French horn vomit whimsy

I’m so glad you could all make it here today for our little celebration of your time at St Swithin’s School for boys. And I must say how gratifying it is to see how so many of you have succeeded in your chosen careers to become pillars of the professional communities upon which the prosperity of our society rests.

Sir Robert Bingham, as I’m sure you all know, is chairman of the Royal First Bank which, until its unfortunate encounter with some rather undesirable Americans sent it into bankruptcy, was our country’s pre-eminent financial institution.

I remember young Robert well and confess to being somewhat surprised at his choice of career. From my recollection, mathematics was to him not so much a closed book as an entire library he was unable to read with even the slightest proficiency. However his ability to juggle figures of an entirely different nature, resulting in several visits from the headmistress of Lady Eleanor’s next door, I see has been useful in his later life. It would be a grotesque injustice if his entirely understandable dalliance with his head of Human Relations – after all his wife is, if my eyes do not deceive me, a practising lesbian of the most masculine classification – were to lead to the loss of his KBE.

Jonathan Bennett, the youngest man ever to serve as foreign secretary, was, I recall, a gifted commander of our combined cadet force. His aggression and perseverance on the field were startling. His innovative use of both the school hovercraft and glider in firebombing Hampton School for the Disabled was an early indication of a man for whom the doctrine of overwhelming force was more than mere theoretical whimsy. I note with pride how this same combination of skills has been put to such good use in the theatres of Iraq and Afghanistan. We can only hope that he does not repeat the misfortune that led to his involuntary exit from the school, when his platoon claimed to have absentmindedly ‘left’ 27 loaded 303 rifles in the New Forest none of which was ever recovered.

And of course, what review of our successes would be complete without mentioning Martin Hopkins. Hopkins, you may remember, was already an alcoholic when he joined us at the age of eleven, a trait inherited from both parents and, impressively, from all four grandparents.

I think I can say without fear of contradiction that no-one who saw his performance on the french horn at our quatercentenary concert is likely to forget it. If he had only managed to vomit over the sponsors in the front two rows, he would scarcely merit a mention in the school magazine. But the unique combination of a three-day bender with the hi-pressure directional capabilities of the horn resulted in a jet of such severity that a number of parents were hospitalized and stomach pumped side by side with young Martin himself. I still shudder at the merest hint of gin.

Martin today edits one of our most prestigious newspapers and it is only the most unfortunate collision of coincidences, involving the misuse of a number of so-called ‘mobile telephones’, that seems destined now to lead to his lengthy incarceration.

But there are several among you who have not, I must admit, lived up to my expectations. I mention just one in passing.

Stephen Hawthorne, a youth whose personality and predilections marked him out as the vilest and most predatory rapist of his generation, has singularly failed to grace the pages of our tabloid papers. I remain astounded at his capacity for cruelty to those smaller and more vulnerable than him and his lasting obsession with the most scatalogical subjects would have shamed a stray dog. I take it as a personal failing that he has not already dismembered and eaten several members of what I believe is referred to as the oldest profession. By the time of our next reunion I expect him at the very least to have acquired a nickname of gruesome significance.

Ah, but I see one of my predictions is about to be realised. Gareth Davies was a boy whom it was impossible to like or even tolerate. He had all the endearing qualities of a mosquito and combined a whining sentimentality with an entirely ill-founded sense of victimhood given his background of extreme privilege. A petty thief and bed wetter, he deserved the unceasing bullying he received from both boys and staff and it seems only right that he is here today to fulfil my prophecy made at his graduation that he was by far and away the boy most likely to return to the school in full combat gear to execute those who made his worthless life such a misery……………….