Blade Runner (4 page)

We lived with our mother but there were no fixed rules or
enforced visitation rights. As far as was possible, we saw our
father as much as we wanted to. My mother encouraged our
relationship with our father, even allowing us to phone him
at three in the morning if that was when we happened to feel
his absence most keenly, and we needed the reassurance of
speaking to him. To all intents and purposes we were still a
family – all that had changed was that we stayed mainly with
my mother. The only inkling we had that things were not
quite as straightforward as they seemed was when we
overheard inopportune family gossip as to who was to blame
for the break-up. Not that we ever paid much attention to
the gossip – whoever was responsible for spreading it was
always speedily reprimanded and told to mind their own
business.

Our parents made it their priority that we should want for
nothing and continued spoiling us. My father even bought us
a small boat so that we could go waterskiing. We were
thrilled, as it meant that Carl and I had a whole new activity
in which we could race one another and challenge each other
to dares: who could spin the boat fastest, drive it the greatest
distance or bounce it from the water for the longest distance.
On one occasion we narrowly avoided a serious accident. We
were going very fast but paying scant attention to what was
going on around us, and just missed becoming caught up
between two much larger vessels and their anchor lines. We
would have flipped and capsized and been thrown into the
water.

My mother was an extrovert who loved nothing more than
laughter and spending time with friends; she always encouraged
us to be outgoing. Our friendship with Neil Stevenson
is a good example of her natural ease with people. Neil was
a surfing champion and at the time was ranked third in the
world. As kids we hero-worshipped him. My mother turned
on her charm and convinced him to take me out on his
board. We would see him every year and became his regular
fan club. Then, in 1998, he was the victim of a shark attack
in which both of his legs were viciously savaged. Incredibly
he managed to pull free and swim 200 metres towards the
shore with what remained of his legs dangling. He is
fortunate to be alive to tell his tale because it was late in the
afternoon and there was no one on the beach to hear his cries
for help; he was in shock and losing a lot of blood, but
somehow he held himself together and retained enough
strength to swim. It was only when he pulled himself on to
the beach that he realised the seriousness of his situation and
how close he had come to losing his life. His doctors were
forced to amputate one leg above the knee as gangrene had
set in but were able to save the other leg. We have remained
friends, and I like to think that his friendship with me helped
to strengthen him and give him the courage not only to
overcome the pain and suffering but also to continue to be
actively involved in the sporting world. Today he is a
champion South African paddle skier. We are both, I believe,
proof of the validity of another of my mother's lessons:
Never say never, and never give up. Try and try again.

My parents impressed upon us that if something is worth
doing it must be done properly. We learnt about true
competitive spirit, in which the objective is not only to win.
What is important is to do your best.

When we were children, our father often took us go-kart
racing. My father loved racing and, because he was heavier
than we were, his kart gripped the track better than ours did;
on the other hand, he struggled more than we did when
taking the corners. It took me years to understand that to
beat him I needed to capitalise on his weakness at the corners
and overtake him there. He made sure that I earned each
victory. He also encouraged me to compete among my peer
group. He would often invite five or six friends round and
organise races. His favourite activity was to get us to race to
the wall and back, with the winner being rewarded with the
largest slice of cake or some such treat. Until about the age
of twelve I was surprisingly agile and fast, even on my
stumps (I was much lighter than I am now, of course; my
body weight is now too great for the skin on my stumps to
bear, despite the fact that I have had heel-skin transplanted
onto the bottom of them). Often I would slip off my prostheses
and sprint the distance, easily beating the competition.

W
HEN THE TIME CAME
for me to begin high school, my
parents, true to form, gave me free rein. I could attend
the school of my choice and so I chose Pretoria Boys' High
School, an English-language boarding school with a good
reputation (my father was an alumnus of the neighbouring
rival Afrikaans-language school), and Carl decided to join
me. Until then we had always lived in Johannesburg, and so
I was keen to try somewhere new and a bit different. Pretoria
seemed ideal; it was not Johannesburg, but it was only half
an hour away. I was a student at Pretoria Boys' High School
from 2001 until 2005, from the ages of fourteen until
eighteen.

Pretoria Boys' High School was founded in 1901 and is a
wonderful example of an Anglo-Saxon boarding school.
Huge, magnificent pine trees flank the driveway that leads to
the main school buildings. The school's architecture is
imposing and grand. The school attached great value to
sporting excellence, and accordingly it boasted six rugby
fields, one massive and two smaller cricket pitches, an
athletics track with an AstroTurfed hockey pitch at its centre
(equipped with spotlights etc. for evening games) as well as
two pools (one for swimming and the other for water polo),
ten tennis courts and six squash courts. There was even a
shooting range. The school was surrounded by verdant
countryside and dramatic mountains, and effectively became
my oasis. There were 1,500 pupils, of whom 400 were
boarders.

I took to the place like a fish to water. I believe that people
perceive you the way you perceive yourself, and as I was a
happy, well-adjusted boy that is exactly how I was accepted.

