The genesis of this event occurred on 23 May, when Michael P picked up on my tweet about my father going to vote in the European elections. Michael asked whether he'd sent his son to Gunnersbury; I then twigged that 1 September would be the fiftieth anniversary of us starting there, and so we got the ball rolling. Social media proved (LinkedIn particularly) invaluable in finding classmates. The result - almost 50% of our class - was far greater than either of us could have imagined as we mooted such a get-together.
The four Polish boys - Adam, Andy, Stan and myself, were all present, as were five out six of the Applied Mathematics A-Level class! A totally brilliant event - we met at 1pm and carried on drinking and eating until last orders - ten hours of solid catching up. In many cases, we'd not seen each other for 43 years; for some of us (who didn't stay on for A-levels) it was 45 years, so a lot of water under the bridge. We're all the same age (born in 1957-58); some of us have retired, quite a few grandfathers. Two have passed away (both from class 1/14).
Andy P. organised the venue, pulled the kitty together and got us all to do a potted history (in 100 seconds) of what we'd been up to since leaving school. A big thanks to Andy! So many different life stories after our paths diverged on leaving school in July 1976. Teachers (headmasters even), entrepreneurs, IT and pharma execs, accountants, a broad spectrum of professions.
What we all had in common was that we'd all had to pass the 11-plus exam, taken at the end of our time at primary school, which selected the brighter children for grammar school education. Grammar schools were coming to an end - the selective system that sent those with academic aptitude to different schools to those without (secondary modern schools) - was under reform. Selective secondary education would be replaced by comprehensive schools.
I think the verdict on comps is clear - it's a better outcome for society than an education system in which a single exam taken at the age of 11 decides your place in life. My brother, who started Gunnersbury five years after me, once it had become a comp, said that three boys from his year got into Oxbridge, compared to just one from my (grammar-school) year. Granted, there were bigger intakes per year at Gunnersbury Comprehensive, but even so, that's impressive. The selective system was introduced in England in 1945; by 1975 all but a few grammar schools had been converted into comprehensives. Some grammar schools survive to this day in a couple of dozen local education authorities that have held onto the old system.
It was great to get back together. A bit confusing at first, trying to identify 61 year-old men on the basis of how you remembered them from well over four decades ago; I couldn't recognise Lawrence D. who was sat next to me! Once the first pints had been downed, it was non-stop chat and lively banter.
One thing about selective grammar schools - we were all bright boys from relatively humble backgrounds; families that could not afford private-school fees. Thanks to grammar schools, most of us managed to make it on to university and fulfil our potential. So among us there were no privileged toffs. As a result, in none of the political conversations that I struck up over ten hours did I come across anyone that remotely supported Brexit.
So many memories - someone might remember something that I didn't; I'd remember a detail they didn't - but then there were those memories that everyone remembered. Like when the entire Upper Sixth was expelled from school just weeks before our A-Levels because none of us had attended some religious ceremony that we'd all understood as being voluntary. The school authorities were convinced that there had been a plot - there hadn't; each boy on his own decided to make better use of the time.
We could all recite Wordsworth's The Daffodils. And indeed, we did, bawling it out in the pub garden with no regard to the poem's aesthetic sensitivity, but word-perfectly nevertheless. However, I forgot that the next Wordsworth poem we were terrorised in to learning by heart was The Reaper. Not one line of that could I recall!
Below: Martyn J. runs the inter-house pub quiz. Four teams, one for each of the 1969 school houses, Bourne, Pole, Roche and Warren. Delighted that my team - Roche House - won (22 out of 25 questions right). Questions spanned current affairs, popular culture and sport from the early 1970s. Big thanks to the quizmaster!
"There was a real sense of close friendship and unity," wrote one participant, and I think that everyone present would echo that sentiment. The fact that so many of the Old Boys had come so far (from the USA even!) to be here yesterday suggested that there had been a strong latent need to gather and celebrate.
I think the verdict on comps is clear - it's a better outcome for society than an education system in which a single exam taken at the age of 11 decides your place in life. My brother, who started Gunnersbury five years after me, once it had become a comp, said that three boys from his year got into Oxbridge, compared to just one from my (grammar-school) year. Granted, there were bigger intakes per year at Gunnersbury Comprehensive, but even so, that's impressive. The selective system was introduced in England in 1945; by 1975 all but a few grammar schools had been converted into comprehensives. Some grammar schools survive to this day in a couple of dozen local education authorities that have held onto the old system.
It was great to get back together. A bit confusing at first, trying to identify 61 year-old men on the basis of how you remembered them from well over four decades ago; I couldn't recognise Lawrence D. who was sat next to me! Once the first pints had been downed, it was non-stop chat and lively banter.
One thing about selective grammar schools - we were all bright boys from relatively humble backgrounds; families that could not afford private-school fees. Thanks to grammar schools, most of us managed to make it on to university and fulfil our potential. So among us there were no privileged toffs. As a result, in none of the political conversations that I struck up over ten hours did I come across anyone that remotely supported Brexit.
So many memories - someone might remember something that I didn't; I'd remember a detail they didn't - but then there were those memories that everyone remembered. Like when the entire Upper Sixth was expelled from school just weeks before our A-Levels because none of us had attended some religious ceremony that we'd all understood as being voluntary. The school authorities were convinced that there had been a plot - there hadn't; each boy on his own decided to make better use of the time.
We could all recite Wordsworth's The Daffodils. And indeed, we did, bawling it out in the pub garden with no regard to the poem's aesthetic sensitivity, but word-perfectly nevertheless. However, I forgot that the next Wordsworth poem we were terrorised in to learning by heart was The Reaper. Not one line of that could I recall!
Below: Martyn J. runs the inter-house pub quiz. Four teams, one for each of the 1969 school houses, Bourne, Pole, Roche and Warren. Delighted that my team - Roche House - won (22 out of 25 questions right). Questions spanned current affairs, popular culture and sport from the early 1970s. Big thanks to the quizmaster!
"There was a real sense of close friendship and unity," wrote one participant, and I think that everyone present would echo that sentiment. The fact that so many of the Old Boys had come so far (from the USA even!) to be here yesterday suggested that there had been a strong latent need to gather and celebrate.
And who was the mystery man in the trilby hat, quite a bit older than us... turns out it's Mr Crook, our English teacher in the fifth and sixth forms! An excellent surprise organised by Paul T. and David C.
A ton of emails from participants suggests that this reunion might well be the first of many in years to come - it should not be too long before the next one!
This time two years ago:
All things visible and invisible
This time four years ago:
Work starts on Warsaw-Radom rail modernisation
This time five years ago:
Won't be long 'til summertime is through
This time seven years ago:
It was a good year for the apples
This time nine years ago:
Early-September moan about the commuting
Oh yes - the Daffodils!
ReplyDeleteI learnt them on my own in 1993 from Anastasia Krupnik and somehow decided Wordsworth was my favourite poet that year.
Happy days, or perhaps not. Not always. Every copy of The Reaper had been amended to read The Raper, with the e blotted out. I can still hear Scratch saying 'it's the Reaper. Not the Raper'. If there is another reunion let me know. All the best to all!
ReplyDeleteHaha! By an act of Jungian synchronicity, I was thinking of John Harman and hour ago: playing tomorrow at the Warsaw Old Town Jazz Festival are the John Arman Organ Trio.
ReplyDelete