Wheels of Fire

By Ari Seirlis

Now 60 years old, Ari Seirlis has spent close to two-thirds of his life in a wheelchair as a quadriplegic. In his compelling autobiography Wheels of Fire, he records his life’s journey, starting with his upbringing, schooling university, fighting in the Angolan war and early years as an energetic young man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ari Seirlis
• Release date: Sep 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005673369

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Copyright © 2022 Ari Seirlis

First edition 2022

Ari Seirlis published with Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Ari Seirlis using Reach Publishers’ services,

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Edited by Jane Goodfellow for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

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Ari Seirlis

Wheels of Fire

Dedication

In memory of my mother Joan who believed, inspired and encouraged me to continue a journey interrupted by a life-changing accident. Without her approach and insight, it would never have been the same.

Ari Seirlis is the type of person you will remember for life – and it takes only a few minutes to get to know him. Not because of the injury that rendered him quadriplegic, but because he has never allowed his mobility to define him. His passion for life and his strive to achieve the best for the quadriplegic community he served is how I know Ari. 

Ari has a rare quality for reading situations and people. In one, short meeting, he cuts through the clutter; gets to the point and moves on. Yet, simultaneously, he appreciates the moment; celebrates the occasion and remains ever-present.

Ari, the rational thinker. The jovial optimist. The seeker of the best outcomes for all parties when it comes to life choices. Ari is a mensch with an attitude that life is too short for regrets. He is the kind of person with whom I would go to war, wheels or no wheels.

Thank you for your life lessons, Ari.

Wayne Duvenage

OUTA CEO

Foreword

It is a great honour to write the introductory foreword to this book, and I am very grateful for the opportunity to publicly state my sincere appreciation and encouragement for this man’s humanity, positivity, ability, courage and vision among many other highly admirable traits.

I first became aware of Ari Seirlis during the late eighties through my involvement with the Quadriplegic Association of South Africa (QASA). Since then, he became very involved in the activities of QASA and actively participated in, managed or initiated numerous commendable and empowering social initiatives under the banner of QASA.

In the book, Ari describes his happy childhood and his memories of a loving family and home environment. He lived a positive, energetic and interesting life as a teenager and young adult before a fateful diving accident left him paralysed and a wheelchair user. However, he adopted a mindset of viewing his form of disability as the all-ability state-of-mind he has.

His faith and persistency enabled him to rise far above his challenges, and his example inspired many others in his sphere of influence. His insightful words and thoughts about the inclusive nature of human existence brought me to a better understanding of the integrated nature of emotional, spiritual, and social intelligence.

Ari is a remarkable human being who managed to implement his deep understanding of inclusive respect between human beings in his own life, friendships, and teachings. His example taught me about the value of implementing the ‘I, me, thou’ principle in all walks of life.

In his lifetime, Ari met a wide variety of noteworthy and influential public figures from whom he learnt many important life lessons. For example, his meeting with Christopher Reeve inspired him to keep his faith in his cause. Morné du Plessis impressed the importance of civic leadership and courageous service on Ari. Others taught Ari that creative stimulation is often rewarded by friendships that can become mutually beneficial to many stakeholders in such friendships.

Ari also learnt that a life filled with integrity and dignity can be rewarding to self and others in your life sphere. In Afrikaans it can be said Ari learnt to appreciate the value of "lewe, belewe, uitlewe" (live, experience, contribute). He also developed a strong belief in the importance of truth, fairness, and goodwill in all friendships that he formed in his lifetime.This book describes a positive approach to living with dis-ease or dis-ability and inspiring others in the process. Ari explains how he succeeded in converting his disability into this-ability that became all-of-his-ability. He also shares some of the valuable insights and lessons he has learnt from his involvement in numerous QuadPara Association of South Africa (QASA)-related initiatives.

Leaders and practitioners in the fields of medicine, psychology, sociology, public service, business and non-government organisations (NGOs) among many other fields, can gain many valuable insights and lessons from reading this book. This book is highly recommended for any person interested to learn about positive life-changing experiences.

In my opinion, Ari embodies the characteristics of a superhuman being.

Dr Johan Loubie Loubser

Dr Johan Loubser (2018)

Chapter 1

Ladysmith : My first real memories of my childhood, fun times and small-town lessons

I grew up in Ladysmith. That’s the answer I give to people who ask. Having been born in Limassol, Cyprus, and then arriving in Pretoria at two years old and then a short stint in Bethlehem, we settled in Ladysmith.

