WELCOME FROM THE OTS PRESIDENT

Jeremy Cowdrey (PH 73-78)

When I was invited to take on the role of President of the Old Tonbridgian Society for the coming year, my first reaction was one of genuine surprise followed quickly by a sense of honour. I feel privileged to have been asked.

What has perhaps surprised me, however, is the way in which the appointment has caused me to reflect.

Throughout my life, I have been someone who has preferred to look forward rather than back - perhaps to a fault. When I have left a school, a university, or a job, I have tended not to revisit it too often, either physically or emotionally. I have always believed that momentum lies in moving on, in embracing what is next rather than dwelling on what has been. I have never been much of an advocate of the “old school tie”.

And yet, this appointment has prompted a quiet reappraisal.

Now, in my mid-sixties, I find myself looking back at those years between the ages of thirteen and eighteen with a clarity I perhaps lacked before. They were, of course, formative years, but what has become increasingly apparent to me is that there is no use denying their significance. Those years did not simply pass through me; they became part of me. They are woven into the fabric of who I am. They are, in a very real sense, part of my DNA.

The toast-and-coffee-scented studies of Park House were soundtracked by Pink Floyd, Genesis and Supertramp - except in Dickie Jacobson’s study, where I was introduced to Springsteen, Dylan and Van Morrison - an initiation I later passed on to my younger brother Graham. Happy times indeed.

The influence of those who cared for us never disappears. At Park House, I was fortunate to be under the guidance of David Kemp and “Gibbo”. Their values - quiet, steady, deeply humane - left an impression that has endured far beyond anything that might have been formally taught. They imparted not so much discipline or structure, but something more lasting: a sense of how to conduct oneself in the world.

In the classroom, too, certain moments remain extraordinarily vivid. I can still picture myself listening to Jonathan Smith teaching Arthur Miller or King Lear. Those lessons have stayed with me in a way that goes beyond examination results; they sparked a lifelong love of theatre, a thread that has run through much of my later life.

Not everything came easily. I was entirely science-blind. And yet, I remember Fred Marsden’s Chemistry lessons with great affection. His ability to wander - magnificently - off topic, to speak about life, about smoking, about drugs, about whatever happened to be on his mind, made those classes memorable in ways that had little to do with the syllabus. I may not have understood the chemistry, but I understood something of the man, and the life lessons he shared.

On the sports field, too, there are memories that have endured. I was the frequent recipient of my own shortcomings, but I was struck then - and remain so now - by the generosity of my friends. And David Walsh, in his characteristically understated manner, seemed to absorb my failures almost as if they were his own. It is something we can smile about now, but at the time it spoke to a culture of encouragement rather than criticism, of support rather than judgement.

Looking back now, I can see more clearly that the various failures and successes of those years were not incidental. They were, in fact, a preparation for life to come - particularly the failures. The more difficult moments, the inevitable angst of adolescence, were not wasted. They taught resilience, perspective, and, perhaps most importantly, a degree of self-awareness that has proved invaluable in later life.

There were many defining moments. I can recall two occasions where I witnessed bullying and, to my lasting regret, did not step in as I should have done. That failure stayed with me. In many ways, it altered my behaviour thereafter. It sharpened my sense of responsibility and the importance of acting, rather than standing by. Those lessons, though uncomfortable, have been among the most enduring.

What I realise now, perhaps more clearly than I did at the time, is that these experiences were part of a wider ethos - a set of values that has stayed with me, often unconsciously, over the years.

One of the great pleasures of returning to the School now is to see how much of that ethos remains. Tonbridge has, quite remarkably, managed to retain its sense of kindness, its lack of arrogance or entitlement, while at the same time evolving into something thoroughly contemporary and ambitious. Within its historic buildings and traditions, there is a clear openness to the challenges of the present day, and a willingness to adapt without losing sight of what matters.

I look ahead to this year with a sense of curiosity and gratitude, revisiting old friendships and making new ones. How lucky I have been, and how lucky I am.