8
9
Film
Summer
2013
was told by a philandering friend
of mine that he’d forgotten howmany
women he’d kissed.Well, not “kissed”
exactly, but this is a school magazine
so we’d all better calm down, hands on
desks and behave. He may have lost track
of the number, but I bet he remembers his
first kiss. I’ll stick my neck out and say
we all do. Mine was with TraceyAtlas,
built as she sounds, just like in comic
books. The kiss itself was wet and slushy
and as clumsily executed as most 13 year
old kisses are, but if I close my eyes tight
I can still remember the indescribable
excitement that accompanied that first
foray into the unknown. Many “firsts” are
that memorable. First driving lesson, first
time travelling on a plane without parents,
first marriage…thinking about it, there are
firsts some people would prefer to forget.
I remembermy first day atMerchant
Taylors’ as if it were last week. Or I have
amemory of it thatmight not be entirely
accurate but will remain seared intomy
brain until that shrivelled organ switches off
for good. For instance, I remember sitting
cross-legged on the floor of the balcony of the
Great Hall with all the other newboys. But
if wewere on the floor howwouldwe have
been able to seewhat was happening below? I
remember sitting at our desks in alphabetical
order so that our formmaster, “Stumpy” J,
couldmake a reasonable stab at guessing
our names. I recently visited the school for
the first time in about thirty years andwas
told by one of the boys that hardly any of the
incumbent teachers had nicknames. I find this
hard to believe. Inmy day, I can only recall
two or threemasters (and it was onlymasters)
who didn’t sport an alias or bogus first name,
none of themparticularly pejorative (well I
suppose you couldmake a case for “Booby”
R and certainly “Piggy” B), but wornwith
weary pride by their owners and usedwith
almost affectionate nonchalance by every
boy. After all these years they still roll off the
tongue, their connotations lost in themists
of time: “Daddy” T, “Fanny”H, “Chuff” LR,
I
