Brother Cyril and me
From the age of eight, I was brought up in a single-parent household led by my mother and I was the oldest of the three children. Although I saw my father regularly, it was not a happy relationship – so altogether I was short of a respected father figure and tended to find one where I could.
The first was my headmaster at the Roman Catholic direct grant grammar school in south Manchester where I studied from 1959 to 1966. The school was called the Xaverian College, it was run by a religious order of brothers, and the headmaster was a guy called Brother Cyril. I saw a lot more of him than most pupils because he chose me as School Captain for my final year and he allowed me to nominate my own prefects and to establish a School Council.
Everyone found Brother Cyril a formidable, even scary, figure. Although short and very quiet, he commanded immense respect and even fear. So often when I visited him in his study, he would fall silent for what seemed an eternity. At first, I nervously rushed to fill the silence. But then I learned to stay silent myself and give him time to think. This silence technique is one I have subsequently used countless times to assist me in negotiations or encourage people to talk about their problems.
Now Brother Cyril seemed old to me at the time (I was aged 11-18) and, if I ever thought about him these days, I assumed that he was long dead. So imagine my surprise to receive an e-mail directing me to a web site run by another former student at the school which carries a recent interview with Brother Cyril. I learn that amazingly he was headmaster from 1962 to 1989 and that he is now living in retirement in the USA aged 83.
I wish him long and happy retirement.