Peacefully, on 13th January 2024, with family by his side. Loved and loving husband to Sally and deeply loved by his children David, Alex, Adam, Bethany and Fraser. Cherished by their partners Agnes, Kitty, Kate, Ian and Megan. Adored by his grandchildren Alfie, Isla and Elias. He will be sorely missed. Private funeral as per his wishes. Donations in lieu of flowers to Guernsey Kidney Patients Association or St. John Ambulance Patient Transfer service.
First published in the Guernsey Press on 16/01/2024.
I've spent a surprising amount of time these last 3 decades in musing over, and caring about, what this clever, kind middle-aged man would think of my decisions and behaviour. You see, Mr Miller was one of the first people to recognise what a lost, low, and desperately unhappy child I was when I arrived at Secondary School (fresh off the back of falling my 11+ and "letting myself and everyone down", and his actions, and his Pastoral leadership at LMDC Secondary School, enabled me (and plenty like me) to gradually learn to love learning again, build confidence, and earn great qualifications and opportunities.
This wasn't always easy - I was broken and hard to help, obstinate, headstrong - (masking my deep fear, and conflicting with my rock-bottom self-esteem) and my school was filled with kids in similar straits who had been let down by a horrible system. One of Mr Miller's tasks (and I must say one admirably taken on by his many dedicated steadfast colleagues in the LMDC team) was to rebuild that esteem and teach us the way we needed to be taught, and my goodness they were extremely skilled in doing so! Especially considering it was 3 decades ago! It's only as an adult working in UK education that I see what a comparatively amazing, patient, skillful team my own teachers were to keep such a disparate array of learners steadily and surely moving forward despite our many challenging behaviours.
Mr Miller's style was different, at times eccentric, and truly progressive. He took novel ideas, interesting questions, and crafted his lessons and assemblies around them in ways that evoked curiosity in even the hardest to reach students. He didn't often need to call for quiet, we were hooked on the seemingly endless flow of ideas and concepts he brought to us, no one was bored so he was infrequently interrupted.
Of course, he wasn't faultless, but he had the humility to apologise when he got things wrong, and he truly listened to the thoughts and opinions of his pupils. If you were sent to the Head, and that day Mr Miller was in charge, you knew you were not only going to get a fair hearing, you'd also likely and come out of your meeting with a better understanding of yourself and the whole situation. Mr Miller was compassionate and thoughtful, and he had time for the most difficult child, enabling them to be the very best version of themselves.
As I grew through Secondary School I became close to his son - in the way Guernsey people link in unexpected ways - and I guess Mr Miller and his lovely wife noticed I was falling to eat and starting what eventually became Anorexia. They would insist on having me over, feeding me dinner, even driving me home with a car full of family, they were some of the kindest adults I ever met, and they and their kids often felt like my extended family.
When I went to university it was with the aim of becoming the kind of teacher Mr Miller had been, to teach children to have curiosity, and to essentially "Save" the different, weird, oddball children like I had been, and help them see their own potential and become confident and capable. I wanted to give back what I had been given, (and once I realised that caring, eccentric, psychological teaching path was no longer achievable in a National-Curriculum test-orientated Ofsted-driven world) I started making the steady slog towards Educational Psychology. I must admit that among my lofty goals was that I'd be on a visit to see them one Summer day, PhD under my belt, and tell Mr Miller earnestly how it was him who inspired me so much, and that I was carrying on his work, and feel a how of pride but also demonstrate how truly it had moved me to want to do better for kids like the ones he cared so deeply for. I wanted to show I was paying forward, because I am so very grateful for all they had done for me, so thankful to have had them in my life, and so appreciative of the hard work they put into helping me.
I feel awful that I never told him in his lifetime quite how much he meant to me, and how critically his outlook affected me. Despite his illness I always felt there would be time, he had always been there and always would - something like a degenerative illness couldn't possibly conquer someone with such strength of spirit. It felt like reaching out would signal that I thought it was the end, and truthfully I couldn't but bury my head in the sand to avoid acknowledging that a hero of mine was frail and sick.
Now he is gone, and I'm devastated for Sally-Anne, David, Alex, Adam, Beth, Fraser, and all their other halves and children, and I'm gutted for anyone who knew and loved him. Through his example I can't help keep on striving and caring for tricky, marginalised, awkward, challenged and challenging kids, just the way he did for all of the kids he worked with, because his example showed me that every kid deserves compassion and a great education, and that this truly matters.
