House Notes

"Sehenswurdigkeit". This long, impressive word means simply "a place of interest", and Munster contains its fair share of these.

The streets and the old part of the town, restored to their original forms after the last war, are very beautiful. Strolling up to the cobbled Prinzipalmarkt you reach the second most important church in the town, the Lambertikirche, rising above the attractive square of Lambertusbrunnen. In the Prinzipalmarkt itself, flanked by majestic gable-fronted buildings hung with flower baskets, is the Rathaus. This Town Hall, dating from 1335, is filled with elegant and priceless furniture.

Shopping in the town is a delight — if you have plenty of money. But window-shopping is still very pleasant, for the shops are clean and tidy, and filled with those expensive things that you like to dream about having.

This area of Germany has its own equivalent of France's Chateaux in the Loire Valley, and although not so famous they are still magnificent. These Wasserschlossen, then, are beautiful castles, jewels of architecture, reposing in lakes of silver, and bathed in the light of the sun setting and reddening in the west, they made an unforgettable sight.

I love eating — it's my hobby — so my trip was a marvellous opportunity to sample the cooking of another country. In the house I was staying at I found the meals good, simple, and not vastly different from English food in what was eaten but in how it was eaten. The beautiful rich cakes, "Kuchen", eaten at the five o'clock meal "Kaffeetrinken", I found best, and also the bewildering numbers of sausage meat, known there as "Aufschnitt"; this is available in England in limited and boring varieties, and is no match for the real thing. They also consume a lot more yoghurt and ice-cream than we do, all in more varied and beautiful flavours.

In the whole of my stay there, I tasted nothing that I didn't like, and yet found myself in a difficult situation. I was frequently asked, either by my hostess or any other people we visited, whether I had liked the meal or not. And I would reply, in all honesty, that yes, I had. But because this was always the case, everyone eventually came to disbelieve me. They'd say: "Well, what else can he say, he thinks he's being rude if he says no!" So despite violent protestations on my part, this difficult matter became something of a standing joke at any meal if a new dish was tentatively passed for me to sample.

I left Munster on a sunny Tuesday morning, hoping for a comfortable return journey. Back home, dragging my suitcase up the familiar staircase, the lights of Ostend disappearing over the horizon came to mind. With them, I thought, had gone all my new and different experiences abroad. Filled with a great sadness at having left, I had to think of something comforting and true. There'll be plenty of opportunity to go back, to do the same and new things. There's nothing like going abroad. And besides. You can't learn a language in the classroom.

DRONFIELD

Autumn

At the beginning of the Christmas Term we welcomed into the House eleven new junior members. We also welcomed Mr. P. Taylor who became our Assistant Housemaster along with Mr. D. H. Hamilton.

The athletics programme was upon us immediately and although we brought up the rear on Sports Day it was not through lack of effort, with Andrew Stubbs gaining over half our entire points, winning both the Junior High Jump and the Junior too metres.

Some impressive prizes were won on Speech Day by members of the House, the most notable being the Paddy Power Prize won by Terence Wall- 61

head — a prize given not to those who excel in the major sports and activities, but to those who do the more mundane jobs which are so essential to the running of all these other activities. Other prize winners were Guy Norman, Peter Davies and Milo Sweetman.

In the Senior House rugby this year we lost to a potentially stronger side, School House, however, we certainly put up quite a creditable opposition against them, captained by Julian Guy.

The Middle VI also presented a week of Chapel Services this term which showed how the year could really produce something of worth and standing outside the classroom. While on the subject of extra-curricular activities, Dronfield produced a very good supporting team for the school play this year Heil Ceasar, namely Julian Guy, Guy Norman and Katherine Stancer — this play was one of the best plays put on by the School in the versatile Drama Centre.

Musically, the House was well represented with twelve members taking part in the St. Cecilia's Concert in both the wind band and the choir. It was also very pleasing to see over half the house in the audience for the "Carols for All Concert" at the end of the term.

Spring

The term, although the shortest of the three, produced some excellent results from members of the House. Guy Norman organised a Sponsored Walk in aid of The World Wild Life Fund, an activity which at St. Peter's has never caught on. The course was around the school buildings, each lap being about one-third of a mile. Although approximately 3o people took part many people completed over 5o laps and were well sponsored from boys in the school. Consequently, the amount raised was a staggering £3oo. In all an excellent effort on behalf of the House.

Musically, the term was extremely full with five Concerts in all. A proportion 53% of the House were involved in these Concerts, quite a respectable percentage in comparison with other Houses. It is particularly pleasing to see young members putting in an effort, Charles Allen, for example, who recently passed Grade I Violin with Merit.

