Dear Diary (and a few very special friends)
Friday. Busy planning arrangements for weekend: miss voluntary Communion, where Chaplain makes a farewell speech.
Saturday. Busy weekend. New boys. Old boys. Thanksgiving Service. Chaplain makes a farewell speech.
Sunday. Up early to deal with minibus taking boys gliding. Good weather. Finish report writing. Lesley helps proof-read other reports. Not all colleagues have practised spelling practice. Compline: Chaplain hints at farewell speech.
Monday. Busy planning Tuesday. Something’s missing about today. Chairman of Governors makes a farewell speech. Small but welcome pay rise, but we must work harder.
Tuesday. Final school assembly. Chaplain’s farewell speech includes delightful song. Final school communion. Chaplain makes a farewell speech. Later, some sport. House party. I make a speech. Head of House makes a good speech: three sentences, backed with a bottle of Laphroig and a painting, signed by all the leavers. They don’t make speeches.
2330 Boys B and H found making not speeches but noise. B raided H’s dorm. H retaliated. I make a short, rather loud speech, ending: “ See me at seven tomorrow morning.”
Midnight. More dorm raids. Quelled. Join colleagues (and two lurchers) for midnight patrol. A chance to work harder.
0030: Patrolling smokers’ corner in Churchyard. Quiet as the … stop it. Getting late.
0040. Great Hall. Quiet. But wait: stealthy footsteps overhead. Someone coming down the Skipwith staircase, can’t conceal a soft creak. Catch Alex’s eye. This is all worthwhile. Tiptoe to the door, round the corner – a shadow by the landing window: two torch beams stab the velvet of the night …. Hello Mr Dix. All quiet with you ?
0100. Lurchers have only put up five rabbits and a baby owl. We hand over to the next shift. Back to Burr. A few lovely sixth formers (including the one Cause for Concern) are chatting quietly in their rooms on the top landing.
0130 Bid them good night. What a wonderful job this is. To bed, happy.
0510 Doorbell rings. Medical emergency ? Was I right to leave the cooking of burgers to Q and M ? Is there mass vomiting on the middle landing ? Grab dressing gown, downstairs to door. It is boys B and H. “What’s the problem boys ?”
“You told us to report at 7 sir.”
Start to doubt own awareness of time, despite bedside clock and wristwatch tuned to standard time radio transmission and accurate to one second in a million years. Wish I’d put my specs on as well as dressing gown.
“Let’s look at this clock, boys. What time does it say”.
“Er….”
Perhaps should have asked on sport. No - here’s an answer. “Five o’clock Sir.”
“Then why …. ?”
“The one on the landing says seven … although Louis’ alarm clock did say five as well, now you mention it. ”
What would the Chaplain say ? In ten years I have heard him use the F word once, only, when badly let down. Boy B plainly meant well. I make a short speech. The boys go back to bed. I try. Sleep eludes.
The Chaplain would look on the bright side. Of course: delight ! Both were wearing white shirts, ties to the waist, belts and clean shoes. What a wonderful job this is.
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