We’re incredibly proud of our alumni continuing to reach for the sun and who, in doing so, have become hugely successful in a wide range of fields. From Old Dragons playing for England like Maia Bouchier (OD 2012), and making life-saving apps like Michael Dent (OD 2002), to our Junior Old Dragons making a difference, such as Anya Katanyutanon (OD 2021) who presented her research findings at the World Conference on Public Health (WCPH).
The latest feature in our Diversity of Dragons series highlights Christina Kirkham (OD 2012) whose story is shaped by curiosity, creativity and the quiet courage of saying yes. What began as learning to see the world differently has become a career dedicated to shaping how others experience it.
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I arrived at the Dragon with an uncompromising bob that sat on my head like an unhappy gerbil. To my schadenfreudeian delight I was not alone. Another girl marched in with the very same unhappy creature clinging to her scalp. Thank the relevant deity for that small mercy. Our eyes met and a lifelong friendship took shape in that instant. What could have been unravelled years later in the cold clarity of a therapist’s office has instead become one of the great shared jokes in the canon of our lives.
From the start, traditional academics and I did not always move in perfect harmony. Letters slipped about, sentences misbehaved and reading felt like climbing a hill whose summit kept shifting. Dyslexia has many polite explanations, but for me it simply meant that the world arrived in a slightly different order. The Dragon never asked me to contort myself into a ready-made mould. Instead it shaped the mould around me. It honoured individuality, encouraged curiosity and invited me to see the world through my own lens.
That freedom was quietly revolutionary. It gave me confidence long before I had the language to explain it. In the classroom I gravitated towards Art, Drama, English and History, subjects that opened windows rather than closing them. Those windows were often thrown wide open by teachers who delighted in revealing the hidden corners of the world. Mr Murchie, the Drama teacher, showed us how to conjure the ineffable from thin air, how to step into a character and build an entirely new world with nothing more than breath, imagination and intention.
Mr Thorpe, with his rather distinctive cry of “heave ho” bouncing across the pool at dawn, taught me discipline and courage and the quiet pride that comes from pushing through resistance. (I am certain many young Dragons can still hear that cry ringing in their ears as they read this, accompanied by the unmistakable weight of half a Mars Bar sinking in their stomachs.) Mr Pockley, in Religious Studies, ushering us into landscapes of myth, belief, and meaning, reminding us that humanity expresses itself in many rich and varied ways. Each of them expanding the borders of my imagination.
Drama became a world unto itself. I had performed before, but my turn as Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Earnest remains one of my most vivid memories. There was an irresistible delight in delivering, “A handbag?” with full theatrical force. That single line stayed with me long after the curtain fell. Maybe it was the genius of Oscar Wilde, but it revealed something essential about atmosphere, timing and the emotional architecture of storytelling.
“The Dragon feels less like a school and more like an early landscape of possibility.”
These lessons now anchor my work in exhibition-making, cultural programming, and large-scale performance. Outside the classroom I lived in the water. Early mornings found me slicing through cold blue, each lap a quiet declaration of determination. Boarding life added its own education. Whispered confidences after lights out, laughter drifting through corridors and the legendary chocolate toast that could mend almost any sorrow.
Even now I can close my eyes and summon the scent of Christina Kirkham (OD 2007-2012), summer fields, the hum of games and the babbling River Cherwell drifting hazily across the afternoon light. There were challenges, steep ones, but the Dragon made them feel navigable. With extra handwriting lessons, patient teachers and steady encouragement, difficulty slowly became terrain rather than obstruction.
Mr Scott, in particular, guided me with a quiet conviction that I could aim higher than I believed. His belief became a compass that stayed with me long after I left. That determination carried me, somewhat ironically, to an A* in A Level Literature, once an unimaginable achievement, and then across the ocean to Washington, DC, where I studied Literature and Art History and began to understand how stories, objects and ideas move across cultures and shape the way we see the world. During Covid, I took a course called Buddhist Arts of Asia, taught online in the strange stillness of that time, and found myself transported back to the top-floor sunlit room of Mr Pockley’s classroom, where he opened entire worlds with a quiet reverence that made every idea feel luminous. In that moment, something shifted. I did not feel that anything was missing or that I had to work harder than others to grasp what was in front of me. Art simply made sense. It fell into place with the natural ease of water rushing down a hill, gathering speed and purpose as it went. That quiet understanding became a fascination, then a direction and finally a decision to move fully into the visual arts.
From there, I pursued a Masters degree in Art History and Museum Management at the Sorbonne in Abu Dhabi. My path has taken me to the Musée d’Orsay to research Nazi-looted art and now to the United Arab Emirates, where my work in the cultural sector spans exhibition-making, curatorial writing, cultural programming and the orchestration of large-scale artistic events. I am based between Abu Dhabi and Dubai, working closely with the extraordinary teams at Expo City Dubai. Whether I am helping craft the International Council of Museums 2025 Opening Performance for an audience of thousands, shaping the brand new House of Arts Gallery, or contributing to the evolving vision of the sculptural light festival Dhai Dubai, I can trace a clear line back to those early classroom windows that the Dragon opened for me and the confidence it unleashed.
Looking back, the Dragon feels less like a school and more like an early landscape of possibility. It taught me that creativity is a strength, that resilience grows quietly, that humour softens the sharpest days and that the world expands when you meet it with curiosity and imagination. It allowed me to grow on my own terms and prepared me for a life shaped by stories and culture and the joy of building experiences for others.
From matching bobs to treasured friendships, from swimming lanes guided by the unmistakable “heave ho” to triumphant lines on the stage, the Dragon gave me the courage to step into the world and the imagination to shape my place within it, and for that, I will always be thankful.
Christina Kirkham (OD 2012)
Let us know what you’ve been up to since your Dragon Days, we’d love to share your story.
