January is often a time for reflection. Many of us look back at the year that’s passed or think about our hopes for the year ahead. This year, my reflections were prompted not only by the change of the calendar but by the events unfolding in the world around us. 

The devastating fires in Los Angeles were a stark reminder of the power of nature - something we've also experienced here in the UK with the recent storms. Watching the news from LA, I was struck by the stories of people forced to evacuate their homes, often not knowing if they would ever return. Whilst some had prepared for the practicalities - documents, passports, and essentials - the emotional challenge of leaving their homes, possibly for the last time, was far harder to prepare for. 

It reminded me of an email I received several years ago from a parent whose family lost their home in a fire. Within hours, everything they owned was gone. In that immediate moment, all we could do was provide a replacement school uniform so their child could return to school and feel a sense of normality amidst the chaos. Replacing the uniform was simple, but while trying to offer as much help as possible the reality hit that so much of what was lost was irreplaceable. 

Every year, millions of people around the world are forced to flee their homes - not because of fires or storms but because of war, persecution, or violence. The UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR), established by the United Nations in 1950, works to save lives, protect rights, and build a better future for people who have been displaced by conflict and persecution. 

A poignant project from UNHCR is The Most Important Thing, a seven-year collaboration with photographer Brian Sokol. Through portraits and interviews, this project reveals the deeply personal stories about the decisions refugee families make when forced to flee their homes, particularly the items they choose to take with them. 

These stories are incredibly powerful. Omar, a refugee in Iraq, brought a buzuq - a long-necked lute. Playing it gives him a sense of nostalgia and relief, reminding him of his homeland. Elizabeth, who fled war in Angola over 50 years ago, brought her Bible, a gift from her pastor on the day of her baptism. For her, it provides strength and hope. Iman, who escaped Aleppo with her two children, brought her Koran, saying, “As long as I have it with me, I’m connected to God.”  

These items may be small and often without monetary value, but they are deeply meaningful. They represent memories, culture, faith, and hope.  

Hearing these stories made me think about the wildfires in LA and the choices people made as they evacuated. One person took a card her grandmother had written to her on her 9th birthday - the only tangible memory she had left of her beloved relative. Another chose a snow globe she’d received at a childhood birthday party, containing a picture of her and her best friend.  

It also made me think about my myself and what items I might take in such a situation. For me it would be a painting created by my grandmother, as well as a piece of art painted for me when I left my first headship at Dunottar School. I’d also take the feather wrap I wore on my wedding day, something I spoke about during my Assembly on fast fashion last year. These things don't hold much monetary value, but they are tied to important memories of people, places, and moments in time. 

I asked our students to take a moment to reflect on what would they take if they had to pack up their life in an instant. What objects hold their memories, their sense of identity, and connection to the people and places they love?  It’s a powerful reminder that the things we value most often aren’t things at all - but the stories and emotions they carry, leaving them with a question: What matters most?  

Rowena Cole, Head Mistress