Jonathan Pearson ON and Development Director gives us his take on leadership and service in the Norwich School community. Good morning, everyone. Not a day goes by without me greeting an ‘old friend’ in The Close. From his prominent vantage point, this military veteran keeps a very close eye on his school. Braving all weathers, his is a reassuring presence. If you think I am referring to Ronnie our longstanding Gatekeeper, faithfully manning the playground and monitoring proceedings, that would be a fair guess. At the school’s Remembrance Service, he is occasionally smartly attired in veterans’ uniform and sporting service medals. His understated professionalism from his blue hut keeps us all safe. He is periodically assisted by former bouncer, Pete, a commanding presence. Last year Pete dramatically came to the aid of a chocking pupil by performing the Heimlich Manoeuvre. Modest heroes both, the service of Ronnie and Pete to the school is exemplary. However, as we approach the anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar, it is in fact Old Norvicensian Horatio Nelson to whom I was referring at the start of this address. His statue has stood on its Upper Close plinth since 1856. At installation, there were intense discussions on which way to orientate it. Should he face south to watch over the beautiful 44 acres of the Cathedral Close and the Duke of Wellington? Should he face west on to Tombland, the original centre of medieval Norwich? Or perhaps face east and as a man of God, take comfort from observing the timeless worship of this Cathedral. But no! The City Fathers orientated him firmly north towards his old school, his steely gaze fixed for eternity on the Chapel, his former classroom (in fact the only classroom in Norwich School in the 1760s). He is without question our most famous alumnus, a Norfolk man, who gloried in being so. It is right and proper that, in this intellectually curious and sceptical age, we should feel compelled to examine Nelson rigorously - the man and his legacy. There will inevitably be a range of opinions when considering him through a uniquely 21st century lens. Indeed, during the Covid lockdown the statue was vandalised. This, coupled with the work of incontinent pigeons, has required his statue to be professionally cleaned twice this decade. However, two things about Nelson never seem to be in doubt: Firstly, he was hero-worshipped in his lifetime. As news of his victory over the Franco-Spanish fleet at the Battle of Trafalgar was rushed to the Admiralty in London, joy was swiftly overshadowed by dismay at the news of his untimely death, aged just 47. Men openly wept in the street as his funeral cortège passed. His Norwich statue is mirrored by a commemorative one in Yarmouth and, most famously, yet another in Trafalgar Square, itself named in his honour. Thanks to this, he is an internationally recognised Briton. Never questioned are also his personal bravery, leadership and service to his country. Many people demonstrate similar qualities, but Nelson wore his bravery on his sleeve – quite literally! He lost an arm and the sight in one eye in service, whilst poor ship’s diet and chronic stress were reflected in his diminutive statue and sallow skin. Notoriously, he also suffered from horrendous seasickness. His courage was immediately apparent to all who met him. We talk a lot about bravery, leadership and service each autumn at Norwich School. I found myself reflecting on Nelson’s battle injuries since an issue with my own eyesight last year. On a Monday morning, I experienced clouding in one eye, and by evening I was all but blind in that eye; on the Tuesday I was diagnosed with a detached retina and operated on later that day. The miracles of modern medicine saved my vision, but Nelson had no such luxury. An eye injury sustained in 1794 in Corsica caused pain and debilitating headaches for the rest of his life, and the sight in his right eye. An explosion as he attacked the ramparts in Tenerife in 1797 caused a catastrophic injury to his right forearm. Remedy was swift and brutal: immediate amputation, with only rum to dull pain that would take five long months to subside. On the corridor that runs to the Head’s Study from the Quad, we have on display an original letter written in copperplate handwriting penned by Nelson’s right hand dating from 1787, and adjacent to it another written by him in a scarcely decipherable left-handed scrawl on HMS Victory in 1804. His right arm and writing hand had been lost in the interim period. Go seek them out! I greatly enjoyed a recent visit to HMS Victory moored in Portsmouth, particularly seeing Nelson’s private cabin. Responsible for a fleet of 31 vessels, formal handwritten orders conveyed between ships or updates to naval masters back in London were an ever-present requirement of his role. Nelson had a relentless work ethic, generating prodigious quantities of paperwork. Reflect on his daily privations: use of his non-writing hand, using his one good eye in the gloom by flickering candlelight in cramped conditions, plagued by seasickness on a rolling boat. A heroic achievement in itself. When Napoleon’s fleet threatened invasion of our country, the Admiralty and the nation put their unwavering faith in Nelson to deliver us from such existential threats. Nelson too knew this was his destiny. His career concludes with heroic acts of leadership shown on 21st October 1805, the day he died. Battles at sea in the early 19th century were violent, bloody affairs. The range and accuracy of cannons were only effective up-close, pummelling the enemy into submission. In the tranquillity of today’s Cathedral, it is scarcely possible for us to imagine the sounds, smells, injuries and terror of such carnage. I have though here a cannon ball from the Battle of Copenhagen, fired by Nelson’s flagship into the wall of that city in 1801. In the late 1980s, it was duly returned to us by a visiting Danish delegation. Imagine this being fired at you from here to say the middle of the nave; it would have readily taken heads off. After this service I will wait by the Cathedral door if anyone wants to feel the weight of it. Visualise Nelson in formal vice-admiral’s uniform proudly patrolling the upper decks of HMS Victory, dictating the hellish pace of battle, as his flagship pierced the French line and began pounding enemy ships. It seems sadly inevitable that a French sharpshooter in the rigging of the French vessel Redoutable alongside HMS Victory should have had an easy line of sight for that fatal shot through Nelson’s chest. News of British victory at Trafalgar, which would secure our Mediterranean shipping routes for over a century, reached Nelson as he expired. So, what can we learn from the much-vaunted leadership and service displayed by Lord Nelson? Well, one lesson might be that acts don’t have to be monumental to be important. Gatekeepers Pete, with his life-saving first aid, and Ronnie, with his daily vigilance, are wholesome examples of serving the community with distinction. As is the leadership shown by our fine new prefects, rousing captains on the sports field, or numerous acts of kindness shown by L6 during Community Service. You will all have your own everyday examples. Perhaps reflect on the words with which Mr Griffiths started this term, the famous quotation from car magnate Henry Ford: “Whether you think you can, or you think you can't, you're right!” I am sure Nelson would have believed that too. Despite all physical challenges, his destiny was a self-fulfilling prophecy. His implicit belief in himself, and the crews he led, shaped the course of Britain’s history, even at great physical cost, and eventually the ultimate sacrifice. Therefore, as you pass Nelson’s statue, I invite you to consider in that noble face a mindfulness that your self-belief, leadership, courage and service to others genuinely influences outcomes. You may or may not be a great hero in later life, but, with courage and kindness, we can all be a hero today in some small way.