Dubai 1987 (first year)

 After resigning  from the Rashid school for Boys, many years later I met the same I.W. in London when he was recruiting as Principal of the very same Colombo Britanico in Cali of  which I, myself, had been Vice Rector!  This was the one and the same  school he had disparagingly referred to as "Mickey mouse" in my interview in London in 1987! What a coincidence that he should end up where I had been! some years later, as I had dinner with him, I pointed out the irony of his comment with glee!  He was now the Principal of the very same ‘Mickey Mouse’ Colombo Britanicol. (he only lasted one year at  the Colombo Britanio ) Again, what a coincidence! In as much as I think almost all schools in which I have worked (bar one perhaps) are 'Mickey Mouse' , I suppose he was right, it was a mickey mouse school. Anyway, he didn’t seem to see the humour of the situation and said he couldn’t remember the comment. (He had  a poorly developed sense of humour!)

From the interview in London I went to Belfast to visit home for a couple of days and I phoned my friend J. F. who wanted me to go to Dublin to meet him to discuss a mapping project for which he hoped to get U.S.funding. . J.F. suggested I forget about Dubai. I was really interested in the project but as J.F. said there might be a delay in getting the money I told him that if I were offered the job Dubai I would have to take it. .I’m glad I didn’t forget bout Dubai because that was the last time I ever really heard form J.F.  Twenty years later (2010)  I still haven’t managed to meet up with him in spite of several attempts on my part. Sometimes, you can just try too hard with some people.Sometimes, I am a bit slow to get the message.



Arrival in Dubai 1987

W On the plane were several new teachers - about a dozen. The first surprise was when we arrived at Dubai and were met off the plane not by the pleasant Mr. Watson(I.w.)  who had interviewed us in March, but by a loud and overbearing female who turned out to be the Headmistress of the  girl's school - Catherine M. She announced  to us that "Mr.I.W. had not yet returned from U.K. " which was true not the whole truth by a long chalk. Over the next few days the truth finally came out in dribs and drabs from Catherine M. According to her, I.W. had got his brief 'seriously wrong' from the Board of Governors. I.W. thought they had wanted an international school with an international curriculum. But what they really wanted was a British school with a British curriculum.. just like the one she was running for the girls! (Surprise! Surprise!)

 Catherine M ran both schools for the first year and not surprisingly was a disaster. She fell out with all of the Heads of Department and Heads rolled throughout the year one by one. She hadn’t picked them so she got rid of them.

Unfortunately for me this included my Head of Science Jerry McV who was an excellent head of Department. He could not stand her and unfortunately  I think his Glaswegian temper may have got the better of him with M.

There was one famous public incident when Jerry refused to go to the back of the queue of the students at lunch . Understandably, Jerry insisted upon going to the front and not wasting his time chatting with a lot of spoiled little Arab boys. M came into the queue and told Jerry to go to the back of the queue (in front of the. Boys). This was a typical clumsy intervention from M., imposing her own “Britishness” on an Arab culture which reviled this type of disrespect to a teacher. I am sure the boys were confused by the  intervention. Jerry walked off and ate nothing! This type of petty incident is for me quite typical of working in schools. The year was a very great disappointment for many of us new arrivals compared to what we had been expecting. M was a disaster  and at the end of the year she appointed a weedy drip of individual called John H as her ‘Poodle’ and did who did what  he was told by M. The poodle was even worse than her. He was a quiet, devious and  and self-serving individual who had sold his soul to the devil for the money and the status. In short he was the typical 'careerist' teacher you mightfind in the Middle East. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was now retired in Adelaide–because Adelaide also  seems to be full of such ‘Poodles’.

The first year at school.

We all had to adapt to the disappointment of I.W.s departure.

The teaching was also a disappointment.We had everybody in school from the Crown Prince to the camel riders’ sons. Many of the children were distant relatives of the royal family and were spoiled brats. The classes were small and so we were expected to teach people of all abilities together. They didn't need anybody, certainly not us –the teachers- and most certainly could not see the point of doing any work. Some of them were pleasant but they were all imbued with an exaggerated sense of their own power as Arabs of high social position. I remember teaching one form two class about the weather. I was talking about how the weather in the UAE was so dry. I was explaining that part of the problem was the lack of mountains, which meant there was no relief rainfall . A smiling but mild mannered boy called Ahmed said

" Sir, we will build them".

This gives some idea of the deep-seated arrogance in the mind of this otherwise inoffensive young man. He believed it.

