tug and woke the school at 5 a.m. This bell is still on view in the Administration Block at Botha's Hill. Most of my own lessons were conducted in a room in the Prep building, aptly named The Dungeon.This did not, I hope, refer to the character of the teacher or the lessons, but to the fact that large trees outside kept the room very much in the shade. On one occasion I came in quietly for a Matric lesson. The Head Prefect had his desk immediately before my table, with his head buried in Caesar, and not hearing me come. Suddenly out of the silence boomed the statement "I bet the old blighter starts with me". To save embarrassment, the Old Blighter affected not to hear.(The boys would be surprised to hear of the number of things the staff affected not to know about. This saved a lot of trouble). Of course if one tried to recall "incidents" this article could go on for ever. One night Mr Matterson heard a noise below and,on going to investigate,found a boy,with a very well-known surname, having a good time in the school pantry. With great presence of mind, said boy put on a sleep-walking act, closed his eyes and held his arms well before him. The Headmaster ushered him out, along the passages, up the stairs and to his bed, where he metaphori cally kissed him good night. I never discovered whether Mr Matterson realised he had been spoofed. In the early days the school's drinking water was stored in a large underground tank, with a covered manhole about a metre across. The afore-mentioned boy one day decided to have a dip,and plunged through the manhole. Fortunately he surfaced at the right spot or he might have drowned.On hearing of this episode the Headmaster is said to have retorted "I've stood So-and-so's nonsense for long enough, but I'm damned if I'll drink him." Headmaster and staff and visitors dined at a high table in the dining hall. To secure silence for grace after meals, Mr Matterson used a press-button bell on which he could give so faint a tinkle that often we at the table did not hear it — but the boys did. There was instant silence. It was Mr Matterson's pleasure oftento wait until two visitors were engaged in a heated discussion, before tinkling the bell. The boys immediately became silent, while the debaters con tinued in a loud voice, before embarrassingly realising that the whole school was listening. It was customary for the Headmaster and staff to fore gather in the Common Room at9 p.m.for tea and cake and a chat. Invariably the balance of the cake disappeared later. One evening we laced a sandwich cake with Epsom Salts, and awaited developments. They duly came. A boy was heard spluttering over the balcony. I will not give his name, but he was a highly regarded prefect. There was trauma on one occasion when the bus, in which I was transporting the cricket side to Durban,lost its back wheel,which careered off into a side street in Verulam. Anything could happen on those roads! Fortunately a nearby garage was able to offer alternative transport, and when we returned, ours was ready for use. Nor shall I ever forget the strain of driving the bus down the steep and rocky road from Eshowe, a mass of twists and turns, realis ing that one slip of the clutch, or failure of a brake and we would all be gone. Roads of those days bore no relationship to roads of today. On the journey to Durban many of the smaller rivers had no bridges,and one drove over causeways. After heavy rainsthese were impassible,and on one occasion Mr Matterson and his wife and two ladies of the staff had a most enjoyable week-end in Durban,for the simple reason that they could not get back.School functioned as normal. Considering its small size — 40 seniors at most — the school had extraordinary sporting success. It was not possible to have a proper first team practice at rugger, as there were not sufficient boys to make an opposing XV.As most of the matches were played against men's teams, however, members of the staff were inspanned and played a useful part. In the early days Mr Meiring, who had played for Natal and now captained Zululand, was a tower of strength, as a forward and a coach. When he left, Mr Medworth stepped in. He had played for Stellenbosch and against the All Blacks, and was a wonderful schoolboy coach. No-one can forget his sudden acceleration(atflyhalf), and his ballet-like side-stepping which left hands groping in the air. The school frequently won the Stewart Shield, which was competed for by teams from Umhiali to Empangeni. Talking of Empangeni, no participant will ever forget a match that has become legendary in Zululand folklore. It was a newly levelled field, of black sticky soil, and had no grass. There had been an inch of rain that morning. Need one say more? Within minutes it was impossible to tell who was who, and players had continually to run to a tap to vyash the mud out of their eyes.We slipped and sloshed and were barely recognisable as human beings. I happened to be playing on the wing, and each time (which wasn't often) the ball reached me I was travelling towards the touchline. There was no way of changing course and I invariably ended up in a heap among the spectators. The game was finally won when Mr Medworth happened to receive the ball while travelling in the right direction, started off, slip ped on to his tail, and skidded like a battleship the rest of the way to the goalposts. The school provided Natal with three consecutive wing three-quarters: Arthur StockilE,ric Groom, and Norman Theunissen. I remember Groom, I think, scoring eight times against Eshowe School, who had no answer to his speed. It is easier to remember cricket feats than rugby ones. A most remarkable match was played against Stanger in 1928. Kearsney declared at 174 (of which I apparently scored 83 not out) and Stanger, playing for a draw,had 46 for 3 wickets with only twenty minutes to go. Two overs later they were 46 all out, Mr Medworth and Pat Hargreaves (leg-spinner — five for none) having taken seven wickets in twelve balls. My own most abiding memory is the sight of Eric Groom scoring 100 in 25 minutes, against St Henry's, and including eleven sixes and six fours. Most of the time was spent looking for lost balls, and he scored 34 off one over. Then there was the magnificent 148 in 75 minutes, also against St Henry's, by captain George Bazley. The game began only at 11 a.m. and Kearsney were out before lunch — for 302!The biggest victory I can recall was against Durban Tech, where Kearsney scored 299 for two wickets (Bazley 156, Foss 108 run out — a record partnership of 280), and dismissed the opposition for 22 and 42, mainly through the agency of Graham Boyd, who in successive innings took 4for 4,5for 5,and 6for 6. Had he not,sadly, been lost in the War, I think he would have made Springbok material, for he was the best medium-paced left-hand schoolboy bowler I have ever seen. No mean bat, too, as a score of 88, with ten sixes, indicates. Bazley, too, was to lose his life in the War. He had been a splendid leader, head prefect,captain of rugby,cricket and athletics. It is common knowledge that Kearsney was set to close in 1936. The School Council made this plain to the staff and asked them to seek posts elsewhere. The Depression, and malaria scares, had reduced the school's numbers to 54, which was not a viable proposition. The Staff put up a bitter fight, and finally won the day through forfeiting part of their salaries and savings. The school stayed alive, but we knew this situation would recur. It would either have to close down for keeps, and remain a distant colourful memory, or else start afresh somewhere else. We had no money,no ground,only faith and hope. This is where the miracle happened,and a school came into being at Botha's Hill. But that is not part of my story. The academic staff who remained so faithfully together during these early years and well on into the Botha's Hill 44
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