Reflections: Peter Stechman [August 2016]
Any man’s death diminishes me, more so when that man is one of our own. Since we began in 2002 there have been several reports of old boys dying. Some were personal friends, some were those that we hadn’t seen or heard of in many years. Some we never even knew. But none of them was one of us.
Our school contained several hundred boys at any one time so no surprise that many good and bad stories exist. The social media that was Friends Reunited sparked a forum that we latched on to and have used for our enjoyment ever since. The Internet may have a lot to answer for, but it has made such things easier and possible for us.
Group emails circulated that told tales of little victories and of defeats, large and small. Anecdotes of wry humour, stories of comeuppance. They were all there. Some alluded to knowledge of secrets that will never see the light of day, and why should they? The passing years would never make them easier. No, what we shared was the common bond of childhood into young men.
And then you got the wild tales of one Peter Stechman, known to all as ‘Stech’. Just one ’T’ in the name, James, wrote he, telling me off for writing ‘Stetch. Sorry mate, I did not check my facts. Stech’s alter ego wrote emails like no other; wild, outrageous, hilarious, defamatory [to many of us who had to take it on the chin] and sometimes serious. We did have one or two conversations about what he could or should not write!
The man knew the Islington of our youth. He knew the people who lived there. He married his childhood sweetheart and they had two daughters. He was honest, generous, well-travelled and the fittest of us all. Ironic, that last comment. A lot of us walked around with paunches of various sizes, while he swam and danced and exercised! He was slim and well-built. He wrote blogs on the gigs he went to, always telling us how the women would fall over themselves to dance with him as he was such a good mover. He made it clear though, that he always went home to his dear wife, letting us know that he was only allowed out with her permission. The times he asked me to meet him at some venue or other, and me, always refusing. Wish I’d gone now. He made it clear in several early emails that none of us knew how long we had left and that we should get out and enjoy ourselves as much as we could. How prescient was that?
Stech died on Tuesday 9th August and those that knew him, will most certainly miss him. No man is an island.
James Sanderson
Any man’s death diminishes me, more so when that man is one of our own. Since we began in 2002 there have been several reports of old boys dying. Some were personal friends, some were those that we hadn’t seen or heard of in many years. Some we never even knew. But none of them was one of us.
Our school contained several hundred boys at any one time so no surprise that many good and bad stories exist. The social media that was Friends Reunited sparked a forum that we latched on to and have used for our enjoyment ever since. The Internet may have a lot to answer for, but it has made such things easier and possible for us.
Group emails circulated that told tales of little victories and of defeats, large and small. Anecdotes of wry humour, stories of comeuppance. They were all there. Some alluded to knowledge of secrets that will never see the light of day, and why should they? The passing years would never make them easier. No, what we shared was the common bond of childhood into young men.
And then you got the wild tales of one Peter Stechman, known to all as ‘Stech’. Just one ’T’ in the name, James, wrote he, telling me off for writing ‘Stetch. Sorry mate, I did not check my facts. Stech’s alter ego wrote emails like no other; wild, outrageous, hilarious, defamatory [to many of us who had to take it on the chin] and sometimes serious. We did have one or two conversations about what he could or should not write!
The man knew the Islington of our youth. He knew the people who lived there. He married his childhood sweetheart and they had two daughters. He was honest, generous, well-travelled and the fittest of us all. Ironic, that last comment. A lot of us walked around with paunches of various sizes, while he swam and danced and exercised! He was slim and well-built. He wrote blogs on the gigs he went to, always telling us how the women would fall over themselves to dance with him as he was such a good mover. He made it clear though, that he always went home to his dear wife, letting us know that he was only allowed out with her permission. The times he asked me to meet him at some venue or other, and me, always refusing. Wish I’d gone now. He made it clear in several early emails that none of us knew how long we had left and that we should get out and enjoy ourselves as much as we could. How prescient was that?
Stech died on Tuesday 9th August and those that knew him, will most certainly miss him. No man is an island.
James Sanderson
This page recognises staff members and former students of Barnsbury School for Boys who have passed away.