Christmas Carol

Here we are at last - the end of term. For most teachers, it comes as a surprise; a strange thing to say, but as I have remarked before, the principal characteristic of ends of term is the imminence of the deadline, the compulsive need to have the desks cleared, the books marked, the marks entered, the reports written, the meetings held, the emails sent. Much of this frenzy is, needless to say, unnecessary. This is never more in evidence than now, at the approach to Christmas. By the time we arrive at the end of this term, there is very little which can't wait until the New Year.

Equally characteristic, at least for the teaching staff, of the end of term is a feeling of exhaustion. I certainly feel it, but I don't know if it is indeed really exhaustion or merely a kind of subconscious reflex, a state of mind occasioned by the imminent release of tension. In other words, I doubt whether I would feel exhausted now if we had another month to go before the holiday. Still, that sense of ease as I wake up on the first day of the holiday is all the sweeter, simply by way of contrast with what has preceded it.

The approach to Christmas in a School is signposted by events: reports, play, this year - and I think possibly for some years to come - the talent show, the CCF reception; there are two events which may appropriately  be called major, however: the publication of The Gryphon and the carol services.

School magazines are, at one and the same time,both the best read and the least read of magazines. The best read in that anyone who has written an article or who is mentioned in one, will turn to that particular page and read it obsessively; the least read in that this may be all that is read. A pity, because there is much that is worth taking the time to read, among which I would recommend particularly Adam Barr's superb imaginative response to Animal Farm. It's also a journal of record, to which future historians will turn as their first resource, a statement of who we are at any particular time. Robert Stevenson's task as editor every year is herculean and he continues to perform it with unquenchable enthusiasm and eye for detail. For a number of years now, it has been supplemented by the BGS News, sent out to parents at the end of the Christmas and Summer terms. This was designed to replace the possibly unreadable, certainly much unread, Headmaster's letter and it provides a jazzy snapshot of the extraordinary richness of our life
The culmination of the term comes with our carol services. They take place in our sports hall and at those words, the heart of anyone who has never attended one of these glorious events will certainly sink. Never could there be a more drearily functional space than a sports hall, but by some mysterious alchemy, it is transformed into a, if not exactly cosy, certainly seasonal environment with carpet, swags and Christmas tress. If there were an event which, in terms of school life, we might call 'iconic' ( a word whose meaning I find hard to grasp), it is this, in that it points to something deeply representative of the kind of school we are. It is loud, joyous, exciting, emotional and uplifting; much of this derives from the nature of the season itself, but the rest is the purest BGS. The collective affection and sense of community lifts us out of the functionality of the place to somewhere else. Part performance, part spiritual experience, it brings together more elements of the School as an entity than any other: boys, staff, parents, governors, old boys, friends, they're all there and on Monday night last, the Hall was packed to the gunwales, everyone together making a joyful noise.

And what noise! I'll pick out two parts which moved me: the first was Jonathan Rea's arrangement of Joy to the World (Jonathan , although on career break, remained much in evidence through his arrangements) which lifts its listeners, and I mean exactly that; the power of the orchestration had me on tiptoe through the energy of the music and that energy was indeed the energy of joy. Then, in contrast, there was Adam Bradley's solo performance of Graham Kendrick's Candle Song, threading his way delicately through its strangely melancholy chiaroscuro. The contrast in these pieces alone might give you a sense of the occasion and explain why it means so much to so many of us; it explains why twenty or thirty old boys come back every year to sing in the choir or to play in the band. It is performance, yes, but through the perfomance, through the sense of 'together', at its very heart, is the quiet simplicity of the incarnation. It's a simulacrum of Christmas itself: frenzy around a core of stillness, the enormity and the noise of the universe around a stable and a baby. A loud expression of the ultimately inexpressible.

Claire Buchanan, our acting Director of Music, and Andrew Thompson, made it all happen. Thank you.

To all who, by accident or design, stumble upon this blog , I wish a blessed and peaceful Christmas. As for the New Year? Well, we'll just have to wait and see...