The St. Nicholas Old Boy
(1960-61)

What tragedy these few limp rags belie:
The once-new splendour of a first-form tie;
There, twelve-inch necks on shirts no longer white;
(In fact, still black when held against the light);
The threadbare scarf, below, with faded stripes,
Was used for all things-pushed down organ pipes,
Employed in strangling friends for too weak puns,
Or in the task of carrying break-time buns
Upstairs, where wand'ring schoolboys rove and hide
(Below the sixth, no boy may come inside.)
This heap of cloth and cardboard! What mishap
Befell you, thus to shape you, my school cap?
The wind and rain of five whole years I know
Caused you, my blazer old, to lie so low.
My rugger things, in which I used to freeze!
My P.E. kit! Can I have once worn these?
Both pairs of shorts one time were used to clean
The blackboard in some grisly classroom scene.
Let me confess, though some will surely mock,
My Christmas stocking was a rugger sock.
My apron, stained with mud and blood, became
The knotted ball in our touch-rugger game.
Grey jerseys, only bought to keep the rule:
"No brightly-coloured jumpers in this school."
The grey socks worn on colour-checking days
All lie there, faded by the sun's bright rays.
Mementos of a time we all endure.
What mem'ries, sentimental or secure,
Do clothes like these for you and me revive?
God! Am I glad I got out still alive!

M. DARTON, VB