Class of '51

There! Him - the one not quite in line... I do
remember him - even if his name escapes...
Something of a ragamuffin, never was in line.
Always late. Never properly prepared 
for lessons. Always in disgrace. Rode 

his bike like a madman. Killed
by a Post Office van. Stunning eulogy
the head gave. Declared he was
the finest scholar and the finest
human being he had known.

See there, sat next to him. Red hair,
that sporty type. Ribboned coat -
cricket and rugby football blues -
Head Boy's cap. (Not his, not then. Borrowed!
His would come) Abused by our

new Language chap. His mother found
the letter in his pocket suggesting ...an 
experiment. The dear boy could be  tied
down to the master's bed, wearing
only some new shorts I've bought for you.

Extreme right. Second row Grant Fawley,
cross-country hero. Ran them all feet bound
in bandages. Never ran in shoes.
Years later, though, he turned to sprinting.
Olympic champion, the last I heard.

And next to him, his closest rival,
Jack Shepherdson. The two were overheard
the day before the Inter Schools Athletics match,
sharing out the honours: planning which
events they each would let the other win.

Dead center of the third row, Brian Jane.
He suffered for that name. A boy soprano,
which also didn't help - except it made him
Headmaster's blue eyed boy who took the lead
in Iolanthe and a good few other operas.

Gilbert and Sullivan was dished up
every year at The Baths Hall. The big event,
the highlight of the year and Brian Jane
became as much a star as any one 
turned out by Hollywood. Fireproof was Jane.