You arrived at Grammar with expertise in pure maths, but limited experience as a school teacher. Can you tell us what those early days were like?
I arrived at Grammar with a PhD in group theory, a major in physics, excellent training in piano and church choirs, wide reading in theology, reasonable fluency in German and several successful years teaching mathematics at the University of Sydney. This all seemed to be excellent preparation for Grammar’s distinctive Greek view of teaching the separate language and structure of each discrete discipline, while constantly keeping in view the important interrelationships among the disciplines – so providing the intellectual foundation of the boys. Mathematics particularly, with its secret language and its Janus position between the humanities and sciences, becomes far richer and livelier, and an essential part of life, when taught in this way.
But I had no wisdom about adolescent boys. In fact, I had come out of the sixties, with its continual attacks on all authority, and felt I had no right to tell any boy what to do. In my interview, Alastair Mackerras asked me, “Can you rule the roost?”, to which I nervously replied “Yes”, and only realised much later that he was quietly telling me what it was I had to learn.