I have fond memories of my early days and youth in Ladysmith, this small town to which now I have no inclination to go back as the last time I drove through, it had deteriorated to such an extent that it brought tears to my eyes and sadness to my heart, as this small town used to have a place for everyone to thrive.

Ladysmith sits in grassland peppered with thorn trees, rocks and aloes that stretches towards the northern Drakensberg – called uKhahlamba, or Barrier of Spears in Zulu – which, when covered in snow, feeds the town with a winter chill. It’s quite the reverse in summer as Ladysmith is well-known for its extremes in temperature.

The town featured prominently in the war at the turn of the last century when the Boers trapped British forces during the one-hundred-and-eight-day Siege of Ladysmith.

I start recalling my time in Ladysmith from about eight years old when I went to Egerton Jr School and met the first of my real ‘buddies’, some of whom I still have now. The best memory I have of the school is fearing tea break time every day as we would have to converge on the playground, which was a dusty field, and on the one side the Afrikaners would line up and on the other side the Engelsmanne (English guys), and when someone gave the signal we charged at each other, and I can assure you, the few of us rooinekke (red necks) got a beating every day.

Thank goodness, when I was ten years old in 1972 my parents got a lucky break and an invitation for me to attend boarding school at Highbury Preparatory School in Hillcrest, and I was packed off with my school trunk and sent to boarding school. I was to complete the rest of my schooling in a boarding school environment and I loved every day of it.

My mum and dad were both architects and were considered professionals in the town and so were embraced by the Who’s Who in town.

The privilege of this was that my dad, ‘the big hunter’ as he was nicknamed, was invited to all of the guinea fowl shoots on the local farms in shooting season. We would get up on a Saturday or Sunday morning before first light and go out to one of the farmers who had organised the shoot dad, carrying his ammo belt of shotgun shells. Every time I did stumble and he noticed, he roared at me to catch a wake-up, as he feared a shell might go off and cause rather unfortunate damage to an uncharted area of my body.

Eventually, after a few years, I was elevated to using a .410 shotgun and had the occasional shot at a wayward pigeon that always got away. The next step was to have 30 minutes or so at the end of the shoot carrying my dad’s 20-gauge side-by-side shotgun, and on occasion, a guinea fowl would be flushed out of the mealie fields, and if I were quick enough, I’d get a shot and sometimes hit with much celebration. I can assure you I had practised the procedure of closing the barrel, lifting the weapon to my shoulder and securing it, aiming and firing a hundred times on the shoot, even without holding the weapon. The recoil was harsh and I always ended up with a blue bruise on my shoulder, which was great to be able to brag to my friends at boarding school that this was evidence of a guinea fowl shoot, and some were suitably jealous.

I recall, after every shoot, sitting on the veranda with the other kids, out of the way of the adults but within earshot of the hunters telling stories of their day while consuming large volumes of beer and brandy and coke. Luckily, my dad was not a big drinker and so we got away relatively early each time.

I made some good friends amongst the other boys on the shoots and some of those friendships still last today. I just loved shooting season. It was one of those unique activities of small farming town offerings.

Another privilege I had which came with growing up in Ladysmith and within my dad’s network of friends was that all his farmer friends had dams filled with bass. I spent days and days in my boarding school holidays, which were longer than most state schools’, bass fishing - often on my own - but not too perturbed as I was ‘clubbing’ the bass and at the time that’s all that mattered.

Soon I was to progress to the finer art of fly-fishing, as a few of the farmers’ lands were close to the ‘Berg (Drakensberg) and fly-fishing was the sport of gentlemen, so I was told. Some fly-fishing lessons through the Highbury fly-fishing club got me into the sport as well as tying my own flies, and to catch a fish with your own bait creation was the ultimate.

Fly-fishing was to have a completely new meaning for me later in my life and it is still one of my favourite pastimes, hobbies and meaningful activities.

We lived in an upmarket residential area, and my means of transport, as well as activity and fun, was my beloved single-gear bicycle with reverse brake. This meant I could skid with the back wheel sliding out when I arrived home in our dust driveway and impress our nanny ‘Edna’ who would then scold me and ‘tell on me’.

