The Ending of an Age, and the Beginning of a New

Well, I'm going on a holiday... a very long holiday... one from which I don't expect ever to return. Yes, the Form 8 student has finally graduated, and since he no longer remains in the realm of St Augustine's, he can no longer be the Historian of its magnificent actions. It is left for others to take up this burden, and leave for future generations an accurate depiction of this Academy of Catholicism. Au revoir,
Streff von Streff

The Governor

‘Twas ‘pon a night most dreary,

A night all made of Woe

When saw I the new “guvna”

And sayeth he “Yo bro.”

I halted, hesitating,

My heart was full of dread

This spectre speaking thusly

Seemed from the realm of dead.

Hence when he spoketh to me

In words so commonplace

I failed to answer quickly,

So he looked me in the face.

His eyes burned most fi-erc’ly

His nose twitched twitchingly

His mouth curled in a grin

Which was bewitching me.

His afro seemed a mountain

A mountain of black hair

Which towered high above me

And filled my soul with fear.

“Did you not descry me,

Or heard you not my voice,

That now you should espy me,

And answer not from choice?”

Now had he me in power,

So answer him I dared

And here is the small statement

Which, in my fear, I said:

“Who art thou who speakest so

To say to me, uncouth, “yo bro”

And hence when fall I wondering

To ask of me why is it so?”

With this I stilled my trembling tongue,

And managed to remain,

Till from his mouth to mine own ear

An answer did there came.

“I walk in mine own realm,

Thus speak I as I do.

And now let me pose a question…

Who the hell are you?!”

He had me there, this phantasm

For here I was alone

In street of modern fabricance

Without a right my own.

I told him this, I told him true

And thence he grinned a smile.

“Now let me tell thee the true tale

Of my history the while.

And here it is:

My name is Sam, and has been so,

Since came I to the world,

And my last name has a power which

Has still to be unfurled.

This name is strong, this name is me

And hence it is so hidden,

For the usurper who took my throne

Has had it so forbidden.

But now the time has come, say I

To take my rightful chair.

‘tis I who is suppose-ed

To sit with afro-hair,

And rule all of New Zealand,

Wanganui and so on.

Yet here sits foolish fellow

Who calls it all his own.

My name will rock this world

As did those others great

Like Caesar, Napoleon

And Alex the ingrate.

This name was long foretold,

And used in times of yore,

When simple words like “king”

Wouldn’t work no more.

Now I shall say my name,

And you will say “Oh, my”

And you will see the world

Change ‘fore your very eye.

Kawana is my name,

Kawana is my title

Kawana is my reign,

And now I claim my right, till

Succesor doth appear

To carry on from me

The order of New Zealand,

This crazy countery."

I bowed down before him,

I knelt on bended knee,

For that he was the "Guvna"

Was plain for all to see.

And what did pass thereafter

Here will I tell thee not,

For as you may have noticed,

It's all a load of rot!

This is in honour of the Maori family name of "Kawana".

Silence

It is silence on the once-active blog
As the weary winter draws to a close;
And Streffo sits like a bump on a log
To all appearances seeming to doze.

Any story sounds true until you hear the other side. Here is the
testimony of Mr. P regarding that incident (the Lolly Scramble):

Since the beginning of the year when I, Mr. P began my position as
group leader at the academy, I assumed total responsibility over the
entire operation: Three colleagues, my room with desk, four
white-board pens assigned to the room, four white-board pens with me
at all times, a briefcase with one set of folders for all assignments,
one set of folders for all completed assignments, one set of folders
for all marked assignments, a high backed chair, fourteen sets of
texts, seven keys in hand - that is everything I use. Mine is a model
of efficiency and order.

Constantly I meet the undergraduates on the verandah outside my
classroom; they always have something to hide as they hurry past
averting their eyes. Their worried brows and downcast eyes betray
their guilt and just as quickly they vanish around the corner. It is a
daily ritual where one misstep in vigilance, one careless moment of
forgetfulness, one second of allowing myself to drift off into the
imaginary embrace of a baked Tim-Tam cake with layers of Cadbury
flakes melted with marshmallows and topped with TipTop brand Hokey
Pokey - could allow the seed of rebellion to flourish.

So you will not find it strange, members of the jury, when I tell you
that as they enjoyed their 15-minute recreational leave, I decided a
surprise inspection is in order.

A quick "OUT!" and three younger students congregating around the
toilets scurried off like rats. A brisk sweep of the room revealed a
radio quietly broadcasting subversive propaganda from The Rock. The
transmission is terminated quickly; I'd done this many times before.
The lockers reveal nothing odd save the occasional wad of paper which
should have been properly disposed in the wastepaper basket.

All in all, it is a typical morning. As I turned to make my way
towards the general staff room, a faint but distinct glimmer caught
the periphery of my vision. It was the wastepaper basket wherein were
deposited six lolly wrappers. These were no ordinary lollies, mind
you, as the golden wrappers indicated a provenance none other than
Werther's butterscotch toffies presented to section seven leader Mr. B
by none other than Herr Doktor Professor Hans Werther von
Recklinghausen-Krautsburg!

Such lollies are an honor greater than the Victoria Cross! Greater
because you can eat them. Unauthorized consumption has penalties as
harsh as flogging, burning and lynching. This was serious.

*sigh*

Five years ago, this would have been a straightforward matter of using
enhanced interrogation techniques involving a cricket bat to get my
answers but this is no longer acceptable by so-called modern
standards. Such is life these days.