On the sporting side this year our best performance was seen in the Swimming Gala right at the end of term with the School Captain of Swimming, Charles Walker, leading quite a strong senior team but a much weaker junior team to come a creditable 5th place overall. In the House Cross Country this year Dronfield — to use an old phrase — "came last but not least".

Another increasingly important Sport which took place this term was Hockey — Andrew Precious, the School Captain of Hockey and a very notable all-round sportsman, received a hockey stick at the end of term and his Hockey Colours which were also awarded to Julian Guy and Ben Siew Yeo.

Another excellent effort this term was the House Play, "Three Bears and a Couple of Dwarves" performed by well over half the House and written completely by members of the House in the Dronfield tradition which has in the past, and did on this occasion, achieve great success in the eyes and ears of most people — it was produced by Julian Guy and Guy Norman who put much effort into an initially shaky script giving the cast confidence to perform it.

Finally, at the very end of term the House Art Competition produced some splendid results from Dronfield. We came second overall. Those involved were: Jeremy Hicks, Ben Siew Yeo, Clive Broadbent and Gary Oates.

Summer

Despite some depressing weather this term, many members of the House took part in activities sporting or otherwise. Perhaps our most outstanding victory was the winning of the Senior cricket cup under the captaincy of Chris Stubbs, a victory which had in the past three years been so near and on

this occasion was easily won in a final against Grove. The Junior team did not do quite as well, although the captain Andy Stubbs scored a century in the first round.

The House shooting cup was also won under Clive Broadbent with David Sweetman winning the individual U.16 shooting cup. Congratulations must also go to Jonathan Cooper who received his rowing cup and to Simon Bradbury for his third form prize.

House Colours were awarded this term to, in the seniors, P. V. Aagaard, C. Stubbs, T. Wallhead, A. M. Precious and in the juniors, A. Jewitt and J. Hirst.

Musically Clive Broadbent excelled, winning the senior music prize, playing the organ in the St. Peter's procession in York Minster and in the Waine Award concert.

Julian Guy presented another week of chapel services with the help of other members of the year. Bradley Say, a IVth former, also took a service.

The Middle School play, Journey's End organised and directed by members of the IVth form unearthed acting talents from Dronfield, namely Andy Stubbs, Richard Venable, Richard Norman, Andrew Paterson and Bradley Say who fitted his part as Colonel extremely well.

In the Inter-House rowing competition the House won the senior class with Terry Wallhead winning the open sculls. As a result the House lost the Oxford Cup by only 5 points.

Overall the House has had an excellent year winning the senior cricket, the shooting and the rowing. Many individuals have also contributed much throughout the House and the School making for a pleasant year. Paul Aagaard.

GROVE

Autumn

At the start of the term we welcomed Mr. Drysdale to the House as Assistant Housemaster. We were also pleased to see the return of John Abbott (as Head of School) and Dennis Burton for their term in the Upper VI.

Despite some good performances in the Athletics Standards (Juniors Robert Ellerker and James Procter showed promise and Timothy Kaner and Jonathan Simpson also gained high scores) we could only manage sixth place and did not better this position on Sports Day. Individual performances worthy of mention were: James Orange-Bromehead (second, javelin), Matthew Sellers (second, 800m), Graham Cole (first, long jump), Timothy Kaner, David Kaner, Jonathan Simpson and Jonathan Wright also gained useful points. With a little more effort from some members of the House, we should hope to improve our positions next year.

If talent was perhaps a little lacking in the Senior House rugby team, enthusiasm was not and we fought well, !osing narrowly 8-4 to the Rise in the first round. Richard Liddle was the scorer of our only try. James Gair, a 1st XV player and the appointed captain of our team, was unable to play due to injury but remained in charge of his side adopting the role of cocah. David Gardner replaced him as captain on the field.

The House was well represented in non-sporting activities throughout the term; we had several boys in the choir and were well represented musically with Andrew Hjort, James Bowden and Adam Stone performing in School Concerts whilst the more senior Grove House sextet consisted of Christopher Bronk, Rupert Brown, Stephen Mawby, Lawrence Bleasdale (strings), Robin Jones (piano) and David Kaner (solo violin).

It was also pleasing to see many members of the House taking part in the School play, Heil Caesar. Mandy Rigby and Christopher Bronk both had major roles whilst Stephen Mawby, Mark Lodge and Rupert Brown also took part and Lawrence Bleasdale was important in special effects backstage. 63

During the course of the term David Kaner was appointed a School Monitor.

