Hello.
Following a tweet from journalist Andrew Male, which lamented having to sing 'Lily The Pink' by The Scaffold at school assembly, I've been thinking about my last school assembly...
First of all, we sang 'Ghost Town' by The Specials (they used to be The Special AKA but decided they should also be known as The Specials because it's easier to say, so "The Specials, also known as 'The Special AKA" is a great joke, and it's what everyone sees when they Google the band), and we sang it bloody well, but that's not the best bit of my final assembly.
I was in "the sixth form" - for any youngsters reading, this was where you got your 'A' Levels for college/university or dossed for anything up to two years to avoid going to work. I was somewhere in the middle: I took Art and English Literature with a view to dossing for two years to avoid going to work. I could've painted the same thing I did for Art 'O' Level and probably passed the 'A' Level hours after completing the 'O' Level exam. This isn't a boast, it's an illustration (no pun intended, nor taken) of how silly exams can be. I still had to do at least a year of life drawing (mostly still, any "models" were fully-clothed attention-seekers from other classes) before being allowed to sit the 'A' Level exam. So I was there a year.
(Back to the assembly bit: sixth formers sat in the balcony, not for them the mosh pit of twelve-year-olds where anything goes, oh no. The fact we had the best view might be important later.)
But what, I pretend to hear, about English Literature? Funny you should ask. My teacher was brilliant, and we were supposed to read loads of really great books, but my laziness was so manifest and evident that Mrs C (I'll save her blushes [if she's still alive]) eventually asked if I'd "rather sit in the corner with a cup of tea and some hot buttered toast?" I would've.
Anyway, the Art 'A' Level was a piece of piss, and I didn't need English Literature 'A' Level to get into a technical college that did OND/HND courses. So there. (Note: lots of my friends went away to The North to do degree courses [even longer periods of laziness?], but I had a dog I'd have missed terribly, and mum & dad started to see through the 'period of laziness' scam.)
Alright, the assembly...
What I didn't know was that my final assembly coincided with the retirement of our headmaster (I'll call him 'Mr H' to save his blushes [he must be dead]). Mr H, going against every stereotype of a mid-to-late-last-century headmaster you may (or may not) have heard, was a lovely man. Thing is, he wore a wig.
When I rolled up as a 12-year-old I knew nothing of periwigs, syrups, rugs, hair-hats and the like. Because Mr H was such a great bloke, and hardly any of us got close to him, it was only when I made the sixth form that I was observant enough to offer a "hang on..." or a "is that...?" The first time the piece-in-the-room was openly discussed was a week before the final assembly, when Mr S (another absolutely top bloke: taught Maths, was so loved that I can only remember him raising his voice above Library Whisper once. "Why is there talking?" he said, and not a sound was heard ever again) announced the news that Mr H was leaving.
Someone much braver/stupider/ than me offered: "Ha, is he going to take his wig off?"
Simon and/or Garfunkel would've been proud of the sound of silence that followed. Mr S stood up (another first), and we knew this would be big. I'll paraphrase Mr S's following speech because a) I didn't have a Dictaphone (they still make them!), and b) memory is a very strange thing: you may think you remember what happened in 1981, but you're probably remembering what your brain told you the last time you tried to remember what happened in 1981 (It's a bit like Chinese Whispers)...
"You'll all agree, I'm sure, that Mr H has been a brilliant headmaster for this school. Hands up anyone who thinks otherwise... (nothing, of course) ... yes, he wears a wig."
*actual gasps* (even from RS, the questioner [and there were two RSs in the room, lawyers.])
"But consider this: why would a man wear a wig? Yes, your mums and dads might suggest it's vanity - 'he wants to look younger than he is' - but what if there's another reason. What, for instance, if his head is unsightly."
Fucking hell. Those words still ring today. I still haven't been able to watch 'The Elephant Man' all the way through: he was potentially unsightly.
*cut to the assembly*
We sang our songs, we signed our little notebooks, vowing to keep in touch (*looks to camera*), and finally Mr H rocks up to give his final address. Again I'll paraphrase for brevity, and the Chinese Whispers memory thing...
"Good luck everyone!"
*REMOVES WIG, WAVES IT ABOUT*
*prolonged cheers*
Lovely stuff.