I got my first 50cc, a Yamaha at age 15 and yes, felt very spoilt and privileged to have this ultimate toy. Little did I know how much trouble this motorbike would get me into.

Everything in my modus operandi changed with my 50cc. I was now inducted into the Ladysmith ‘50crew’. (A group of guys who all owned small 50cc motorbikes and were generally up to no good). That was not a good thing, I was to learn at a later stage.

We would spend from morning until evening riding up and down the streets looking for mischief. Making an unnecessary noise and a nuisance of ourselves in the residential areas but loving every moment of the freedom of being on a small motorbike instead of a bicycle.

Okay, so here comes the trouble part of the 50cc bike gang.

Our ‘go-to’ entertainment for us as youngsters under the age of 18 in Ladysmith and in the evening, was the one and only Drive-In and we used to go every second day at least, even if it meant seeing the same movie a number of times in the same week. We did not always have money to pay for a ticket and so sometimes would park outside at the far end, right next to a timber-slatted fence, and stand on the seat of our motorbikes as leverage and then clamber up and over and sprint to the ‘shelter’, which was the ‘finger bowl’ seating area of the Drive In. After all the trailers were shown and a Tom & Jerry series, it was POUSA (Interval) which meant we would go to the cafeteria and see which girls would tickle our fancy. If you had a helmet in your hand, you were a main ou (important guy) and ‘pulled chicks’ (attracted girls) easily. I can share no more details, I’m afraid. Some stories stay at the drive-in theatre.

I do recall one evening when the owner of the Drive-In, Mr Marais, who obviously knew of our antics of jumping over the fence to save paying the cover charge, had a huge surprise ready for us. One by one as my friends were going over, I would hear them land on the other side with a thump, and then I heard an unusual ‘doof’ sound and then silence. I was the last to jump and when it was my turn, I catapulted over and as I landed, there was the night-watchman with a knobkerrie (a large stick like a baseball bat) who, with excellent accuracy and the right velocity, knocked us all out, one by one. We all awoke dazed a few minutes later, lying on the ground in discomfort with a very sore head, and staring into the angry face of Mr Marais, who expelled us from the evening show and vowed we were never to return to his Drive-In. Well, that was the last time we did that, but we did return in the formal manner using our pocket money to pay our cover charge. It just meant we had less money to impress our ‘grope’ for the night with sweets and popcorn.

More fond memories were made on the tennis court. Highbury Preparatory School introduced me to playing tennis and I realised that by practising hard, I got rather good.

Ladysmith and surrounding areas - Bergville, Estcourt and Newcastle - always had annual tennis tournaments in the holidays and I inevitably won in my age group. Always singles and then sometimes doubles and mixed doubles. The Doubles and Mixed doubles trophies were not as regular as the Singles trophies and that all depended on who I was playing with. I was a shocking partner in both.

Looking back, my behaviour on the tennis court in those earlier years was atrocious. I was arrogant; I was loud, and unappreciative of a weaker Doubles or Mixed doubles partner. Worse than John McEnroe, I’m sure. Actually, I had the privilege of meeting ‘The Brat’ many years later in New York at a fundraising dinner for Christopher Reeve (Superman). After the function, he took me for a few whiskeys in a club on Times Square. Well, more than a few actually.

I don’t think by winning all the trophies I redeemed myself, and that is the sad reality of my earlier tennis behaviour in Ladysmith. I grew up somewhat at Hilton College.

I ended up winning the Hilton College tennis championship in my Matric year in 1979 and also played a few professional tennis tournaments after school. I loved tennis and miss the court and the game even now.

My time in Ladysmith got me interested in the history of the Boer and Zulu Wars and I’m grateful for that, because I still enjoy a road trip to Spionkop and still want to visit more sites, recognising the skirmishes between the Boers and Brits and also the Zulus and Brits.

Whilst in Ladysmith I also rode horses, played polocrosse, played hockey for the local municipal team, walked the golf course with my 5-club bag, played squash with Mum and learnt to drive in the quiet streets. There was a lot to do in such a small town, you just had to look around and be in the right circle of people.