Easter

We returned with the most welcome news of Oxbridge successes. Congratulations to Dennis Burton on gaining a place at Worcester College, Oxford, to read Economics; also to Christopher Bronk on his remarkable achievement during fourth term in gaining a post-mastership (Scholarship) to Merton College, Oxford, to read Physics and to Mandy Rigby on winning an Exhibition to Lincoln College, Oxford, to read Mathematics (also during fourth term).

Academically there were further successes at the start of the term with both Rupert Brown and Timothy Kaner gaining General Knowledge prizes. This represented Rupert's fourth General Knowledge prize since his entry into the Senior School.

On the sports field we were unfortunately unable to match our academic prowess. Although we were unsuccessful in the squash competition, James Bowden showed some strength and should prove a valuable House and School squash player in the future.

The Juniors lost narrowly in the first round of the House rugby and managed fifth place overall in the cross country in which James Procter achieved a creditable ninth place. In the Senior cross country the captain, Jonathan Wright, managed a commendable sixth place.

There was little to rejoice over in the House swimming competition. The team of Grove finalists consisted mainly of the Gair and Kaner families! Needless to say, they were responsible for gaining almost all our points. David Kaner and Robert Gair each gained a third and a fourth place and David Carr swam well to achieve second place in the Junior butterfly.

Finally, on the sports side, we are grateful to David Gardner for his efforts in the five-a-side soccer over this and last term.

In the House art competition we were unlucky not to gain any distinction; some of the work displayed was quite excellent and many thanks to Helen Batty for her organisation of the House effort.

Towards the end of the term, we enjoyed a most amusing House play, The Lady From Maxims. Mandy Rigby, the producer and "star of the show" caused quite a stir with her costume and it took the full house some time to recover from the impact of her first appearance. David Kaner and Christopher Bronk acted out their roles very well and the previously undiscovered Rupert Brown was most popular with the audience. We again thank Charlotte Semple (a pupil at York College for Girls) for her help and part in the play.

At the end of the term David Kaner, Christopher Bronk, Rupert Brown and Mandy Rigby were awarded their House Colours for their services to the House, particularly in acting and music.

Summer

The first major sporting event of the Summer term was the Senior House cricket and the excellent performance by the House against Rise took us to the final of the competition. There was some very good batting (Jonathan Simpson 97, Jonathan Wright 47, Richard Liddle 39) helping the Grove along to their score of 218 for the loss of five wickets. Rise in reply made 145. Richard Kirby should be commended on some excellent bowling. We were, however, unable to beat Dronfield in the final. Grove batted first making 71-9 and Dronfield won by six wickets.

In the Junior cricket we again fell to Dronfield making only 34 runs in reply to a Dronfield innings of 161.

On the cricket field there was individual success for Jonathan Simpson and we congratulate him on winning the Young Fast Bowler for Yorkshire

POETRY COMPETITION

The Peterite organised a Poetry Competition in the Summer term. The standard of entries was high and the choice of the outright winner was difficult. The first three poems published are in order of merit. Thanks must go to all who submitted entries.

A First Love Poem

Misty dawn lies grey, A blanket on a pillow of green, As the sleepy air hangs sharp And cold, as I hold You close and warm. Soft breath moves, gently soothing, Lightly cooling.

The mist soon clears from the Hollows of forget-me-nots, As orange burns The grey away. This is the dawn, Ours is the day; My night was banished, the day we met — Our Sun, risen, Will never set.

I love you, too. Christopher Ashurst.

Cui Bono ?

I just can not do any more Latin. I can not face it with an aequo animo. I've had it a.m. and p.m., Ad nauseam, ad infinitum . . . urn . . . urn . . . i . . . o . . . o .. . And when all the ablative absolutes Have been worked out, There's still verbs to decline, decline, declines, etc. All I want is some peace and quies. Who says it's a "sine qua non ?" Who wants that wretched 'A' level, '0' level, Of 'A' level, for 'A' level, by 'A' level ? Some exist, who enjoy Latin (De gustibus non est disputandum): But, Ye Gods, I cannot get it right — All this apposition, allusiveness, assonance and alliteration! Ceteris paribus I might have succeeded But order wrong the words in the are! After all, humanum est errare: Even if laborare est orare, I don't care. I may be an Oxymoron, but .. . FORTUNA FAVET FATUIS!

