ALL HALLOWS RC SCHOOL, FARNHAM

Lately, I've been recalling my years at school, wondering what has become of my former schoolmates (We were the Post-War children who grew up with Dylan and the Beatles and read Mao's red book and answered the Student Revolution call and took the pill and won women's lib.). Most of them, I suppose, are approaching a well deserved retirement. Some lucky ones have already retired. A few, I imagine, have left us for good and I'm sure will be missed by their loved ones. How quickly these last fifty years have gone by and how much has been achieved in them: higher studies, holidays, romances, holidays, marriage, honeymoon, jobs, holidays, kids, fewer holidays, grandchildren, more holidays, and soon retirememnt - a permanent holiday. Is that the sum total of our lives?

I want to feel

- that we've left our mark, somewhere along the line,

- that we aren't going to simply disappear,

- that, along with our genes, we'll have transmitted something of importance to our future generations, our descendents,

- that, on the way, we'll have touched some lives, each with his/her own special magic,

- that, if we've been lucky and blessed with talents, perhaps we'll have also managed to leave behind something tangible, of substance, maybe some love letters, or a book, or a song, or a painting,

- and LOVE. Oh, yes! LOTS OF LOVE, along with the memories.

As I recall my years at school, I browse through my photograph album, read my schoolboy diary, some letters that have somehow survived this last half-century, and I feel a nostalgic smile forming as my lips murmur, first a name, then another.

The school, ALL HALLOWS ROMAN CATHOLIC SCHOOL in FARNAHM, SURREY, will be celebrating its 50th anniversary next year (Hopefully, I'll be able to make the trip and get together again with friends from the past), so, I'm putting together a special record of events, as I recall them. IF YOU WERE THERE, during its first five years, and have any documents of any sort that you'd like to share, feel free to contact me. I'd love to include them.

A couple of photographs on the left. The one at the top of this article shows Mr Doyle, the first Headmaster, wearing his usual black toga and heading, seemingly in a hurry, for the playground.

SUMMER

It's back, again.

I came here looking for the sun and now I find I hate roasting in it!

I really can't stand the oppressive summer heat, the sweat slowly dripping from my brows, the shirt sticking to my back, the constant thirst and need to refresh myself, the packed beaches and the flying sand that penetrates every pore in my body, the polluted Mediterranean waters full of jelly-fish and domestic waste - shall I go on?

So, when the long-awaited, by others, holidays finally arrive, I choose to sleep during the day and thus escape from the harmful ultra violet rays and the hot temperatures that bathe the country when the sun is out, and, like vampires and bats, I come out at night.

Of course, I don't go round sucking blood and transforming my fellow human beings into nearly perfect replicas of Count Dracula. No, no, that's not for me, thank you. I'm quite happy with my present low fat, low salt, and low sugar diet. I prefer to sit at one of the numerous "terrazas" that most bars offer these days and sip an iced coffee or a Martini Rosso. I watch the scene and try to absorb every detail; the colourful summer - and usually very sparse - clothes, the continuous to and fro, the excerpts of conversation I snatch here and there, the fragrance of the different perfumes and eau de colognes Spaniards love to spray on themselves before going out (and frequently even whilst they are out), or engage in pleasant conversation with the numerous friends I've made since coming to live here over twenty-five years ago.

Then, in the early hours of the morning, when the bars have finally pulled their metal shutters down and everyone has departed, I make my way home, sometimes, especially if the Martini was particularly good, following a slight detour, and sit at my computer to play a few games of "blitz" chess before starting to write.

The choice is wide: something new, something already started, something finished and in need of revision, a piece of poetry, some ideas I jot down, an e-mail, or two, a new article for my blog, and always music in the air, soft classical music, usually. And coffee, or tea.

But, unlike bats and vampires, I don't crawl back to the profound darkness of my cave when the first golden rays of the morning sun appear. I go on with my self-imposed task. I continue till I feel the first effects of its warmth raising my body temperature. Then I know the time is right. I draw the shutters and close the windows, lest the outside temperature invades and disturbs the coolness of my seclusion. I have a hot shower, followed by a cool one, and, having discarded my bathrobe and dried myself thouroughly, I lie naked on the white cotton sheet of my wider-tan-average bed and turn the light out.

Autumn is just a little nearer.