My first entrepreneurship venture started in Ladysmith and started and ended in one school holiday. Our holidays from private school differed a bit from those of Government schools and so with no one to hang with one week in the holidays and pottering around, I happen to come across a 10-magazine porno collection of my dad’s in his cupboard. I was looking for my airgun he had confiscated for a misdemeanour and found a pile of Playboy and Mayfair magazines. I was mesmerised. This was my first exposure to porn magazines and I could not get enough. I paged through all 10 mags many times, not bothering to read a story. I told a few of my friends in the neighbourhood and they all wanted to look. No ways, I was not going to take the risk of my dad finding out. He would have been furious and beaten the hell out of me. I had a plan. I would sell them some pictures. I always put the pile back exactly as I found it. I selected a Playboy as they were in the majority of the titles and cut every nude out. Maximising the exercise by making sure, I looked back-to-back at each two pages for the most nudes on a page and used that side. I took my mum’s sewing scissors and slaughtered the magazine as quickly and neatly as possible. The magazine was in shreds, like a carcass at a butchery. I buried the shreds in the garden, washed my hands and hid the pictures in my room. I was a nervous wreck that afternoon. I felt like a criminal. Now I had to distribute these as soon as possible and the next day I got on my 50cc motorbike and drove up and down selling the pics to my mates for 20c each. There was a huge demand that day and I made a fortune, which was about R12. The selling part went more smoothly and quickly than I thought it would as one of my buddies had quite a bit of pocket money and wanted all I had, and he was my 3rd port of call. I was over the moon and felt rich but was also praying my dad was not pedantic enough to count his smut collection. I do recall he got these from his business partnership meetings sometimes held in Swaziland where these magazines were legal.

The word was out that I had some porno pics for sale and I was hounded by some more potential customers. I panicked and came to my senses. It dawned on me that the consequences of being caught by my dad were far greater than the profits of this illegitimate business venture. I closed shop. I never went back to his cupboard again, as tempted as I was, and sat on my riches for a few days. The magazine was not noticed as missing. I made a great business decision of knowing when to open and when to close my venture. I made money and did not spend it immediately. A lesson for all entrepreneurs.

We left Ladysmith in my matric year in 1979, when my parents moved to Kloof to run another branch of their architectural firm. I never really had a chance to say goodbye to everyone in the town when we left as in my last year at Hilton, I went from the last term to our new home in Kloof. I made some incredible friends in Ladysmith, amongst them, the Howards, Jannie Zoutendyke, Ardi, the Tathams, Marge, Brian Rohrs (RIP) and Bruce Rohrs with whom I’m still in touch today.

Chapter 2

Highbury Preparatory School: Learning to cope on my own and starting my new circle of friends and network

I craved boarding school and my dream came true when my parents dropped me off at the Highbury in January 1972. I was 10 years old and, in a way, relieved that I did not have to duck and dive Afrikaners on the playing field in Ladysmith anymore, but nervous as anything. I had no idea what I was in for by leaving the comfort of our home and my doting parents.

I did not know a single person on my first day and after waving goodbye, I went to the dining room for my first meal at boarding school, and it didn’t take longer than that first communal gathering to make friends.

My four years at Highbury were an absolute privilege, where several friendships were made, and the networks through these friendships are still valuable today.

I had no idea of the cost incurred and borne by my parents to keep me there and in fact, showed very little gratitude to them or understood the hardship imposed upon them to have me at Highbury. Mr McMillan was a huge influence as the headmaster and I am grateful to have been in the ‘McMillan era’. It instilled in me manners, ambition and a sense of loyalty.

My mum was quite incredible by writing a letter to me every single day; however, it did cause somewhat of an inconvenience for me as she addressed the letter in the following way:

MASTER ARISTIDES ANDREW EMMANUEL SEIRLIS. Every lunchtime at boarding school, the Master in charge in the dining room would read out the mail for the boarders and would read out this long name of mine. Every day. It was not long before every time the Master stood up with the bundle of post in his hand that all the boys would call out in unison, Master…….. I must say I did not enjoy that at all, but I guess I just got used to it.

Another unavoidable inconvenience at boarding school was the subtle bullying that happened and probably still happens. I was identified as a GREEK because of my name. Everybody assumed my father owned a corner café, and when someone wanted to really push my buttons, they would call me ‘greasy Greek’. I must say, it did get to me.

My parents, especially my mum, were fantastic at driving three hours regularly on a Saturday morning from Ladysmith to visit and then the same three hours back home. The car back seat always had sweets and biscuits for my locker and distribution to my friends.

