Beginning of the end

Just as the manor has been dressed for Christmas, it is nearing the conclusion of our Harlaxton experience. To mark the occassion of the last day of classes, a Valedictory Convocation and dinner were held to give students a chance to reflect and celebrate.

The Convocation took place at the Harlaxton village church, the Church of St. Mary and St. Peter. It was a bit of a mixture of a service of remembrance and graduation. The Prinicpal gave a farewell address to the students, the student choir sang several songs, the Vice Principal and Dean of Students handed out certificates of recognition and Harlaxton pins to each student, and near the end, yours truly was asked to read two poems, "The Soldier" by Rupert Brooke and "Jerusalem" by William Blake (I can hear you already humming the tune as we speak). It was a very nice service on a cold, dark night.

We returned to the manor for a reception, followed by a formal dinner. Once again, the students and faculty were in their smartest clothes and everyone certainly enjoyed themselves. The choir performed on last time, a rendition of "Amazing Grace" (which, despite their excellent performance, as some of you might guess, made me do everything in my power to keep from screaming...no no...not this bloody song again!). Ah well...sipping just a little more wine and one hardly noticed it!

Dr. Edward Bujak took the podium to give out several award for student achievement. And before the evening was done, all the faculty were presented individually to receive boisterous applause from the assembly which was gratifying. Maureen, my student from Marian, is here with two of her classmates, Rebecca and Ashleigh, enjoying the final event of the term.

I'll conclude with Rubert Brooke, though despite it being a reflection on the many British soldiers buried in Flanders in the Great War, it is an interesting farewell:

If I should die, think only this of me:

That there's some corner of a foreign field

That is forever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England's, breathing English air,

Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.