Home Thoughts from Abroad (Well, Tottenham, anyway)
Some random reflections on the recent 'Class of '57' reunion at Ty Newydd
A small but select turn-out but a good day was had by all. Thanks to Colin Rees and Steve Hammonds for having the persistence and organisational skills to bring it about. It was something Terry Evans and myself had thought and talked about in our mid-40's but which never got past the theory stage due to our singular lack of an ability to organise ourselves, let alone anyone else. Still, the thought was there.
It was good to see everyone who turned up after all these years - 37 years for those we last saw at the end of college; 40 years in the case of those last glimpsed at 18! A great shame in some ways that the mid-40's meet had not come about as we might all at least have been able to recognise each other, had we all met up at that stage to examine what the ravages of time had done to us. As it was, a degree of trepidation beforehand and a rather surreal atmosphere at first as we all strained to identify each other; a bit like an Alzheimer's convention.
"Who's that? The one with the beard?" "Who's the bloke with his back to us?" "Don't Know." "Is that so and so over there?" "Mmm. Could be"
Thankfully, some people introduce themselves and then the layers of years peel away like onion skins to reveal the recognisable, callow visage below.
After two or three such conversations I gain in confidence and saunter across the room to engage Morton Russell in a matey chat. After four or five minutes of relaxed banter he delivers a killer blow: "Err... Who are you?" Damn. Even I've changed beyond all recognition. Just as well I've been checking out my appearance in the shaving mirror every morning or I might have suffered an identity crisis. How long, I muse, before we turn up to one of these things and start asking people who we are?
Good to see Dylan after all these years (Respect, brav). Russell George is looking unfeasibly young, as he always has done. (Is there a portrait rotting away in a cupboard somewhere?) Keith also relatively unchanged, apart from putting on a bit of weight, his six-foot plus height thankfully providing a marker for us all and eliminating at least one unknown from the list of possibilities. Steve Hammonds, similarly older, but with the same hairline and hair colour of his youth. Hmmm. Must be dyed, I console myself. Peter Williams - instantly recognisable too, looking the same limber ‘Pedro' of forty years ago.
The wine flows and things start to get competitive: the Biology boys stake their claim as the most sociable group, citing the best subject-linked turnout: four out of the L6 group of six attending - Keith Eynon, Steve Hammonds, Peter Williams and myself; though Terry and Derek Aust would have good cause to contest that. (100% turnout for the Eng, Latin, French boys - both of them!)
And so, beyond appearances to careers. Who's done what? Derek Aust's written several books on the Italian language and culture; Dylan's exchanged the Higher Maths for the Higher consciousness - or is it the Lower Consciousness? - and is now a Hypnotherapist and author; Keith is head of a large Forensic Lab in Glasgow (Did I once see him in Taggart?) and Peter a late convert to Stockbroking. Most of the rest of us teachers of some sort or level. Wales: traditionally an exporter of Teachers and Preachers. Despite Aberdare figuring prominently in the Great Welsh Revival of 1905, no preachers present - though Colin tells us that Hywel Davies is now redressing the balance by moving from teaching after many years to the Ministry.
A good afternoon then, with two excellent power-point presentations from Steven and Colin and an interesting table exhibition of school exercise books, old Aberdarian school magazines and rare early photographs (Can that Hawaiian-shirt wearing, Elvis-quiffed bottle-swigging roisterer really be the fastidious, dignified, measured solicitor Stephen Lewis?)- to rekindle memories of school and its culture.
Good, but too brief. A pity it could not have carried on through the evening over a few pints. That's when the craic starts, the yarns get spun and the forgotten memories come tumbling out.
They say that as you decline into senility early memories are recalled far more readily than recent events. Perhaps we'd better start work on the next re-union now, to sharpen up our recollections so that we still have something to talk about in Green Pastures. Next year, perhaps? Another window of opportunity; another portal on the past?
Time to pack away my Llaptop (an early Welsh computer consisting of an HB pencil and a piece of Foolscap balanced on my knee) and take my leave of you. Excuse me while I walk into this cupboard.
Cheers,
Phil Moore