So close I could reach out and touch it. Beauty Rich dark exotic unexplored, A wealth of undiscovered Love. Light not yet lit Cold black coals of inexperience Not knowing what is lacking Wanting Missing Needed. Fires and desires of the Hunters of the lucky casket but also Of the poor Venetian too but Beauty remains virgin Aloof unexplored untouched. Cold.

So close Beauty right in front of me On the other side of a Broad Endlessly deep Chasm. Ugly black scar defensive Forbidding Viscous black welt Dividing paths of nature Defying resisting laws of Nature. Substance unknown to either of us Not mortal or immortal but There. Existing As nothing by nothing like A wall so invisible It cannot be seen through. It blocks. A chasm of intangible reality Emptiness hollowness black blank Despair. And beauty Far away across endless black space.

So close I could reach out and Touch it.

Warren Carr.

No More War

"No more war, no more arms, no more pacts". Said the politician, looking at the facts, "The build up of arms leads to war. We cannot ignore that fact, anymore". (Loud applause from the floor.) "Fear provokes fear". This is what they wanted to hear. But they didn't hear the rumbling of the tanks. As they gave the speaker their whole-hearted thanks. Nor the roaring of the planes, overhead, As the demonstration march went ahead Through Hyde Park and to Parliament, hand in hand with each other. Is it any wonder they were surprised to discover The Kremlin there instead ?

Mark Simpson.

The Birthday

I tell one: he says "Yes, I already knew". I tell another, "Oh, yes. I thought it was yesterday". Another wishes me many happy returns I thank him But he goes on to talk of "bumps". Another says, "Great, we'll sing 'Happy Birthday' in tea". But that doesn't work (not enough people). The fifth shakes me by the hand (but he's on three's side) The last says "Oh" and delves Deep into his all-powerful memory And finds he knew already But he won't admit it, so he shuts up. Then I tell myself And I say Does it matter ? No-one understands or knows Exactly what to do. They're undecided Perhaps feeling childish mentioning bumps but too adult saying "Happy Birthday". Birthdays shouldn't be forgotten.

Richard Venable.

The Whale

Once the studious elegant beast of the seas, devouring the silver coloured cryll, gliding through aimless water, is now reduced to a mass of flesh, severed in many places. The blood polluting the sea, from a harpoon gun. An animal now gasping for survival through its blow-hole, no longer plentious, but rare and shy, afraid of its enemy, man and greed. The result, a young whale wanders through the sea, ponderously, sadfully, calling in its melodious voice, for its mother, who by now is being eaten as food, on your plate.

A Circus Animal

based on ideas from Cider with Rosie and As I Walked Out by Laurie Lee I was caged seemingly, no escape. The village had me trapped, wrapped up in its cape. Roads shone through by bars, single shafts of light But getting a chance to use them was slight. In the house, my mother, with a whip-like tongue, Wherever I tried to run to, she'd discover before long. And then there were my sisters, all very neat, Rather like performing dogs that ran around your feet. In a ring round me stood my friends and brothers, Content with being the back-up, stardom is for others. They were happy just to be alive, complacent and lazy, But I wanted to get out and waiting drove me crazy! I walked around my cage, there was no-one there but me And suddenly I realised that I had found the key.

Andy Stubbs.

SHELTER

"Shelter" won the short story competition run by The Peterite. Our congratulations to Alistair Carder-Geddes. "Well" they'd said "will you do it then ?" I hadn't been too keen on the idea from the start, but the wife liked the thought of getting one over on that Mrs. Rowbottom up the road, and the kids wanted their pictures in the paper; and by the time they'd finished telling me I was the typical Joe Bloggs, and mumbled on about human values and scientific importance plus my patriotic duty, I found I'd said "yes".

Mind you, if we'd known what it was all going to be like down here, it would have been "nuts" to Mrs. Rowbottom and the papers. After we've all done our bits and pieces they asked us to do — though what good all those dots and graphs, and pushing buttons are going to be, goodness knows; I can't make them out, but the kids say that there's a computer somewhere making sense of it all; anyway, after all that, what is there left to do all day ?

We've played monopoly until we all feel we'll join a demolition gang: I owe the wife £5,000 after a bad run at pontoon (and I bet she won't let me forget it); and we've missed Match of the Day and Coronation Street on the Tele.

Come to think of it, that's probably what they meant about human values — the Tele I mean — and being surprised at what we'd learn down here.

It's me and the wife who miss the Tele most, the kids don't really mind as long as they've got their tapes. They'd like to play them louder of course, but I couldn't stand that. I haven't told them yet, but when you get to listen, some of it's not at all bad.