I got very interested in singing in the choir, which then took me to drama and the school play, which culminated in the annual production. In my second last year at school, I was the ‘stuttering Princess’ in a pink dress in the school play set in the Roman times, and had me bowing down to the Caligula of Lords. I had to sing whilst stuttering to beg for my life and I thought I played a great role that evening. Little did I know my father was sitting next to the father of the Lord and he leant over and asked my father, Which is your son? My father replied, The boy in the pink dress, the stuttering Princess. I know my father answered with duress but was still extremely proud of me. In my last year at school, I played the Pied Piper of Hamlin and got my confidence back on stage in a decent lead role.

It was at Highbury that I got my love for tennis and hockey and got a lucky break in the tennis arena when JPR Williams (who had just played for the British & Irish Lions rugby team on their 1974 tour to SA) came to the school for a short stint of teaching and coaching. He was a former Wimbledon junior tennis champion. He coached me for three months and this made a significant impact on my game.

I also got my first official cricket lesson and to my great joy in the first season I was chosen for the under 10A cricket team. This was a big accolade it seems and I let my parents know immediately, and my dad said he would be there for my first game, a home game against the arch-rival Clifton Durban on an outer field. What I didn’t tell my dad is although I was in the A team, I was fielding square leg and batting 11 with no chance of bowling at all. We had a great team and the chances of me batting were extremely slim anyway.

My dad came with his deckchair and pack of Rothmans 30 and watched me on the field, all morning. My chance for fame arrived just close to the end of Clifton’s innings when a sitter of a catch popped up in front of me. I must have been dozing from standing for a few hours at the quiet end of the field. I ran too far forward, then reversed too far backwards, steadied myself again but fluffed the ball. I felt like a fool. I cannot imagine what my dad must have felt like, but he never said anything.

After the lunch break, it was Highbury’s chance to bat. I was so eager to get a chance at the stumps that I rushed to pad-up immediately but was reprimanded by our coach, as there were only three sets of pads. One for each current batsman and the third set for next batsman in. Okay, okay I was a bit hasty. So, I sat next to my dad all afternoon and it so happened that we were close to the total but eight wickets down. I thought there might be a chance for me to get to the crease. I was so overeager and excited at the prospect that when the ball hit my own teammates’ pads, I shouted out HOWSZAT! What a foolish mistake and it almost looked like I was playing for the other team with that illegitimate call. My father never said a word although I could see and feel his embarrassment. We won the game without it being necessary for me to bat and my father congratulated everyone in our team and made the long journey back to Ladysmith without seeing me perform much.

That evening Mr Brownell, our cricket coach, called me out of the dormitory and I got ‘three of the best’ from his right arm and a miniature cricket bat - which was legendary - as my punishment. I guess well deserved and a lesson in the importance of the team rather than the individual.

Another seed planted in my journey of life was being introduced to fly-fishing by an expert, Mr Blackman. I have fond memories of many fly-fishing trips with the Highbury Flyfishing Club, and fly-fishing is on the top of my list of my hobbies even today. I learnt to cast, tie flies and stalk trout in a river. My understanding of fly-fishing developed somewhat into a professional presentation and I will share this with you in another chapter.

Everyone at Highbury will remember our Science and PT teacher Pete Liddle (Piddle). He was strict but fair. He could ‘flap’ hard with his infamous takkie (plimsoll) sole if you failed a science test. He also had the cutest daughters and we could not keep our eyes off them. I was to meet his oldest daughter Sue again under different circumstances as she was with me when I had my accident at the Waterworld. It always amazes me how friends and acquaintances pop up in different places and times in one’s life journey, and Sue was there one life-changing day.

The big decision at Highbury, which occupied a lot of the boys’ discussion in the last year, was whether to go to Hilton, Michaelhouse or Kearsney (the three most prominent and expensive private high schools in KwaZulu-Natal). Actually, as boys, we didn’t really know the differences between the three, other than if we had brothers who went to any of these three schools then we would definitely be following them. I was on my own in this decision and chose Hilton College. I must say I had no idea of the school fees nor that my dad would suffer tremendous financial challenges to be able to afford me this opportunity. Hilton College was the most expensive school in the country. I am forever grateful to my father for this opportunity. I just wish I had faced him and said THANK YOU. One of my biggest regrets is that I did not.

