Ben Chadwick, Director of Students and Strategy
I am quite new to your school, and I wanted to talk to you about something that can matter: the power and limits of first impressions. Those early moments when we meet someone, join a new group, or walk into an unfamiliar space can feel like everything rides on them. But sometimes, our best and truest selves don’t show up in the first five minutes — and that’s okay.
They say people form a first impression in just seven seconds — and in a school, and particularly a boarding school, where you live, learn, and laugh together 24/7, that can feel like a lot of pressure. First impressions can feel like everything. We think we have one shot to get it right. To come across as impressive, charming, cool — whatever that is (actually Mr Bessant knows what that means). But sometimes, things don’t go quite according to plan.
Let me start with a story about one of my really good friends.
He already knew this girl. They had crossed paths a few times, friendly enough, but one night he walked into a quaint little Italian restaurant… and so did she. Through the other door. Total coincidence.
Something just clicked at that moment, and he turned to her and said, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
She said yes.
They sat down, started talking — and it was like the room disappeared. Conversation flowed, laughter followed. The kind of chemistry that doesn’t need explaining.
And then… his Penne Chilli Arrabbiata arrived.
Two bites in, he starts sweating. Like really sweating. Forehead glistening, shirt sticking, pulling his collar out uncomfortably, eyes watering, hiccups firing. He definitely didn’t look his best.
He was trying to stay cool, but he was convinced he had just wrecked the whole vibe. Not the smoothest moment.
Not the best first impression.
But she just laughed. She saw through it. She saw the guy beneath the chilli meltdown — honest, a little ridiculous, but genuine.
They ended up getting married. They now have three amazing kids, still happily together. And apparently, he still sweats eating anything even mildly spicy.
Now, I wish I could say I have always made better first impressions myself. But then came my first Friday morning tea in the staffroom.
I’d heard the rumours: “Don’t miss the mini meat pies.” “Get in early….they disappear pretty quickly.”
So there I was, a cup of tea in one hand, deep in a lovely chat with none other than Mrs Harris who is always so calm, kind, helpful and graceful.
I grab a mini pie, add some sauce and take a bite. And I feel good about it. What I don’t realise is that most of that pie has come out the other end and launched itself directly onto my tie. Not just any tie. My dachshund tie.
It looked like a crime scene at a bakery.
And Mrs Harris, being the saint that she is, doesn’t say a word. She simply smiles and says, “The pies are much better eaten in one bite.”
And that, girls, is how to save someone’s dignity with kindness and grace.
Now, even after the pastry incident, my first impressions of the School as a staff member only grew stronger and warmer.
This place — even on those misty, cold mornings that seem designed for doona days — has a real beauty to it. The kind that seeps in slowly, the more time you spend here.
And then came Friday night activities.
I thought I was in for some quiet trivia. Maybe a slow-paced board game. What I walked into was LOUD. Wild. And epically fun.
The Year 11s absolutely crushed it. Music pumping, people laughing, everyone included — no one left on the sidelines. It was fun, but also kind. Silly and structured. Confident and caring. Exactly the kind of culture you hope to walk into.
But then came the moment that really stayed with me. And if this had been my very first impression of the school, I’d have known everything I needed to know.
Birthday Weekend.
From the moment the celebrations started, it was clear this wasn’t just a party. It was a story. A living history.
We heard the incredible, inspirational, moving address by Annabel Chauncy, about building School for Life in Uganda — a reminder that impact doesn’t come from flash or perfection, but from purpose, persistence, and compassion.
We sang — all of us — the Birthday Wish song written by your very own Mr Spencer. That was a goosebumps moment.
And then came Viva La Vida by the Senior Choir and orchestra. I mean, Coldplay should probably just hang up their guitars now. That was unreal.
Sophie Chen was incredible on the piano, the Year 12 Music Class were rocking, and the cast and crew of the play were the ultimate professionals.
Two Iris Awards were given — the most coveted recognition in the School — to two students who couldn’t be more different in their strengths but couldn’t be more alike in the way they give everything to everyone around them. Quiet heroes. No spotlight needed.
Then the Madrigals sang Bohemian Rhapsody with such flair, expertise and drama that somewhere, Freddie Mercury smiled.
And finally, past and present students stood together and sang “40 Years On” with such joy, pride and sheer volume that I’m pretty sure they heard it echo in Canberra.
Imagine that being your first impression of a school? It was unforgettable.
So what’s my point?
First impressions are real. But they don’t have to be flawless. You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to show up honestly. Try. Laugh at yourself a bit. Sweat through the chilli. Survive the pastry. Sing the song.
And the good news is: this is a place that gives you room to be real. This School encourages every student to be the most authentic version of themselves — not a version shaped by perfection, but one guided by honesty, integrity, growth, and the courage to be different. To be yourself. Loud or quiet. Dramatic or thoughtful. And in the true spirit of Frensham, kind, considerate, and willing to put others before yourself.
So thank you — for your kindness, your noise, your music, your welcome, your spirit.
It is good to be here.
And I’m looking forward to many more chilly mornings in the mist, birthday weekends and opportunities for you to be the best versions of yourselves, particularly when no one is watching.
As writer George Eliot once said: ‘It is never too late to be what you might have been.’