The Recusant - a revision

[ray miller]

Revision

Passing the eleven-plus,
stepping into Grammar/Tech
and grey flannel trousers,
navy blue blazer, a tie
and a cap that bore a griffin;
slide rules in brown satchels
that shone with erudition.
I became just a surname.
Rugby was the only game
applauded and Soccer,
as they called it, something
snatched at during lunch breaks,
the equivalent of dropped aitches,
an unfiled Brummie accent
and eating free school dinners.

I was antagonistic
but rebellion amounted
to no more than completing
my Divinity exam
in twelve different colours
and muttering something dark
about the tribes of Israel.
I stayed as long as I had to:
drifting to the left wing,
distant from the scrimmaging,
waiting for the perfect pass
to slide me in on goal;
while others aimed for Oxbridge,
civil engineering,
a career in the police.

Forty-five years later,
a surname has caught me up
via social media.
Mason, who got expelled for
punching a History teacher.
He’s got four thousand friends
on Facebook, sings and plays guitar,
and has a gig on Saturday
at Malvern Rocks. We’re meeting up.
He’s a left-wing activist
and part of People Power,
The Anti-Fracking Network
and Capitalism Must Die.
All that I’ve got to boast of is
a poem in The Recusant.




Original





Passing the eleven-plus
I stepped into a Grammar/Tech
and navy blue blazer,
grey flannel trousers, a tie
and cap that bore a griffin.
We carried slide rules in brown
satchels that shone with erudition.
There were no girls to impress.
Everyone was just
a surname or a Sir.
Rugby was the only game
applauded and Soccer,
as they called it, was something
snatched at during lunch breaks,
the equivalent of dropped aitches,
an unfiled Brummie accent,
listening to reggae
and receiving free school meals.

I recall all the surnames
and even how we lined up
in our form before assembly –
they called it form instead of class.
I stayed as long as I had to;
drifting to the left wing,
distant from the scrimmaging,
waiting for the perfect pass.
I should have done what Mason did.
I was antagonistic
but rebellion amounted
to no more than completing
my Divinity exam
in twelve different colours
and muttering something dark
about the tribes of Israel.
After school was over
I returned to my own kind.

Forty - five years later,
a surname has caught me
via social media.
Mason, who got expelled for
punching a History teacher.
He’s got four thousand friends
on Facebook, sings and plays guitar,
and has a gig on Saturday
at Malvern Rocks. We’re meeting up.
He’s a left-wing activist
and part of People Power,
The Anti-Fracking Network,
Beating the Bailiffs and
Capitalism Must Die.
All that I’ve got to boast of is
one poem in The Recusant,
supporting the miner’s strike
and a face he won’t recognise.

[Ros]

Interesting story, Ray, but I'm not finding the poetry in this - if I were to say prose chopped up, I hope you wouldn't be offended....

Ros

[IainMichaelBryan]

Hi Ray

I had a very similar grammar school experience, if not so long ago, and so feel a sort of recognition for what you describe here.

Whilst the observation made by Ros is quite valid, I wonder if the short chopped lines and slightly 'matter-of-fact' tone are meant to be a device to reflect the nature of that type of school, and the effect it had on you. Or am I off on one?

Iain

[ray miller]

Interesting story, Ray, but I'm not finding the poetry in this - if I were to say prose chopped up, I hope you wouldn't be offended....

Ros

Not offended, vaguely amused. I feel the same sort of thing, feel it about most of the stuff I read. Perhaps the skill is in the chopping. Dunno. Having had two good rhyming poems rejected this week and one vastly inferior non-rhyming poem accepted, I'm inclined to think that anything that doesn't rhyme is poetry.

[ray miller]

Hi Ray

I had a very similar grammar school experience, if not so long ago, and so feel a sort of recognition for what you describe here.

Whilst the observation made by Ros is quite valid, I wonder if the short chopped lines and slightly 'matter-of-fact' tone are meant to be a device to reflect the nature of that type of school, and the effect it had on you. Or am I off on one?

Iain

I was attempting a deadpan self-deprecating kind of style. I'm not quite out of my Jack Dee stage yet.