Thank you so much for everything, you made my world a very different place.
Bekki Le Prevost
I've spent a surprising amount of time these last 3 decades in musing over, and caring about, what this clever, kind middle-aged man would think of my decisions and behaviour. You see, Mr Miller was one of the first people to recognise what a lost, low, and desperately unhappy child I was when I arrived at Secondary School (fresh off the back of falling my 11+ and "letting myself and everyone down", and his actions, and his Pastoral leadership at LMDC Secondary School, enabled me (and plenty like me) to gradually learn to love learning again, build confidence, and earn great qualifications and opportunities.
This wasn't always easy - I was broken and hard to help, obstinate, headstrong - (masking my deep fear, and conflicting with my rock-bottom self-esteem) and my school was filled with kids in similar straits who had been let down by a horrible system. One of Mr Miller's tasks (and I must say one admirably taken on by his many dedicated steadfast colleagues in the LMDC team) was to rebuild that esteem and teach us the way we needed to be taught, and my goodness they were extremely skilled in doing so! Especially considering it was 3 decades ago! It's only as an adult working in UK education that I see what a comparatively amazing, patient, skillful team my own teachers were to keep such a disparate array of learners steadily and surely moving forward despite our many challenging behaviours.
Mr Miller's style was different, at times eccentric, and truly progressive. He took novel ideas, interesting questions, and crafted his lessons and assemblies around them in ways that evoked curiosity in even the hardest to reach students. He didn't often need to call for quiet, we were hooked on the seemingly endless flow of ideas and concepts he brought to us, no one was bored so he was infrequently interrupted.
Of course, he wasn't faultless, but he had the humility to apologise when he got things wrong, and he truly listened to the thoughts and opinions of his pupils. If you were sent to the Head, and that day Mr Miller was in charge, you knew you were not only going to get a fair hearing, you'd also likely and come out of your meeting with a better understanding of yourself and the whole situation. Mr Miller was compassionate and thoughtful, and he had time for the most difficult child, enabling them to be the very best version of themselves.
As I grew through Secondary School I became close to his son - in the way Guernsey people link in unexpected ways - and I guess Mr Miller and his lovely wife noticed I was falling to eat and starting what eventually became Anorexia. They would insist on having me over, feeding me dinner, even driving me home with a car full of family, they were some of the kindest adults I ever met, and they and their kids often felt like my extended family.
When I went to university it was with the aim of becoming the kind of teacher Mr Miller had been, to teach children to have curiosity, and to essentially "Save" the different, weird, oddball children like I had been, and help them see their own potential and become confident and capable. I wanted to give back what I had been given, (and once I realised that caring, eccentric, psychological teaching path was no longer achievable in a National-Curriculum test-orientated Ofsted-driven world) I started making the steady slog towards Educational Psychology. I must admit that among my lofty goals was that I'd be on a visit to see them one Summer day, PhD under my belt, and tell Mr Miller earnestly how it was him who inspired me so much, and that I was carrying on his work, and feel a how of pride but also demonstrate how truly it had moved me to want to do better for kids like the ones he cared so deeply for. I wanted to show I was paying forward, because I am so very grateful for all they had done for me, so thankful to have had them in my life, and so appreciative of the hard work they put into helping me.
I feel awful that I never told him in his lifetime quite how much he meant to me, and how critically his outlook affected me. Despite his illness I always felt there would be time, he had always been there and always would - something like a degenerative illness couldn't possibly conquer someone with such strength of spirit. It felt like reaching out would signal that I thought it was the end, and truthfully I couldn't but bury my head in the sand to avoid acknowledging that a hero of mine was frail and sick.
Now he is gone, and I'm devastated for Sally-Anne, David, Alex, Adam, Beth, Fraser, and all their other halves and children, and I'm gutted for anyone who knew and loved him. Through his example I can't help keep on striving and caring for tricky, marginalised, awkward, challenged and challenging kids, just the way he did for all of the kids he worked with, because his example showed me that every kid deserves compassion and a great education, and that this truly matters.
Thank you so much for everything, you made my world a very different place.
Bekki Le Prevost
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