The teaching was generally dull and uninspiring.

I.W. had appointed me as Head of Careers as well as Head of Biology, but M had other ideas. She was a great one for hunches. Take this one for example: not having met me or seen me in action she had a hunch that I would not be any good at this job. (Maybe she too also phoned my friend Jack in Colombia). But her style was impressive. It consisted of three stages: 1. Make a decision based on a hunch 2. Change something and 3.Don’t tell anybody about the changes. Result? maximum confusion and alienation of affected parties. The first I knew I had been demoted was when a very friendly chap called Martin invited me to help him with 'His' careers department. He was so charming it was impossible to refuse.

But perhaps M didn’t like me for other reasons…. Maybe she was suspicious of my loyalties. Perhaps she had good cause. I admit I did talk to and sit beside my Head of Department – Gerry McV.in the staff room even when it was clear that  Gerrry McV was in the sights of M! I also 'dared; to sit beside him in the canteen at Lunch when everyone else avoided him like the plague! (Aussies take note!) Gerry was a Glaswegian and most people could not understand a word he said. M hated Gerry. She was knicknamed 'The Elephant' because she never forgot.

Although she had a great memory, she got tired of running two schools after one year and appointed John H to replace I.W.- who was now at the "Mickey Mouse" school in Colombia of which I used to be Vice-Principal). I’m pretty sure Catherine M wasted no time in passing on her suspicions about my loyalties to Gerry to John H. This might explain why he didn’t speak to me to me for the first year -a major achievement in our flashy but tiny school in which there were more staff than students. Perhaps he didn't speak to me because, being English,  he thought he wouldn’t be able to understand my Irish accent if I spoke. Nobody could understand Gerry–and I sat beside him at lunch-perhaps John H  thought being unintelligible was contagious? I will never know as he never spoke to me.

First a bit more about John H. We are not sure why his knickname was  'the drip' –perhaps it was something to do with his thin and gangling appearance. He was a tall man but his posture was curved and he almost never seemed to stand up straight. No matter what you said to him there was nearly always a lengthy wait before a half-hearted, insipid  and unconvincing response was delivered with a watery look in his eye. He was definitely not the sort of chap about which a girl might say to herself – what a spunky fellow!

On the last day of the first term of my second year 'the drip' called Gerry in and sacked him. The latter was escorted off the premises by the police and the guards at the gate were given a photograph of Gerry with orders not to admit him to the school. Eight days later, on christmas Eve,  Gerry, his wife and three children were sent went home to Glasgow  eve and  never seen again.

I had a foreboding and I knew my days were numbered.

But not before some more fun with Tariq. I'd forgotten his name– but he is now the Sheikof  Sharjah. He he was at that time the crown prince and  nephew of the Sheikh of Sharjah. No, actually, he was an eminently forgettable pimply 15 year old boy with puppy fat in all the wrong places. Anyway, because he was the nephew of the Sheikh we, in the careers department had to find him a University to go to. Now, when I say ‘we’ I mean as in the Careers department. One day a very strange thing happened – I suddenly found myself re-instated by 'The drip' as the 'main man' in the careers department–but only for one day as it turned out. It transpired that the Sheikh himself was coming to the Flashy Rashid School for boys to enquire about a University for his son. 'The drip'  quite sensibly needed someone to talk to the Sheikh and take the fall if the latter wasn’t satisfied. My first reaction was to reach for my old friend, the Times Educational Supplement, as I believed I was being set up by 'The drip' for a fall. However, my newly appointed and charming Etonian 'boss' in the careers department assured me this was only my Irish paranoia. Unfortunately, he said, he would not be able to attend the meeting as he would be in Timbuctu for the duration of the interview on special leave. The plot thickened even further. I knew I was being set up by the Etonian, who had quickly established himself as 'the drip's stooge.

Anyway, I was required to represent the careers department with all the other Senior administration present along with 'The drip' himself of course. When I arrived-last of course-they were all seated in the 'The drip's  Office including the sheik himself. I was asked to sit down and then 'The drip' made one of his long rambling speeches which really amounted to asking me which University I thought Tariq should go to.

I took a deep breath and in a measured , lowered tone assured his majesty that there were several places calling themselves Universities in London which would be only too happy to take his money and give his nephew a degree. I also suggested that he might consider going to an Arab University. I reeled off a few names among them Cairo University. At this his Highness seemed perplexed as he stopped fingering his beeds and muttered something to his interpreter/bodyguard or whatever, who then said to me.