A memorable incident took place on my first day of school.
We were expected to line up in the entrance hall. Next to me
was another new boy who at this point also knew no one.
He politely introduced himself as Chris and I reciprocated.
As the school's summer uniform was shorts and long socks
my prostheses were obvious to all. Chris immediately enquired
what had happened to me and I told him my story.
Thereafter we were ordered out onto the sports field.
Spontaneously he asked if I needed any help and then offered
to carry my school bag – it weighed a ton and the distance
to cover between our classes was pretty significant. I was
gobsmacked: no one at home had ever made allowances for
me in such a manner, and I found his concern not only
helpful but touching. I accepted his offer, and for three weeks
he carried my bag around for me. One day, however, he
happened to see me, late for a class, sprinting across a field
with a heavy tog bag on my shoulder! He was furious with
me for having taken advantage of his kindness, but it was the
start of a strong friendship that is still dear to me today.

I learnt my lesson though. Instead of me playing tricks, the
other kids started playing tricks on me. The first-years shared
dormitories in an army-style set-up – twenty-six boys per
dormitory, with steel beds and steel cupboards all lined up
next to one another. One child was in charge, based on a rota
system, and it was his responsibility to keep things in order
and wake everyone up in the morning.

Every evening before going to sleep I would take off my
prostheses and stand them up at the foot of my bed, ready to
start my day the following morning. On one occasion I
awoke to agitated shouts and in my drowsy state saw flames
all around. The dormitory representative was shouting that
everybody must evacuate as there was a fire. I lurched for my
prostheses but they were no longer where I had left them. I
looked everywhere and I soon became panic-stricken. I was
almost in tears, terrified that I was going to be left to die,
when suddenly the fire magically disappeared and the boys
came running back in laughing. They duly informed me that
it was all a joke. Their prank had consisted of spraying the
steel cupboards with lighter fuel and then setting fire to it. As
steel does not burn, the initial effect is dramatic but the fuel
is quickly consumed and the fire puts itself out. The boys in
my dormitory thought their exploit was hilarious, and told
me it was their way of extending a warm welcome to me.

Another favourite trick was to land me in detention for
being late. I had a reputation for being a late sleeper. I
studiously ignored the first and second wake-up calls every
morning, which meant that by the time the third one came I
had to leap out of bed practically already dressed. The hitch
was that my mates would hide my legs and so the time that it
took for me to find them again landed me in detention for
being late. There was no end to the pranks, but as I was the
originator and the victim in equal measure I revelled in them.
Indeed, I think of these games as the inevitable result of
putting 150 boys together in close confinement. These
experiences played a central role in bonding us as a group, and
were also important in making me feel accepted on an equal
footing with any of the other boys. I was a happy boarder.

For a new pupil, the first few weeks of the school year are
particularly demanding and stressful. One must pass through
the initiation process and become familiar with the school's
routines and traditions. In addition pupils must memorise the
geography of the school and the names of all the buildings
and fields, the names of the teachers and, last but not least,
the names of all their new schoolmates. In my opinion, all
this effort is worthwhile as boarding school is such fun; there
are endless new experiences to be had, as well as the pleasure
of being able to spend every waking moment in the company
of one's friends.

Sometimes (usually on Fridays) we would sneak out of the
dormitory at night and sit by the swimming pool and chat or
skinny-dip and play water polo, small pleasures that made
for many memorable moments. We even smuggled our
girlfriends into the dormitories. Talk about teamwork! Some
of the boys had to distract the teachers on duty while the
others helped the girls to get in. Saturday nights were the best
fun: we would lock ourselves into one of the rooms and listen
to music, chat, drink a bit and smoke.

The school colours were green, red and white. Pretoria
Boys' High School boasted a Hall of Fame where it displayed
all the trophies and awards won by the different champions
who had passed through its gates. The awards were of two
types – academic and sporting – and were then graded
according to colour, half-colours going to those who played
for the school's first team for an entire school year, full
colours if you were part of the first team for a two-year
period, and honours if you played your chosen sport at
national level and wore the Springbok colours. The awards
were also worn in the school uniform: for example, full
colours entitled you to a school blazer with a wide red and
green stripe around it. I was awarded full sporting colours in
2004 and honours in 2005.

At the apex of the school's student body were the prefects.
They were our elite, consisting of the best thirty or so boys
in the last year of school, and were responsible for leadership
in the school as well as activities like fund-raising and the
organisation of certain events. In addition, each prefect was
assigned to a dormitory (approximately three to each). As an
incentive the prefects were entitled to special perks and
concessions – it was considered a reward for their added
involvement in the school and for having demonstrated their
commitment to follow the school ethic and discipline.

Pretoria Boys' High taught its pupils to respect one another
and respect the traditions of the school. It gave us a sterling
education. Pride in our school and appreciation of our good
fortune at being part of this illustrious family were instilled
in us, and as a consequence we learnt to take care of our
external appearance and keep our uniforms clean and tidy.
We understood that we were the face of the school, and that
our behaviour and appearance reflected that; it was important
that the school protected its good reputation and
therefore that people were suitably impressed by us.