And we've played some games together that I haven't played since I was a kid myself — pity the boy cheats, I'll have to sort that out. The books they've given us I can't get on with, but the wife says she's going to join the library. She'll have to go to the girl's school too — her reading's shocking.

Funny what you find out when you've got time to talk — I never knew how much the wife disliked Paul. Paul, of all people, he's been my best mate since school, I mean, we all go to the pub every Friday evening and have a great time, or at least, I thought we did. Granted he's not been the same since he married, but then they never are, are they ?

There isn't much room down here either — just as well we've been on those caravan holidays or we'd be going mad on top of each other. There's a limit to what my stomach will take of tinned food too, and I reckon I've reached it — they forgot the beer as well.

They said there was a panic button we could use, and I've looked at it once or twice, but in a real nuclear war you couldn't use it could you ? Anyway, if they haven't got through in another hour I'm going up and to hell with them and their experiment.

After all, they said three days and 18.0o hours on the dot and it's passed that now; and I've got a darts match, the wife's fed up — she's run out of her knitting wool — and the kid's have begun fighting since their radio batteries went flat.

I don't like it anyway, you'd have thought someone would have checked to see we were O.K. The wife says they're probably watching us on a secret Tele — bet they've had a few laughs. I don't want to frighten them or I'd ask them all what they'd do, because as I said, I don't like it.

I wonder if I ought to press that button or just go up and lift the lid ? Perhaps they've forgotten we're here — it'd be just like some idiot to go off duty and not pass on the message to let us out.

Above ground the smoke and ashes settled on a scene of total destruction. Nothing stirred — except in the middle of the waste land a square sheet of metal began, slowly, to rise from the ground.

A. Geddes.

JOY RIDE

The moon slid behind a cloud and a cool, strong breeze ruffled the trees. It was now so dark that, if your eyes were unaccustomed, you could feel the darkness with your hands and breathe it. The long grass under the boy's feet was dampening already with dew and, as he ran, the tall grass whipped and slashed at his bare legs, soaking them and leaving red imprints on his white skin.

The boy had been running now for ten minutes, his breathing was forced and painful and tears trickled down his face. A low, spindly branch swung at him out of the darkness, and he fell, cut and shocked; but in a moment, after a quick glance backwards, he was on his weary legs again, pounding along, through the whispering trees.

A little way off were what appeared to be two giant yellow eyes. The boy was running towards these eyes. As he got closer the eyes turned into car headlights. The boy (who was wearing only a pair of shorts and a white Tshirt) reached the car and stopped. Cutting out the glare of the headlights with his arm, and breathing heavily, he peered at the car.

Over the car bonnet lay, the mangled body of a young girl. The car was jammed against the trunk of a tree, a road ran passed nearby. The car had swerved off the road and into the tree. He had been thrown out of the car, but she hadn't been so lucky, she had gone through the windscreen.

He had run off into the wood, concussed and very afraid, but he had recovered his senses and was back.

Her long black hair was matted with blood. Her once pretty face was covered with it, and the shattered glass lay over everything.

He tried to take her pulse, but he didn't know how to. He listened to see if he could hear her breathing, but he couldn't be sure.

Not knowing whether she was dead or not he ran onto the road, hoping that a car would come along. But the road was empty of everything but silence. So he ran, again, along the road hoping to find a village, or stop a car. He wished he could remember whether he had passed a village just before the crash.

Now it began to rain, and the wind blew it into sheets, making the darkness even more impenetrable. The warm summer's night was gone and the boy's sweat was replaced by icy water and shivers.

Then a sound, that perhaps of a distant car. The boy stopped. With the water dripping off him, he stood with his head slightly to one side, listening, whilst straining to regain his breath. Again the noise, nearer this time, it was a car. Now the lights could be seen, raking the darkness from the road. The boy's heart raced even faster, the car was less than half a mile away now, he stood, legs apart, in the middle of the road, waving his arms like a madman. The car approached and stopped in front of him, a window was rolled down and a voice, as if from the end of a tunnel, swore.

The boy, from the shock of the accident, the exhaustion of running, the freezing rain, and now the dazzling lights, fainted. Mark Simpson.

The following poems are a selection from some of the many read at the evening.

Fluent Affluent Truculent Flatulent Lives in a tent Gives up rent for Lent Isn't bent Knows what he means And means what he meant He isn't half spent He's got an intent To get a job in management He can't believe He's not heaven sent That's the way it goes He knows so he went

Missing.

Alec Campbell.

"We'll take more care of you"

You couldn't care for cows: You'd just hit them with sticks

To move them around, Their backsides you'd kick.

