When a child asks me, “Sir, why are we studying this?” I will often reply: “Because one day physics could save your life, as it did mine.”
People go into teaching for many different reasons. For me, surviving a tsunami was what inspired me to enter the profession.
On 26 December 2004, a tsunami occurred in the Indian Ocean. Thirteen countries were affected, and a quarter of a million people died.
At the time, I was on holiday with my family in a seemingly idyllic little resort on the southern point of Phuket in Thailand. When we sat down for breakfast that morning, we had no idea that the family sitting next to us would not survive the day.
As we sipped the last of our tea, we noticed some excitement on the beach below. Villagers and tourists appeared to be rushing towards the seafront as whirlpools had developed within the bay. Curious, I turned my camera on to record the phenomenon.
Moments later, those same people were running back towards us. This was when I noticed that the water had receded with some speed from the beach. I immediately knew that something was very wrong. I had studied physics at university and the signs felt familiar.
‘It looked like something out of our physics seminar’
By this point, the resort owner was trying to wake some recent arrivals who were sleeping off their jet lag. I joined in, pounding on their door to press home the seriousness of the situation. We ordered them to get up the hill behind the hotel.
I sent my son and his mother up the hill, too, and then went to take another look at the beach to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, bedrock that was not usually visible was now protruding from the sand. It looked exactly like some old footage of a Japanese town that my physics professor had shown us during a tutorial at Liverpool University. At the end of that footage, a wall of water had engulfed everything in its path.
“It’s going to come back big,” I shouted to everyone within earshot and then quickly moved inland to the foot of the hill, desperately encouraging others to do the same.
Suddenly, I heard screaming from the higher ground. With dread, I realised that my suspicions were right. I ran up the hill as hard as I could in my all-terrain flip-flops, holding my camera above my head to continue filming below. I could hear the roar of the wave behind me.
When I looked back, almost everything had been swept away. Those of us who had gathered on higher ground stood together and watched helplessly as yet another wave engulfed the once beautiful resort.
Encouraging others to pursue teaching
Following the disaster, my family and I remained in Thailand for a few days, trying to help out where we could. We witnessed the casualties and destruction at first hand, and I realised how truly lucky we were to have survived. Had it not been for the knowledge that my physics professor had passed on to me, my family could easily have been amongst those who remained in the path of the wave.
Having experienced all this, I decided to take up a career in teaching, so that I could pass on the skills that my professor had taught me. I was working as a plumber then, but after being told by a teacher friend that schools were crying out for physics teachers, I signed up for school-based training and, within four weeks, I was standing in front of a class.
That was more than 10 years ago and I have never looked back from teaching since. I even work as a representative of the Institute of Physics now, giving presentations to undergraduates to encourage them to consider teaching the subject. I reiterate how rewarding it can be - I usually do this by blowing something up or making them think “outside of the box”. However, I always finish my presentations by playing the footage that I recorded of the Boxing Day tsunami, with the final message: “Become a physics teacher and save lives!”
Russell Peters is a physics teacher at Brentwood Ursuline Convent High School in Essex
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