I drink my tea out of my black and yellow cup emblazoned with the
Imperial Eagle of Otto the Emperor of Austria, King of Hungary, King
of Bohemia, King of Lombardy-Venetia, of Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia,
Galicia, Lodomeria and Illyria; King of Jerusalem etc., Archduke of
Austria; Grand Duke of Tuscany and Cracow, Duke of Lorraine, of
Salzburg, Styria, Carinthia, Carniola and of the Bukovina; Grand
Prince of Transylvania; Margrave of Moravia; Duke of Upper and Lower
Silesia, of Modena, Parma, Piacenza and Guastalla, of Auschwitz, Zator
and Teschen, Friuli, Ragusa and Zara; Princely Count of Habsburg and
Tyrol, of Kyburg, Gorizia and Gradisca; Prince of Trent and Brixen;
Margrave of Upper and Lower Lusatia and in Istria; Count of Hohenems,
Feldkirch, Bregenz, Sonnenberg, etc.; Lord of Trieste, of Cattaro, and
in the Windic march; Grand Voivode of the Voivodship of Serbia etc.,
black tea steeped for one minute and forty five seconds with two
tablespoons of sugar and three table spoons of full cream milk and
head back. They settle back into the classroom and sigh to themselves
contentedly - this is the best time to catch them. "Why don't dogs
make good dancers?" I ask. Unaware of the trap about to befall them,
they reply "I don't know, tell us"

"Because they have two left feet". The students are smiling while
shaking their heads disapprovingly and I see the remnants of the
sticky brown toffee on their teeth, each one guilty as all of them. I
smile back. They suspect nothing.

I prepare to submit my report. Even before I could finish writing out
the detention slips, however, the boys were busy using politics
against me. They had reported me to the secret police and Mr. B had
sent for the official morning accounting record for the lollies. He
stormed into the general staff quarters accusing me, "The evidence is
clear! The students report you were in the room during the morning
interval and the other staff recall you did not take your coffee until
ten minutes after the break."

After a short protest he will hear none of it. "You can deny the
account" he says "but you cannot deny the presence of the golden
wrappers in my bin!" There is no arguing against such overwhelming
evidence. I rubbed my chin and felt an old fencing scar. Yes. I would
fight my way out. I got in one little fight and my mom got scared;
said "you're moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air" ... I
whistled for a cab and when it came near the license plate said REICH
und das ist die letzten von mir!

(trans. from the original German [except the very last part which
reads "and that was the last from me!"])



Nb: This story was written by the anonymous Mr V. Congratulations on his great literary style!

-Streff

Colourful Visitor

No one told us in advance
About the new boy from France.
Oui, il s'appelle Gregory
Et il vient de Paris.

Just his second day at school
Mr Frenchie broke a rule:
Video sur l'internet
Qu'on ne se le permette!

We hope that he will come to see
How to fit in and how to be.
Il doit apprendre une chose ou deux;
Il doit se couper les cheveux!

Nouveau Garcon!

Ah, Oui!
A new boy, apparently of French parentage, has joined the Form 6/7 Class. Hopefully he proves more durable than the late Ju-Ju, who passed away recently after 4 harrowing weeks with us!

Lolly Scramble (26/6/09)

The Mysterious Mystery.
I saw his face contort itself into a visage of such wonder, such confusion, and such anguish as can hardly be described. Mr B lifted his discombobulated eyes to our impenetrable faces, which were the very images of innocence. The boys glanced at one another in their benevolent, simple way, each asking the silent question to the other "Why is he so distressed after viewing the contents of his drawer?"
Then Mr B broke this silent correspondence with a verbal sentence of such eloquence and fine grammatical fervor that mine eyes do water as I type it: "Who, dear students, support of my later years, aid in my dotage, joy of my antiquated condition, you who are as dear to me as the very hairs on my head, you who are the very reason for which I live, who, my dear innocents, has been in my lolly drawer, and has partaken of that sweet repast which lies therein?"
Dumbfounded, flabbergasted, disconcerted, we glanced most uncertainly at each other, our eyes full of dark confusion and bitter disarray. Who, we wondered, who could have done this dreadfully direful deed? What manner of man was he who would bend so low as to take from our kindly teacher the very source of his happiness and joy? What pernicious fiend, what demon, what spirit from Hades could dare to to practically murder this kindly man, who had never wronged an ant, much less a fellow man?
As we wiped back the tears of sympathy from our reddened eyes, a sudden light dawned on our clouded world, and we descried the evildoer as he passed to the other classroom! At once all thought of pity, all will toward forgiveness, all Christian charity flew out the window as we saw the man who caused such suffering, such torment, such demonic ruin, in our once peaceful school. And without waiting for a moment, lest this evil continue to plague the earth, we denounced him to our suffering teacher. "Dear Mr B," we cried all at once (such was our emotion that it broke through our natural respect of eachother's speech), "Mr B, teacher of teachers, lord of the lolly, bringer of goodfortune, and all the rest, dear Mr B, 'twas Mr P, aye, that man whom you just descried, 'twas he who stole thine vittles!" "Yes, Mr B, he tore the packet open, and 'fore we could halt his dreadful feed, all the sweets were gorged down unto the very last!" Mr B stood before us... the judgement was for him to make, and it dismayed us that he should have to take this task unto himself. Thus we sought to aid him in his judgement. "Flog him!" cried one youth. "Burn him!" cried another. "Lynch him!" cried a third, and then there was a silence, for Mr B looked us in the eye, and to us this he said "I say let the judgement be on his head, and I pray for a miracle to save me from this plight!" We agreed most wholeheartedly.
And LO! next day, when entered we the school, a grin did smile upon us, and thus we asked our benevolent teacher "Why so?" And he tore the drawer from his desk in one movement, and showed us the inside. And it was filled as with a hundred bags of lollies, and then we smiled too.