Mr Cannon (my wonderful school principal)

 

Mr Cannon and his lovely wife (Wendy I think her name was)

Mr Cannon was my school headmaster from St 7 year (1984) to the end of school.  He was a wonderful, charismatic, and most of all, warm man who I felt far more connected to than the rather dour and strict Mr Dods who preceded him.

Most of all, Mr Canon was an unbelievable teacher and I was privileged to be taught history by him in the year he arrived.  He devoted half the year to an alternative syllabus where we had to glean history for ourselves using clues from archaeological finds and alternative viewpoints and witnessed accounts, rather like a detective does. 

The most memorable lesson I've ever had was him facilitating a session one day when Mr Hart, the deputy head, came into the class.  Mr Hart was very angry and said something along the lines of, "I saw you eyeing up my wife the other day, how dare you!!"  Or something to that effect (I'm not sure Mr Hart was actually married!)  

Anyway, Mr Cannon and Mr Hart proceeded to get into a mini scuffle in the classroom with Mr Hart pushing Mr Cannon up against the blackboard and more angry words were said.  Then Mr Hart exclaimed "You haven't heard the end of this!" and stormed out of the classroom.  

We were all shocked of course!  In a state of disbelief.  Wow, what had just happened?

Mr Canon straightened his tie and turned to us. Then he smiled and said, "Right class, what did just happen here?"

We realised that the little drama we had just witnessed had been put on for our benefit.  There was much laughter and a fair bit of relief.

Mr Cannon then asked us a series of questions as to what had been said, what Mr Hart had been wearing, what we had insinuated from the whole encounter.

There were many variations in our accounts.  We all remembered things differently and had made different conclusions according to what he had seen and heard.

Mr Cannon then grinned with great satisfaction and said, "Well class, if you can't all agree on something you all witnessed first-hand just 10 minutes ago, how in the hell can you believe in historical accounts?  How can you believe in history?

It's a lesson that has stayed with me all my life since then. It happened nearly 40 years ago, yet I still remember it and reflect on it.  If that's not powerful teaching, what is?