Silver & Iron

Yesterday I received an interesting communication. A fellow alumnus had mass-emailed us to say that since it was the 25th anniversary of our graduation, we should all turn up on All Hallows' Eve at the Island of Death-From-Behind. I'm not kidding about any of these details; even the name of the island is true and fairly well-known in this part of the world.

But mixed with the silver memories are strands of irony. I suppose years of avoiding 'death from behind' have made this location seem especially amusing. It is even funnier when you consider the date; my life these years has been all about deciding whether to go for trick or treat, quite often knowing that one might actually be the other.

The final piece of humour fell into place when my friend added, "We must get hold of the hugely respected Old Man and invite him; someone must inform him and make sure he comes."

The Old Man, of course, has been respected by every batch of students for the last 30 years, despite only presiding over the school for seven years, and being unknown to many for most of the rest. But seven is a mystical, a magical number; and in those seven years, our school was hugely blessed.

It got me to thinking: will anyone ever desire the presence of his successors as much? Or will they think of Hallowe'en unhallowed – and dark, dangerous death from behind?