I have to admit to some initial trepidation when Malcolm Hawkins first got in contact with me about the proposed Reunion.

Who would be there? Would it end up being a tedious gabfest, or degenerate into a nightmare of recrimination and angst for some long forgotten schoolboy transgressions? As the big day approached, I had reconciled myself to turning up and enjoying myself, and if it ended up being a boring afternoon, then I could always get pissed!

I am now immensely pleased that I attended, as the whole affair was a hoot from start to finish. Not only was there the pleasure of catching up with friends and acquaintances from our formative years, but the genuine surprise I felt as to how little (apart from the obvious signs of aging) most, if not all of our school friends had changed from my memories of those long ago years, especially after a few libations had been consumed.

I was most profoundly amazed as to how easily we all seemed to revert to our means of interacting when we were 16 or 17, and how quickly our language degenerated into the use of those favourite four letter words that often get shelved in polite company. It seems we are all teenagers at bottom.

I had a great time on the day, and I hope I had a chance to at least say ‘hello’ to everyone who attended. I will look forward to the next big get-together, whenever that may be.

It was with some considerable scepticism that I had listened early in 2008 to Simon Specker tell me on the mobile (while pathetically attempting to keep pace with a jogging teenage daughter mind you… him, not me!) about a J.R.A.H.S. “reunion”.

After all, it all seemed so long ago, the six years at Ruse. Actually it was so long ago! Thinking about that topic also involved dwelling on age – a subject I was not fond of to say the least. I mean, at school, the prospect of ever reaching 30 seemed unlikely. Not just because of the “Romantic Poet” ideal (live hard and die young) that rock music had adopted, but also because people of 30 were so, you know, old!!

We were the vital generation. The world revolved around us. Our developing tastes, our fashions. Our idols were probably only a year or two older than us weren’t they?

And so, school ended and we scattered to the four winds, only rarely to cross paths. So that period was frozen in my memory, unchanging. The world after school proved to be a different world, different and also indifferent.

I had been part of a tight-knit community for six formative years and quite suddenly all that was gone. The people I met, dealt with and sometimes worked with henceforth were strangers. Many became colleagues, some even friends. But, at least in my itinerant profession, there was nothing even remotely comparable to the close knit society which had been school.

Of course not all the school memories were the most pleasant! Even to begin to dissect the complex web of that microcosmic society was a daunting task, and one I had studiously avoided all these years. What was the point? At the time we lived it, there wasn’t time for introspection and analysis, let alone resolution. We were in the moment, and the hothouse environment of that place meant you had to keep your wits about yourself minute to minute! Was it good or was it bad?

So from my subjective viewpoint, it was this personal baggage that Simon was suggesting I might want to confront, in the flesh, on a weekend in November. What, for fun? Therapy? Exorcism? Punishment?

Well I hope Simon has profited immensely through the years from his powers of persuasion, because he eventually swung me around to the view that it mightn’t be entirely a bad thing.

So now, post “Class of ‘76 Reunion Mk I.”, what do I think about it all?

Firstly, I feel immensely indebted to the group who organised this shindig, the experience has added several dimensions to the way I view myself. After all, hey, I am the guy that has to live with me every day of the year. So it’s pretty important to me what I think of me, if you follow me.

So, to iterate the extra dimensions:

1 – I now feel immensely proud and lucky to have been associated with such a fine bunch of human beings during those formative years, ‘71-’76.

2 – I feel even prouder now to see how this sixty or so of you have turned out. It now seems an entirely safe assumption to me that the other sixty are of a similar calibre.

3 – It really chuffs me to see that we occupy useful niches in just about every strata of society. Far from what I might have expected, the school did not turn out a bunch of cookie-cutter clones. No, we produced one actual farmer, and covered about 59 other occupations to boot; more actually, because many of us wear/have worn several hats.

4 – The sense of humour that everyone displayed was outstanding. I have not laughed so hard in 32 years and that’s a fact.

5 – Related to that was the expression of shared experience, and recollection of memories, triggered via humour. One vocalisation from Glenn Maurer, one quip from Gokel, and 60 guys were clutching their sides in laughter. There’s a lot of shared memory there folks!

6 – Flowing on from that was the way the same story could be, and was, told from a dozen different viewpoints.

7 – That in turn leads to the impressive listening skills I saw on the day. It was a real pleasure to watch the guys with eyes shining, a grin from ear to ear, and brains on “record”, soaking up the tall tales and true.

IN CONCLUSION.
I managed to talk to 33 of the 60 odd who were there. So that tells me I need to attend at least 3 more times, with all the old boys in attendance, to catch up with you all. And this was over a 18 hour period, Friday night and Saturday from noon past midnight.

To those of you who perhaps decided not to come along I can only say that any hatchets seem well and truly buried! Everyone has 32 more years under their belts now, most have kids. The 18 year old you last saw is still in there, but tempered and matured nicely, in fact, believe it or not – we are all now civilised!

Gesta non verba! Not a bad motto.