What I learnt from that is never delay a ‘thank you’ and show gratitude every day you can.

I could not wait for the holidays to end to get to Hilton College. I had mates, I had confidence and I understood and enjoyed the boarding school life.

Chapter 3

Hilton College : Privilege, principles and purpose

My first day at Hilton College was very different to my first day at Highbury. I had friends (my Highbury mates), we were close, and we all went to Falcon House, which was the hostel for all of the first years at Hilton.

Although the prefects at Falcon were quite ruthless with initiation and dishing out of discipline and punishment, we knew it was part of the deal of being a first-year.

Cape Dutch architecture on spacious grounds could make one mistake Hilton College for a wine estate rather than a school. Known for its elitism, heritage, history and expensive fees, it’s an out-of-the-way community, and is so in the heart of the mist belt of the KZN midlands that it’s not unknown for a cricket game to be cancelled because a batsman and a bowler cannot even see one another! Privileged boys have access to state-of-the-art education and sports facilities as well as a chunk of wild country with waterfalls, cliffs and the Mgeni River in which to muck about.

Tradition was strong and discipline was often enforced through corporal punishment, although many feared the seniors’ punches more!

Pupils spent their evenings away from home doing supervised homework, or prep, but there was often the opportunity to slip out when interesting people from the outside world presented talks to the school’s various societies and clubs.

This magnificent school was overwhelming with rules, excellent tuition, and an abundance of sporting opportunities as well as extramural activities involving hobbies and outdoor clubs.

I joined the debating society and here my political beginnings started. I continued with my cricket, tennis and hockey. We all played rugby from under 14, and I was in the cake league team. After your first year, you could then decide on your summer and winter sports. I chose tennis and hockey and was determined to do well and ended up playing in the first hockey team for three years and winning the Hilton College Tennis Championship in 1979. Both these sports took me on a journey - competing and making new friends - to most of the high schools in Durban and Pietermaritzburg.

My drama background saw me in all the school plays and my fondest was playing Tjokkie in the production Siener in die Suburbs (PG du Plessis). Tjokkie was a mechanic and I spent the production in a greasy overall and I was allowed to smoke on stage. That was a bonus at the time even though I was not a smoker. I was allowed to smoke a maximum of three cigarettes each time the play played to an audience and I was issued these officially by a teacher and instructed not to inhale. I remember smoking only half the cigarette, as it was profitable exchanging the other half with another member of the cast for a few Wilson toffees and a packet of Nik Naks.

I also played a ‘fairy’ in Gilbert and Sullivan’s Iolanthe which didn’t embarrass me at all as we had so much fun interacting with the Epworth girls, and that expanded my network amongst girls (which was pretty thin at the time).

My sister Angela was at Collegiate Girls, which was a private school in Pietermaritzburg, and this gave me an introduction to some of the girls in the grades below her.

Raymond ‘Gubby’ Slater was the headmaster and my housemaster in my senior house, Pearce, was Paul Cannon. Slater was a disciplinarian of note and an old school Headmaster who I think was right for Hilton at the time, but things changed rapidly after I left. Paul was the nicest man I had met in a long time. He was strong-minded and allowed us to express ourselves and gave us comfort and independence in Pearce House. The camaraderie between us Highbury boys was split straight after our first year when we migrated into our senior hostels and your hostel mates naturally ended up being your strongest friends. There was a lot of competitiveness between the hostels.

I loved every minute of my time at Hilton College but must admit, on the long journey back to school after a term holiday or mid-term break, I still always had a knot in my stomach when entering the school gates. I guess I had come from my Ladysmith 50cc gang back to Hilton and had to ‘look sharp’ and shake the Ladysmith houding off on entering the Hilton grounds.

My parents were very proud of being Hilton parents and I was determined to make them proud with good academic results and sporting achievements.

Hilton College was an absolute privilege in my upbringing. Still today, I am grateful and overwhelmed with having had the opportunity to attend this beautiful and prestigious school. It is the dream start to life as an adult. The network developed through Hilton is immeasurable and invaluable, which I was to learn. That is one of the value propositions of being at Hilton College, certainly now.

I am proud to be serving on the Old Hiltonian Club National Committee and this committee reports