“His highness does not want Tariq to go to Cairo University because the car park is not big enough.”.

There was an atmosphere of the utmost gravity. No-one in the room looked at anyone else. Everyone, including myself I think, stared directly at the floor and said nothing. I think 'The drip' finally did something he was really good at - saying nothing and taking a very long time to say it - so that by the time he had finished everybody had forgotten what we were all talking about including his Highness. The bodyguards were dozing. An embarrassing moment had been succesfully negotiated by 'the drip'.

Turning to our personal life, without doubt, the most memorable day in Dubai was the 16th December 1987. I was a moderately heavy smoker in those days and one day young Roger, who was about thirty-three months, asked me one of his first, but by no means his last, very direct questions. Now, of course all children of this age ask questions. But my child wasn’t just any child - he was my firstborn, and I was going to be the perfect Dad and was determined I would be the first man in the history of the human race to answer all questions from my children, honestly, openly, and comprehensively. In this way my son would grow up to be a genius and earn lots of money and have a trouble–free life, unlike his Dad. So, I had been answering all questions heretofore with long detailed and multifaceted answers - being very careful to present all sides of the argument to the inquiring mind of my young son. He was going to learn and maybe even come to know everything- very much like his Dad.

So his question was -as he pointed to a cigarette in my lips…

“ Daddy, why are you doing that?”

Simple question, but devastating of course because I could not give him an honest answer that made any sense. I thought of ‘It helps me relax' which was honest, but not comprehensive - because it omitted to inform him that I was killing myself rapidly and would probably be dead by the time he reached University.
So I took the box of Dunhills and went down to the beach and threw them in the sea and never smoked a cigarette again. I will always be very grateful to Roger for asking this most sensible of questions. If he had said ‘What’ instead of ‘Why’ I might have been able to say ‘I’m smoking’. And I would no doubt be dead by now.


Friendship in Dubai

The first year socially was an outstanding success. Maria was very happy. Roger was three and there was a comfortable apartment to live in. The weather was fine and we made friends easily. The most notable of these friends was Len Drory. I remember meeting Len for the first time at School. He was the lab assistant who dealt with the physics side of things. Strange as it may seem now Len, on the very first day we met looked very serious and I thought that he was not the sort of person that would become my friend. My usually reliable intuition was wrong on this occasion. How wrong I was !

Len and I soon became firm friends and I really don't think the experience of Dubai would have been memorable at all if it hadn't been for him. I used to take him to work everyday and home from work most days. He didn't like to drive. Len had been head of a technical team in the Science department at Essex University for many years.

Len could fix anything anywhere and would do it at any time. I miss him now terribly.

At the age of fifty –seven, quite suddenly, I am lead to believe, he decided he wanted to see a bit more of the world before he retired . He went to Crown Agents in London and they offered him a position in Libya. On arrival, they confiscated his passport and he found himself trapped in Libya for a year against his will!

Undaunted, Len applied again through Crown agents and was appointed to the Rashid school in Dubai. Len was paid less than all of us ‘lofty’ teachers but in my opinion was worth fifty of them rolled together. He wore the white coat of the technician and so the British teachers tended to ignore him on the basis of his inferior status.

None of this worried Len as he was/is a humble man and so easy going and easy. to please. He was also extremely competent at his job. I don't know what he saw in me that made him think I would be worthy to be his friend. I don't know and I don't care. I am just so grateful for the friendship!

After getting accustomed the novelty of Arab culture we enjoyed ourselves in the desert-dune bashing in our jeep. We also explored many of the Wadis in the Emirates. The beaches were wonderful and we joined the nature society and went on trips. We camped many times both in the desert and on the beaches.

We made good friends with Terry (from Bolivia) and Eric Weinkotz from Germany . Maria got to know many good friends including Jessmay from Seychelles and Tawkir from Pakistan. However, the year was soured a little for me by the unsatisfactory situation at the school which just seemed to go from bad to worse as  Catherine M ruthlessly fought with and tried to get rid of all her heads of Department..

We went home for the summer to Ireland. I don't remember much except that it was quite tense at times with all of us in ‘Robin Hill’ and we determined that the following year we would rent a house close to Mum and Dad.

Mum and Dad also came to visit us in Dubai.. They enjoyed Dubai very much. We took them dune-bashing in the desert and many times to the beach. They loved being with the children.