The 2025 Chronicle

tramural activities and the many societ ies that one could join. Maths was my bugbear. One algebra exam, I had the humiliation of being awarded 1%. Re sults were posted on the school notice board. Hart christened me “The Mathe matician”. Bobby Woods was my teacher. He had endless patience. One morning he did the rounds of our algebra prep from the previous evening. Mine was neatly done but absolute nonsense. He looked at my work and said sadly: “Pick ard-Cambridge, what are you going to do when you leave school?” Quick as flash, one boy raised his hand and said: “Mar ry a clever wife, sir.” Roars of laughter followed, never heard before in a maths class. Sadly, Bobby Woods died while I was at Michaelhouse. I hope I did not contribute to his death from heart failure. I suppose I wasn’t all that stupid. In 1950, after much hard work in the gym, I earned my gymnastics colours. On Speech Day 1951 I was awarded the A Block Zulu and biology prizes, the Upper School carpentry prize and the Hudson Bennett Prize for natural history. None of these I had thought of, or expected. Ken Pennington, of butterfly fame and a distinguished Michaelhouse master, told me jokingly that I had been rather greedy with the school prizes. By then I was a school prefect. By the end of that year the Rector, Fred Snell, for whom I had great admiration, had made me a senior prefect. I still have both beautiful laurel-leaf badges. Sur prise, surprise, I also passed matric. I went back in 1952 to VI Form, as sec ond prefect under John Moss and as head of Farfield under Housemaster Mr Chapman or, memory fails me, Mr Harris. I was devastated when I learned I would have to leave at the end of the quarter. My widowed mother could no longer af ford to pay the fees. Her Durban busi ness had collapsed. After school I went farming in the Great Karoo under David Conroy, son of Sen ator Andrew Conroy. David Conroy had a distinguished war career, mentioned in despatches, and rose in the course of the war from private to major. He was my great benefactor, teacher, advisor and all. Yes, I did marry a clever wife in 1959. That was June Conroy, David’s only child. Not only clever, but beautiful. She was my life’s companion and lover for 54 very happy years, until her death in 2013. She also presented me with four children – three daughters and a son. All still liv ing, all loving and faithful to me.

I have farmed successfully in the Great Karoo for 64 tough years but am now, in my 84th year, semi-retired but still work ing hard. Our great love was equestrian tentpegging, originally called gymkhana. I represented Eastern Province in the an nual Interprovincial Tentpegging Cham pionships for 36 years, many times as team captain. I represented South Africa four times with Springbok colours, twice as captain. Later, six times in internation als as a Master (50 years and over) and as a Grand Master (70 years and over). I took part in many SA championships, en tirely due to the splendid horses I rode. June and I were still competing in our 70s. More importantly we were both ac tive coaches and administrators of the sport on a club, provincial and interna tional basis. I hung up my riding boots at the age of 75; by then I was eight years senior to any other tentpegging rider in South Africa. All this and only because I had June’s support and encouragement, in addition to well-trained and reliable horses that ran true and jumped reliably in the skill-at-arms event. June herself was brilliantly successful in what was then thought to be a man’s sport when she started tentpegging. Perhaps most importantly, coming from a church school, I have served Christ Church, Beaufort West, all my life. I was a little atheist before joining the school chaplin Revd Tyrell’s confirmation class at Michaelhouse. I did so simply because my pals were attending. But my attitude changed under that marvellous man and I was confirmed into the church by the Bishop of Natal. I served on the Christ Church committee for many years, read the lesson regularly and was church treasurer for 22 years. Nobody knew of my dismal maths record at Michaelhouse, but more importantly, nobody questioned my honesty as trea surer. Last year I was invited to attend the confirmation service at St Mathew’s Church, Beaufort West. I was proud to be the only white person present in a congre gation of 300 people. At the end of the inspiring service I was called up to receive a certificate from the Bishop of George. It read: “Awarded to David Francis Pick ard-Cambridge, in recognition of your long, dedicated and distinguished service in the life of the Church.” I am certain that I did not deserve this accolade, but I am not in the habit of arguing with the Bishop. Lastly, at the time of my retirement I was secretary-general of the International

PICKARD-CAMBRIDGE, DAVID F Born 1933, Died 2025 Michaelhouse 1947-1952

David died on his farm on 31 July 2025, just short of his 92nd birthday. He want ed this article, written in May 2017, to be forwarded to Michaelhouse on his death. A last trip down memory lane I came to Michaelhouse straight from England, into D Block in time for the last quarter of 1947. That was the beginning of my happy and productive years at Mi chaelhouse. I had come to a splendid, stimulating school without parallel. I was no stranger to South Africa. My father, Trenchard, had insisted that my mother take my sister, cousin and me to South Africa in 1940 to escape what he felt was a looming Nazi invasion of England. So, we were in fact war refugees. We had not been in South Africa more than three weeks when news came from the War Office that my father had been killed in action. He was buried with full military honours on my seventh birthday, 26 September 1940. He had fought right through the First World War, had been wounded in that ghastly conflict and had been decorated with the Military Cross at Buckingham Palace by King George V in 1916. My mother left for England immedi ately, saying to us that the war would soon be over and we would be reunited again. Her homeward-bound liner was bombed and one bomb went through decks but failed to explode. It was a hair-raising trip. She was one of the very last civilians to leave South Africa for England. We were not to see her for five long years. In 1945 we returned to England in a troopship; I failed to recognize my own mother when she came to meet us at Southampton Docks. But that is another story. During those five years my sister and I were loved, fed, clothed and sent to pri vate schools in Pietermaritzburg by that wonderful couple Arthur and May Dorn ing, of Treurfontein Farm, East Griqual and. At the end of the war they politely but firmly refused to accept any compensa tion. They already had three children, Ant ony, Michael and Rosemary. Antony had a distinguished career at Michaelhouse. He was then in the SA Airforce, serving as a fighter pilot. Michael was still at Michael house, pining to go off to war. I went to Cordwalles from 1942 until 1945. Back to Michaelhouse. I was no great scholar, but loved all the sport, the ex

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