Do you remember my flight ? Well, I won't forget, oh no!

I was one of that herd In '76 at Heathrow.

Mark Adeney.

1939

What's up, Midas ? What's wrong with your hand ?

Everything you touch goes black All over this land.

I don't understand it, Your power has gone:

There used to be men here And now there are none.

You touch all the soldiers, Then they go black:

Fires start at random. Hey, Hell wants you back.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold, Went Bilbo the Hobbit; to caverns dim, To dungeons deep and passages old He voyaged and met poor Gollum the grim. Sly Gollum was hungry, and said to himself, "Riddles I'll ask him and maybe he'll stay", And so he began to ask with great stealth If Bilbo would mind just a little delay ? "What has deep roots that nobody sees; Up to great heights its great summit goes; It's wider than lakes and taller than trees; It's as old as the world, and yet never grows ?" "Easy!" said Bilbo, "A mountain, I s'pose". "Was it so easy ?" asked Gollum, surprised, As he slid up to Bilbo (who'd kept on his toes, And spotted the danger). "My turn", he surmised. "Thirty white horses, on a wet, red hill; Quickly they champ, and loudly they stamp; And when the food's gone, all at once they are still". "Teeth!" shouted Gollum, whose breath was so damp. That the Hobbit had ice all over his face. All at once Bilbo saw the glint of a knife, And without looking scared he said without haste, "It's my go", and spoke now in fear of his life. "Loud wailings it makes, and voiceless it cries, Toothless it bites; without feathers it flutters; Legless it runs, wingless it flies; Breathless it blows and mouthless it mutters". Gollum was stuck. "Just a minute!" he cried. Suddenly he said, "I remember what blows: That's it, it's the wind, it can't be denied!" So he riddled again, his voice angry and low. "It cannot be seen, it cannot be felt; It lives behind stars and dwells under hills; It cannot be heard, it cannot be smelt; And empty holes and caverns it fills. It comes before all, and follows all after; It lives in death, and dies in life; It ends all joy, and kills all laughter, Quiet as death, quick as the knife". "Darkness!" said the Hobbit, to Gollum's distress. Bilbo had heard that one long before, And now he remembered one more for this pest. He started again before Gollum said more. "A box without hinges, key or a lid", Said Bilbo, as he watched this creature's eyes, "Yet golden treasure inside is hid", He continued again to hungry sighs. Long thought poor Gollum, at last perplexed. Slowly he angered, till red his eyes shone. He jumped all at once, all angry and vexed, But lucky for Bilbo, with his ring he had gone. Barney Skrentny.

Role Call

'I he bell rings up the curtain Each year a different audience Each year the same old show. I glue my smile on, Check for traces of sincerity, And make my entrance. "Good (emphasis) Morning (fraction pause — ironic touch this) Gentlemen — stroke Ladies' (joke). The first scene: forty minutes The first act: fourteen weeks A safe three acter — beginning, middle, end — well that's what paying customers want — Something to instruct and entertain Without the threat of being made to think, Of challenging assumptions. I used to play the juvenile lead: Nice but naive, Impractical ideals that sort of thing. Some touch of vague significance for the meaning mongers But for the most part comic light relief. As I get old I'll need a change of role More in the character line. Perhaps The drunken has been or the classroom bore The flog 'em villain with the heart of gold There's so much choice. At least it's not like life. One day, just once, I'd like to play myself: The bell would ring I'd enter Stand And say . . . But no one yet has written me the lines.

Ian Lowe.

A Night under the Mountain of a Disco

The loudness of the Music hides the quiet solitude of faces, Faces that sit, faces that stand, faces that stare among long streams of other lonely faces. Now "Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone". Attempts at friendship are rebuked, Non-attempts forgotten. Attempts at liveliness are missed — Boycott is not heard — The Queen dismissed The loudness of one girl's dress hides nothing, Another follows but never finds. Thank your fly through the air like cutting remarks, But the tones that matter lay forgotten in the despair and smiles, Smiles which mean nothing, which don't belong. The voice of a lost leader calls out across the room, Nor does he belong, not any more, There are women, but the crying is only inward — "I'm sorry we don't have that".

Songs of broken groups take the air, The ironical shout of "all right now" lies over the grave of Paul Kossoff; A song of re-unification turns sour in the wake of a smashed band, And the desperate voice of David Bowie cries out: "Can you hear me, Major Tom ?" But they cannot. Ian Anderson.

