I see no more fitting title for this piece than the name of the person that set me out on my long path of education. I have heard somewhere that the memories of a person´s first teacher easily last a lifetime and if this is true I am no exception. I still see her before me although this memory may have been refreshed by the one remaining Abel Smith Primary School class photograph in my possesion. What cannot be attributed to the photograph however is that I can still hear the sound of her voice praising, coaxing or admonishing me, which of these I remember not, only the distinctively gentle ”Jurgen”
From my perch today as it were and looking back this was definitely the best start in life that anybody could ever wish for. The remarks and grades on my early school reports reflect Mrs Ramage´s success as a teacher and shamed me later during a number of educational years for not living up to the gift bestowed on me.
Looking back, the benefits of age allow for a magnitude of experience just waiting to be analysed. I am in no doubt of Mrs Ramage´s positive influence and my later happy-go-lucky approach to school and resulting low grades rather underlines her capacity as a teacher. My eventual school career as a teacher, school principal, independent school management consultant not to mention working on a PhD in American literature (which I never finished) would certainly have rendered an incredible ”whatever is the world coming to” from most of my other teachers.
Attempting to solely attribute success or failure to genetics, or social environment is in my opinion a blunt tool often oscillating between blame and wishful thinking with little acceptance of life´s complexities. It is said of Einstein that he suffered from dyslexia; enough food for thought there.
My choices in life always seem to have resulted in what might be described as a rather peripatetic approach. Something interesting turns up and away I would go taking any consequential side effects in my stride. A modest example of this attitude is when I was about 14 years old and boldly told my parents that I would be attending confirmation classes as I wished to be confirmed. Not that my parents cared either way. I have no recollection of even a raised eyebrow on their part. I had discovered that a girl at school who I fancied was attending confirmation classes and if by enrolling and being confirmed guaranteed me a seat next to her and as a side dish a seat in heaven, who was I to complain.
Visiting Warnham decades later I was reminded that the church has no steeple, creating a rather disappointingly stunted atmosphere. As a lover of ecclesiastical architecture I am still pondering if there lies a message there.