Melville Cooke
ADAMS. ALBERGA. Bailey. Bennett-Easy. Bromfield. Brown. Brown. Cameron. Clarke. Clemetson. Cooke. Davis. Edwards. Farquaharson. Fisher. Gordon. Goulbourne. Harris. Insang. Johns. Jones. Kerr. Lougnes. McIntyre. McPherson. Mitchell. Myers. Powell. Ramsay. Rose. Samms. Sanderson. Simpson. Watson. Witter.
It is coming up to 20 years since I last heard those 40 names and I still remember them all (I hope) in the order they were called every school day up to the last in 5A at Munro College.
Somewhere within the limits of the city on a hill there may still be scrawled a 'Mello Wuz 'Ere, 82-89', a remnant of my futile, repeated efforts to make a lasting impression at Munro.
I am not afflicted by the old-boy mania which excuses the immaturity of many a grizzled man who does not know when it is time to let: Let boys really be boys and realise that the 'in my time' sound wears after 50 (hell, 40!). I do, however, have an interest in a very good school that was my home for seven years, so the headline 'Trouble at Munro!' in Sunday's Observer naturally caught my attention.
After reading the story, I knew that modern times had come to Munro, a school whose isolation from the wider society, physically as well as mentally, was a large part of its near mythical status.
If principal Branford Gayle has his way, at some stage no visitors will be allowed in after 6:00 p.m. and all visitors will be required to have a security pass. Also, there will be a crackdown on the 'toughening up' of students by seniors as well as other less physically abusive practices.
And there was specific mention of hockey sticks. When I was at Munro, one of the jokes that made the rounds was that a youngster was hit with a hockey stick and later saw 'Made in the U.S.A.' printed in reverse on his skin. It was funny at the time. I have been on the receiving and dispensing end of the 'toughening up', much of which was, in retrospect, way too tough, although I don't think a boy should feel a pea through 50 pillows.
Much of what happened in 'my time' stayed within the student body. There was a culture of silence (the 'informer' brand is not restricted to Kingston's inner-city communities). Cell phones have changed that.
However, that parent who took her son to music classes in Mandeville every weekend and then complained that no one knew he was gone should have practised the basic courtesy of reporting to the housemaster. And in 'my time' there were boarding housemasters who would know when one of theirs was missing. There was Mr. Lowrie of Coke-Farquaharson whose soft walk seemed never to make a warning creak on the board floors and for a year or so Mr. Kevin Roper (son of long-time headmaster Richard Roper) whose tennis forehand was a cracker with the cane; Mr. Dolphin of Dickenson who knew not only the name but the nickname of every boy in the school and Mr. Whyte of Pearman-Calder, whose beatific smile and very gentle manner when dealing with infractions were, quite frankly, damned frightening. Most moved on about the same time.
The surrounding community was also respectful and even protective of Munro and roaming the expansive grounds was a large part of the boarding experience; so the thought of a perimeter wall, as mentioned in the Observer story, is horrendous.
I guess I should pass by, something I have not done for five years, before the sentries, security passes and wall become a reality, although it would seem that the police are already there. I would like to see Munro even once more before it becomes the walled city on a hill.
Melville Cooke is a freelance writer.
