late into the evening. The school rules stated that we could do this two nights a week, and De Lisle was not prepared to waive them. He appeared to be totally insensitive to my motivation – rules were there to be obeyed.
    I did not accept this lying down, and after ongoing tension between De Lisle and me, my mother was called in and asked to take me to a psychiatrist. De Lisle thought that I had some deep-seated personality issues that needed resolution.
    The psychiatrist found me to be a reasonably normal sixteen-year-old, and I left St Martin’s and returned home to Standerton.The rest of the year was largely wasted. I attended the local Afrikaans high school to brush up on my Afrikaans, and started at Nigel High School the following year, in Standard 9 again.
    I met up with Michael de Lisle recently when he attended a public lecture that I gave. He and I appear to have mellowed considerably, and he complimented me on my performance. Memories are short, and I bear him no lasting animosity – we were both products of our own experiences.
    The headmaster at Nigel High School was Louis Spruyt. His wife had been at school with my mother, who had been taught by Louis in the early days of his career. He had a soft spot for me, and sometimes allowed me to use his office to study. There was none of the rigidity that I had encountered up until that point. I worked almost every evening up at the school library – I had my own key – and my results reflected the effort I put in.
    Looking back, what amazes me was the short-sightedness in the education system, where teachers were often more focused on upholding rules and regulations than on recognising ambition and determination, and facilitating the development of the young minds in their care. Louis Spruyt, for me, was a breath of fresh air.
    In my last two years at school at Nigel, I encountered many people who can simply be described as incredible human beings. One of these was Dr Gevers, my English master. A German by birth, he had a PhD in English and exuded wisdom and knowledge. Imposed discipline did not form part of his world: for his pupils, to disappoint Gevers was punishment in itself. We looked up to him in awe, and the many life lessons he imparted through teaching his subject still live with me today.
    Gevers was Socratic in his approach to teaching, constantly questioning and engaging in debate with his students to stimulate critical thinking. I recall one such instance when we were studying William Blake’s poem ‘The Sick Rose’:
    O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
    Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
    The poem’s bleak political overtones reflect Blake’s insecurities with the changing world around him. I went to Gevers with an interpretation, and