In 1997, when I was in Sub A (6 years old), we visited Gran and Gramps in England. We also visited Uncle Jack and Aunty Nancy and Aunty Lottie.
Mr Suttle taught me Latin through my senior school years. He taught us Latin translation (using brilliant texts he'd developed himself) and also inspired in me a lasting love of Roman history. As part of our final year, we had to write 3 extended essays on aspects of Roman history and it gave rise to a level of enthusiasm and creativity in me that surprised and delighted me. You can read one of them here.
Ray Suttle also taught us how to create and use mind maps as a way to study. I immediately fell in love with this visual and practical tool and used it extensively in my final school year of study. I also used it at university and have used it often in my career.
Ray was elderly and suffered from gout which made him move very slowly. Some of the boys called him "Speed Wobble" as a result. In his prime, he was the headmaster of a very reputable private school in Zimbabwe. He was very highly respected for this leadership and scholarly excellence in the Latin field. However, by the time he came to St Georges, Latin was rapidly falling out of favour, regarded as a dead language and no longer relevant for the modern age. In our class, there were only three students who studied it. Everyone else opted for Geography instead. It was the same story in all the younger classes at St Georges. I think Ray felt this lack of interest very keenly.
In my final exam at school, I gained a distinction in Latin, thanks to Ray's excellent teaching. This distinction, coupled with a distinction in Afrikaans, earned me a distinction overall which meant the world to me.
I left school, and went to the University of Cape Town on the slopes of Table Mountain to study 1st year Zoology and Botany. However, on a regular basis, I would return to the vicinity of my old school because I was a member of a youth group in the area.
One night, before going to the youth group, I suddenly felt inspired to write Ray Suttle a letter. It was a thank you note, written quickly on a blank piece of paper, but written from the heart. I thanked him for his excellent teaching that had earned me my distinction. I told him how much I had enjoyed the classes and that I was finding the Latin really useful in my Zoology and Botany lessons. I also told him how much I benefited by using the mind-maps he had taught us.
As I drove past the school on my way to youth group, I stopped off at Ray's residence on the boundary of school where he lived with his wife, Mam Suttle, who had been our English teacher. It was late in the evening and getting dark. I dropped off the letter in his letter box and went on my way.
I forgot about it and 5 or more years went by.
Then one day I received a letter out of the blue. I cannot remember how the letter got to me; maybe via my mum who bumped into Mam Suttle from time to time. The letter was from Ray.
In the letter, Ray wrote something along the lines of "I remember that night so well, I heard a scurrying outside the door and went out to see someone disappearing off into the darkness. Then I found the letter. I have to tell you, in all honesty, no letter has ever effected me more. It came at a time when I was feeling completely demotivated and flat in regards to my teaching profession. I wondered if it was all worth it. Your kind, heart-felt words meant everything to me. They sank very deep. They gave me my mojo back. They made all the difference in the world. Thank you, thank you for your letter."
Reading these words moved me to tears. It was, and continues to be, my greatest teaching about the immense power of gratitude expressed from the heart. Inspired by this, I have written many more letters of gratitude over the years.
Thank you, dear Mr Suttle, for yet another of your priceless lessons.
I experienced my first depression at the age of 17 when I was in Std 9 at school.
It started with a sudden attack of doubt as to whether I really wanted to study Zoology after I left school. It mushroomed from there and I suddenly found myself consumed with a deeply heavy and contracted feeling that I could't shake off. I was unable to experience pleasure of any kind. I became very quiet and withdrawn, and mum asked me what was wrong but I said "nothing" as I had no ideas why I felt so awful. There was no rational reason for me feeling this way. I had no knowledge of depression and didn't realise that I was in the grips of it.
I forced myself to focus on my preparation for the coming exams (exams always being a source of real anxiety for me) although this was a real struggle. But I persisted with my studies, day by day, almost obsessively, and slowly the depression lifted as I regained a sense of control and momentum.
When I was 14 (in Std 7 at school), I did my school work on a pine desk in my room that had a lift up lid. At some stage, for some reason, I put some bars of Nordika soap into my desk which spread it's scent to all the books and stationery there. Then, suddenly one day, I found myself inexplicably disgusted by the smell of the Norkika. I removed the offending soap, but the smell remained. If I handled an item that was in my desk, I felt it was infected with the Nordika and I'd feel compelled to go wash my hands. This compulsion developed into an absolute obsession. I found myself washing my hands multiple times per day with soap, and then later with even stronger detergents. I felt more and more anxious about contamination by the dreaded Nordika soap. It made me feel absolutely helpless.
I can't remember exactly how the obsession ended. I asked my parents if I could move rooms and this helped a bit but the obsession diminished very slowly. By the time I was 15, in a higher standard at school, the obsession was a little easier to manage but it persisted several years. I didn't think I would ever get over it. It was a very difficult period of my life that co-incided with being emotionally bullied at school. I've often wondered if the obsessive compulsive phase I went through was related to that. In retrospect, it probably was.
My obsession with contamination reared it's head again, but to a lesser extent in Std 9 (aged 17) when I became revolted by the smell of the hamster urine in our outside room and I was wary of handling anything that I felt had been permeated by the smell.
Also, in Std 9, we used a microscope to study uni-celled organisms in pond water. I had a beaker of pond water in my room that I used for the study. I was suddenly revolted by it, leading to more obsessive behaviour. This was a factor that played a part in precipitating my first bout of depression.
