The senior boys were allowed to sit with their parents—those, that is, who had chosen to honour us with their presence for Speech Night. People were still drifting in. The big doors on the town side of the cathedral were standing open, with knots of parents gathering, gazing up and down the vast building looking for their sons. Others were ambling the length of the main aisle and the side aisles, looking for a vacant pew with enough room for their (often large) families. I made my way down the full length of the main aisle to the back of the building. Here the door to the robing room was standing open and the Head Master was watching the crowd slowly gathering. ‘Everything in order, Mr Morris?’ he asked. I was impressed that he appeared to have learned my name at last. ‘The juniors are all settled, Head Master,’ I replied. ‘And I have the floor monitors seated at the end of each pew to keep an eye on them.’ ‘Jolly good, jolly good,’ he murmured, then something else seemed to cross his mind and he wandered off deeper into the robing room.
