To Sir, and Miss, with love

By Matthew Woolford

The first time I met Mr Neil Williams was as my Form 1 Dean of Discipline and Studies at St Mary’s College, Port of Spain. He was a very unassuming fellow, strolling along the hallowed corridors of the school as if in a constant state of personal reflection.

When I finally got into the habit of reading the notice board, as he encouraged, I saw a flyer for karate classes at the College’s audio-visual room. The instructor was listed as Williams himself, and being struck with a mild form of disbelief, I asked him to confirm the fact, which he did.

Training with Williams was an experience in martial arts alchemy that was going to change my life forever.

Classes were always intense and purposeful. Spirit, mind, and body were prioritised in that order. Laziness was organically eliminated by the approach of total immersion by all, master, and student alike: side-line coaching was disavowed.

Grading would only occur after at least two years of regular and hard training and soon enough those who wanted to be there were separated from those who did not.

In The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran wrote that love shall “descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. Thresh…Sift…Grind…Knead until you are pliant; And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.’’

Training with Mr Williams was my first encounter with the inner workings of love. When I was 16 years old, he did something unorthodox. He made me the de facto instructor of the class. I was to go on training as usual and teach whoever was there. As expected, no-one else showed up.

I told him that if he wasn’t there, then no-one else would want to attend. He responded that he saw a lot of potential in me and if I was ever to fulfil it, I must first learn patience and commitment.

He told me that these were lessons handed down to him by Master Okazaki (now deceased) of Japan, and he was handing them down to me. He told me that it would be a very difficult and even painful experience, but I had to go through it for requisite growth and maturity to take place.

I did what any other teenager would probably have done in that situation: I complained to someone else.

Soon enough, I was reassured by a friend of the dojo that Mr Williams may use eccentric methods to facilitate learning, but he was very caring and careful in developing his students.

I stuck with it, and true to form, a handful of students at first came and then dropped out. By the end of my student career at St Mary’s College though, I had a class of students who were consistent. These were persons with whom I enjoyed sharing time and whatever little knowledge I had. Hopefully, they enjoyed it as much as I did.

To this day, and I am now 35 years old, I still train on my own. Not being able to find training partners has not stopped me; the Covid-19 pandemic has not stopped me; and most importantly, I have not stopped myself!

In the Gospel of Mark, 4:35–41, Jesus calmed the storm. Before doing this, He was asleep on a cushion in the stern (located at the back) of the boat. After doing this, He questioned the faith, or lack thereof, of His disciples.

I have come to see that great teachers do not lead their disciples away from confusion but through it. Jesus was more than likely fully aware of everything that was happening inside and out of the boat, as well as inside the minds of His followers. He knew the training they had received, and He knew what power was inside of them. All that was needed was for them to see it for themselves.

And what of Miss?

At Western Boys’ RC School, now known as Sacred Heart Boys’ RC School, I had a very devout school principal in Mrs Lydia Niles.

Our school building in those days was essentially one large room divided by blackboards, not the grandiose structure that you see today. There was much that we lacked in physical resources at that time but when it came to spiritual resources we had a good measure, pressed down, full and running over (Lk 6:38).

We prayed at the start and end of each day. We prayed before and after meals. We prayed the ‘Angelus’ at midday. We served at 4th Sunday Mass at Sacred Heart RC Church. Students were allowed to attend Mass each day if they wanted to and a little more still, we prayed the rosary every day, long before it was vogue or mandatory in Catholic schools during my time there (1991–1998).

Mrs Niles was the catalyst for forming this practice in my life. She arranged daily rosary devotions for whomsoever wanted to attend, cordoning off a classroom and transforming it into a sacred space.

I regularly attended these meetings and while I must confess that it is easy to break a prayer habit and hard to start one, to this day I still recite the rosary daily.

I say it at home or at work or in church or in transit. I find it to be a source of clarity when the storms of life appear and a great help in recognising them before they become overwhelming.

At a prize-giving ceremony for Sacred Heart Boys’ RC School a few years ago, some past teachers informed me that the new school building, the one you see today, was not built so much through fundraising effort, but by the prayers and faith of Mrs Niles and those she inspired.

May her life and devotion continue on its way along the staircase to Heaven.