Edward Thomas — 5th February, 1917

Yes, I remember Alaincourt — The name, because one cold spring day Of sleet the slow troop train drew up there In sunlight, unexpectedly. The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat. No one left and no one came On the bare platform. What I saw Was Alaincourt — only the name. And poplars at the village end, And mistletoe in a field. Snow lay Among the railway tracks, as pale As the cold, crimson, sunset sky. And for that minute a field gun sang Close by, and round it, as deadly, Duller and duller, all the guns Of Flanders and of Picardy.

The War Diary of Edward Thomas: 5th February, 1915

At 7 a.m. after many stops and starts we were close under partly wooded chalk hills, among railway trucks, and near a village with here and there an upper storey quite open like a loft. Snow. Gradually flatter and poplars regular as telegraph poles, orchards, level crossings, children . . . Fine snow-fall. Furzy cuttings. Mistletoe in field, poplars by Alaincourt. Amiens at 2 and train left a score of men behind for a time. Pale sky and crimson sun at sunset. Doullens at 8. Guns all the time . . . Dave Hughes.

GRAMPI

I used to call him Grampi because all the other boys had Grandpas, and mine was special.

He was one of the few truly happy men; happiness was a way of life for him, and he'd had his share of troubles. His wife wasn't easy, a bit of a scold, a bit of a nag, and he'd had to fight to make a living.

When I was five years old, I used to walk in the park with Grampi. I liked painting the park railings; it was before the war, before they carted away the iron railings for munitions and left those rusty stumps you see everywhere. I painted the railings with water, and a stick with a chewed end. Sometimes Grampi would help me, and paint a few railings himself; but I was always the foreman. "How's that Grampi ?" "That's fine boy, fine. You're and artist".

Grampi was a great walker, but on the way home, when the water had dried on the railings, he would wait for me while I painted them again. He was strong. Not big, but compact and strong, a man who had humped floursacks, two hundredweight at a time. He always carried his watch in his waistcoat pocket; a gold watch on a gold chain with a gold medal dangling. The medal was for cycling, a hundred-mile road race, British Championship; he'd been a gymnast and a footballer too. There were posed photographs of Grampi 75

as a young man, thinner and wiry, with Grandma before she turned sour, pretty and happy as he was, both with their bicycles, on a day out.

Grampi's legs were still strong, so he could sit and swing me up on his foot, and I was a good weight even at five years old. One day he swung me up with such vigour that his slipper flew off and crashed through a windowpane, soon to be followed by a screech from Grandma. "You fool, you fool — what will we do ?" "Shut up woman, you're all wind and water" — it was the nearest he ever came to harsh words. At least Grandma was still very fond of him. Everybody warmed to him. When he was hit by a cricket ball in the park — smack on the side of the head, full pitch — and he was still out cold when they carried him home, there was a crowd around the stretcher all the way.

For days afterwards strangers called to ask after him. He was soon as bright as ever of course, for Grandma took charge, and brought him around and nursed him until she was sure he was right. Only then did she snap at him. "You fool, fooling with cricket at your age !"

Grampi wanted everybody to be as happy as himself. When he passed a pretty woman, or even one not so pretty, he would doff his hat. "Good day — Lovely day. By — you're looking champion". Or, "By — you're a real bobbydazzler today!"

I suppose some people might have been embarrassed, but I didn't notice it; for most people he was a sunbeam in a drab day. Was he childish ? Or a dirty old man ? I don't think the idea crossed anyone's mind, certainly not his. How far are we removed in so short a time from that age of innocence.

Without the benefit of much formal education, Grampi had applied his considerable intellect to the fashionable philosophies of his youth, notably Charles Darwin and the Fabians. He had spent his working life building up a bakery business by private enterprise. "Damned hard work" was his comment on that. Yet he affected a rather naive Socialism, and wanted to convert us all. He used to sing the Red Flag at the least excuse. After espousing Darwin, and Marx via Bernard Shaw, he could hardly have retained his religion, but he never lost the old Orange prejudices of his sectarian upbringing. He was suspicious of alcohol and of Roman Catholics: Grandma was a Catholic, and she fought him over that. Theirs must have been a love match to survive; the best sort of love-match, bitter-sweet.

As for death and eternity, Grampi's zest was for this life. "It's the only life we know. Enjoy it". But, when he came close to his own death, he became less dogmatic; it wasn't just sentimentality, more a simple instinct that he was not ashamed to hide.

Grampi loved the Music Hall, and when I grew old enough he used to take me with him for a treat. The few seedy Music Halls still in business after World War Two weren't much, but they were still magic for Grampi, so they were magic for me. His tile may not have been brand new, but it was jaunty, and his boots black and shiny.