The raising of the flag marked the beginning of every day,
while every afternoon at half past five, one pupil would go
up into the school tower to lower the flag and play 'The Last
Post', a relic of a bygone, more military-style education. At
that moment, wherever you were in the school, whatever you
happened to be doing, you were obliged to stand to
attention, put your hand over your heart and observe two
minutes' silence. The respect for this rule was absolute and
applied to all, even our sporting opponents. No matter where
you were, in the thick of a rugby match or a water polo
game, everything would come to an immediate halt.

Like other schools of this ilk, Pretoria Boys' High has its
own chant, which was used as a war cry in sporting events
to encourage and support our teams. We were taught to
respect ourselves and one another and to be disciplined. We
could play hard but we had also to work hard. The school's
objective was to produce both well-educated and well-rounded
young gentlemen.

Pretoria Boys' High taught by example and inspiration,
setting out to show you that you were no longer a child but
a young man, and that with the opportunity came a certain
responsibility. Corporal punishment is illegal in South African
schools, but on occasion people did turn a blind eye. At
our school the prefects were in charge of discipline; the
teaching staff trusted them completely, confident in the
knowledge that they too had been through the school system
and were worthy young men who would not abuse their
position of power.

Standard Six, the beginning of your school career and your
time as a boarding pupil at Pretoria Boys' High School, is
marked by a couple of important rites of passage. For the
first three weeks none of the students are allowed to leave the
premises to go home. This is a special time that is dedicated
to getting to know the school and your new friends, prefects
and teachers. We were obliged to learn all students' and
prefects' names, and any mistakes in this regard were
immediately punished. It was a powerful incentive. There
were two principal types of punishment, called
obstan
, which
is the Afrikaans word for 'wake up': they were given this
name as they were detached from the school and you were
obliged to do them out of hours, i.e. first thing in the
morning before you went to school. The first, more traditional
punishment consisted of having to write a thousand
words on a given topic, while the second was decidedly more
physical. The prefect in charge would wake you up before
sunrise – at approximately four thirty in the morning – and
make you run for two and a half hours. You were forced to
run for 50 metres, drink something, roll around on the
ground and then repeat the whole procedure all over again.
I can tell you from experience it is an awful punishment.

Another favourite was to make you run the 50 metres with
another boy sitting on your shoulders and then swap you
around and so on. At the end you were absolutely exhausted
and could hardly stand. Another much-loved punishment
was to make you run 400 metres with two bricks on your
head in under two minutes and fifteen seconds, otherwise you
had to start all over again. Of course it was impossible: the
more tired you became the more chance you had of dropping
the bricks and the slower you went. The genius behind the
punishment was in setting the time limit according to the
slowest child. If the slowest child did not make it everyone
had to start again. It was a surreptitious way of getting
children to care about one another and particularly of getting
them to work together and help the weakest link. At the end
of these sessions we were all shattered and desperate to go
back to bed, but by then it was time for school. Luckily, at
that age your strength returns quite quickly.

I found the written punishment more difficult than the
physical ones. The prefect in charge would write a topic on
the blackboard, but we were forbidden to name the topic in
the thousand words we were required to write. The more
absurd the topic the better, for example 'The Six Lives of a
Ping Pong Ball' or 'The Story of the Mongolian Mouse and
the Turtle'. A further dimension to the punishment which
proved popular with the prefects was to oblige us to write
every fifth line in Chinese – a nice touch, but impossible for
most of us. My worst punishment ever was being ordered to
'Describe an object that is colourless, odourless and shapeless
without using any of these words'. To complicate matters the
prefects actually read our essays, and so if we made a mistake
or went off the topic, or were a bit too smart, we would then
be given two thousand words to complete for the next day.
It was a no-win situation.

Sometimes the prefects punished us with the equivalent of
community service. We had to stay indoors and paint the
doors, sand the tables, or carry out any leftover tasks that
needed to be completed. I far preferred physical punishment
to the other types of task.

Every year, the eve of our first day at school was reserved
for the Standard Six 'Walking the Table'. The event took
place in our Honours Hall, which was formerly the dining
room and still boasts long tables with benches alongside
them. All the boys crowd into the room and then line one of
the long tables on either side. The new kids – the Standard
Six children – then make their entrance one by one and are
obliged, alone, to walk barefoot the length of the table. It is
a frightening moment, as you are a newcomer and know no
one. Once you get to the end of the table you are instructed
to tell a joke, but this, it turns out, merely prolongs the
mockery at your expense: no one laughs, and once you have
been duly informed that your jokes are rotten you are asked
to try harder or to lift your T-shirt and show off your
muscles. If you refuse the other boys jump onto and around
the table and scare you witless threatening you (I am sure
you can imagine the noise that 150 boys can make crowding
around a table). I found the experience terrifying, but
thereafter you are accepted as one of them into dormitory
life.