He thought himself a real toff when he dressed up, as avid as ever for a night out, his eyes a-sparkle, keeping time to the music with his foot, joining in at the chorus; none of your reticence. Where were all the uptight Englishmen in his day ? "Get back to the ha'penny places" he would call to a poor performer. A lot of it was nostalgia for him, of course. "She reminds me of Vesta Tilly — our Vesta" was his highest praise. "You should have seen our Vesta" he would say on the tramcar going home. "She could knock spots off them all, our Vesta. I can see her now, in the spotlight; and the audience hushed just worshipping her — they didn't hush easily, those audiences. We all worshipped Vesta you know". "Yes, Grampi".

"Imagine — dressed in tights and a tail-coat; white bow-tie and a topper; twirling her cane like a toff. And her voice. Clear. Glorious. A voice to fill a Hall". "Yes, Grampi". His eyes sparkled and his cheeks glowed. He must have been in love with Vesta — just a little bit.

When he was seventy-five, Grampi dug over a virgin field to make a garden. He did such a routine of exercises in his bedroom before breakfast as to shake the rafters: shadow-boxing, press-ups, pant, grunt and sweat. He kept it up, too, as best he could, up to the end — no wonder he nearly made it to 9o; just six months short.

In his last years, I didn't see a lot of Grampi; I made excuses. I learnt later that he had missed me, but now I think, maybe, I was the one who missed out.

John Rigby.

GENESIS — REVELATION

Through the low buzz of conversation and soft background music, the sound of a heartbeat grows louder. A huge cheer fills the hall as the houselights go down and the audience is left in total darkness, flashbulbs already stabbing at the stage as the heartbeat is drowned by the opening chords of "Deep in The Motherlode" Genesis appear on stage in a dazzle of green, yellow and blue light, Phil Collins leaping about the stage from drums to keyboards and back again, in fine voice and bursting with energy. Mike Rutherford, in complete contrast, sways sedately behind his double-necked guitar for the entire concert. "Motherlode" is followed by a chilling rendition of "The Carpet Crawl" and, in recognition of the band's early days, "Dancing with the Moonlight Knight", the audience cheering wildly as the opening chords of each are recognised.

The classic "Squonk" leads to the section of the concert devoted to the new album, "Duke", with Phil sending the audience into stitches with his story about Albert, the character depicted on the album cover. The sad tale of Albert, who fell in love with his television set and a week later is found in hospital having the glass removed, has absolutely nothing to do with the next selection of songs: "Behind the Lines", "Duchess" — performed with invaluable help from "Frank", the drum machine — "Guide Vocal" and then "Duke's Travels/Duke's End", one of the highlights of the evening with lights probing the dry ice from roof and floor, and Phil appearing like some Messiah figure centre-stage with a powerful light behind him.

It's time for some audience participation in "The Lady Lies". Phil plays both hero and villain, cavorting around alarmingly far away from the microphone but somehow leaping back in time for the chorus, the audience cheering and hissing at the "hero" and "villain" respectively. "Say it's Alright Joe" is performed as a little vignette, with Phil as the lonely drunk with only his breath on the glass to remind him he's alive, and Tony Banks as "Joe", the bar pianist. A captivating performance.

The classics "Follow You, Follow Me", "Ripples" and "Afterglow" are played to an enchanting light show and wildly appreciative audience. A figure appears on stage, green light picking him out through the smoke, as the instantly recognisable introduction to "Dance on a Volcano" is played — Daryl Stuermer, Genesis' American tour guitarist, whose excellent work has been well received by the audience. The combined drumming skills of Phil and Chester Thompson are in evidence during the spectacular "Los Endos", the drums rattling and echoing round the Apollo as the stage disappears into darkness. During the encore — "I Know What I Like" — the audience and band are illuminated by the "Lightbox" — two rows of Jumbo Jet landing lights over the stage. Mike Rutherford is soundly beaten over the head by Phil's tambourine as a punishment for his inactivity, and as the grand finale, Phil, like an electrocuted 78

Salvation Army dancer, performs a tambourine dance, hitting it with feet, hands, knees, elbows and Mike at unbelievable speed, the audience a sea of raised hands amid the lights and smoke.

The Genesis tour 198o played forty dates in Britain. Half-a-million people applied for ro6,000 tickets — the ones lucky enough to get in were treated to over two-and-a-half hours of unceasing entertainment, perfect sound quality and flawless musicianship by one of the most original bands in today's rock arena. Christopher Ashurst.

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