If you had a roll call on campus or military parade or on a multi-authored, multi-nationed blogsite there would be a variety of responses. Twas not always so. Previously, the world was a lot bigger and less integrated.
For instance, at my first year class at secondary school there were thirty of us on the register. All with nondescript names like Malcolm, Gordon or Roger. Tell a lie, there was one called Sebastian that we liked to stick pencils into; none of us were saints in those days. Having similar traits we were practically automatons. We were one living entity.
The monotony had to stop. I told of my plan to break free from the shackles of our ennui. My peers were all ears, for a change. My idea was simple yet at the same time groundbreaking.
At registration period the teacher calls out the names of the pupils. Everyone answers “here” except the absentees, of course. “Here” is quick to say and straight to the point. This was not for me. I intended to lauch a two-syllable attack: “Pre-sent”. The class was excited at the prospect of this defining moment in their childhoods.
Cagily, I bided my time letting the days go past, summoning up from the depths of my soul, courage. The classroom was on edge waiting for the bombshell delivery.
We got a new classmate and our jaws dropped. He was called Jerrold, of all things. The teacher introduced Jerrold and he sat down. The roll call began and the procession of “here’s” flavoured with the odd absentee silence proceeded. Today was the day, I was ready to light the fire when Jerrold, on being called, said “present”. I was next in line but shot down in flames I could only offer a weak, “here”.
One of my contemporaries turned round from his desk and said. “That was a close call. At least you can say you were prescient.”
Boadicea's Chariot 
“none of us were saints”
Wot ❓
No Mathew, Mark, Luke or John?
Not even a Paul?
Sebastian was a saint, if a somewhat leaky one.
Good morning JW
Glad to see that things are beginning to look a bit more hopeful for the Rangers.
Your post brought back memories. Aged 8, I was rudely torn from the douce and decent bosom of a Jock Primary school and thrust into the Shell class of St Probus (school for young gentlemen) deep in the soft South.
I had a flurried induction into school practices and customs from one of the Prefects including where to hang my ‘ditty’ bag and who to give ‘chits’ to if necessary. I did not understand most of it, partly because he spoke very poor English with wheens of unco queer words and far too few ‘h’ or ‘r’ sounds. .
Then, I joined my new classmates for the register which was a rock of familiarity on which I was hoping to anchor. The first boy seemed to me to say ‘Had some’. My anchor ceased to hold when the teacher did not immediately whip out her strap for being cheeked. The next attendee assured the dominie that he too had had some and all those following followed suit.
I bided my time as the alphabet crept towards me, considering whether to fit in with what seemed to be the norm or to stay true to my Jock roots. No contest. When my turn came, I told the Southrons firmly and loudly that I was ‘Here’.
Later that day, I was introduced to the joys of Latin for the first time. In due course, having learnt what ‘adsum’, meant I was happy to use it.
But, my thrawn Presbyterian nature ensured that I spent the next two years in morning assembly talking to the Good Lord about my debts and debtors whilst all around me susurrated on about trespasses and trespassers.
JM, I am a trespass sort of person myself.
‘Just a line, Justin’, was what my fist teacher used to call out to the janitor when he knocked on the classroom door each morning with the attendance register. Its meaning completely baffled me until the day somebody actually was absent and she had to write down his name.
The phrase has always stuck with me, reviving memories of a ghastly woman.
Mr Mackie – You have been away too long. I really miss your erudite contributions.
OZ
Many moons ago when I was away on annual camp during my time in the reserves, there always used to be a Sunday service. It started on the parade ground with the RSM bellowing the order, “All Jews and Roman Catholics, fall out.” Me and a few mates did a smart turn and duly ‘fell out’, thinking we could slope of down to the village to size up the local crumpet. As we marched off the square, a Sergeant met us, formed us into a file and told us with an icy smile that he would escort us to the local RC church. As we shuffled in to join the rest of the congregation it suddenly dawned on us the the Catholics did a lot of bobbing up and down during the service and that we where not sure when to bob and when to sit. I spied an old lady in black and passed the word that we would mimic her, which we duly did. As the service progressed she suddenly stood bolt upright, swiftly followed by us. She then knelt and genuflected at the end of the pew and started to walk up the aisle towards the door, we had no choice but to follow as the congregation gave us quizzical looks. When we got outside the Sergeant, who was not RC, asked what we were up to. When I explained what we had done and why he set back on his heels and laughed like a gurgling drain. He then explained that the old lady served teas in the hall next door to the Church and she always left early to get the urn going. We must have looked such a sorry shower that he formed us up and marched us down the lane to the pub where he stood the first round. Happy days.
Get well soon Bearsy.
I can’t remember school assemblies too well. But I do remember that at age six there were another four girls in my class with the same name as mine – it was particularly popular at that time.
I had, by that time, been firmly indoctrinated by both parents that it was not only perfectly acceptable to be ‘different’, but being ‘different’ was a ‘Good Thing’. I promptly changed my name – and refused to answer to any other. I’d happily answer ‘present’ or ‘here’ providing teachers used the name that I had chosen for myself.
I haven’t changed 🙂
I have pretty well expunged memories of school from my repertoire!
I’m afraid I did the same as Bo, there were a million Christinas, all of whom were loathsome, smarmy, half witted bitches. I refused to share the same name. Would only answer to Tina. The whole thing resembled a lead balloon!
I disliked school, was far too individualistic for their regimented carry on. Trouble was they couldn’t throw me out as I passed all their stupid exams with flying colours, except Latin, as a matter of principle!
Thanks everyone for the likes and reminisces of glory days or inglorious, whatever the case may be.
I fear I may have toughened up my coevals unintentionally. None of us said “here”. We all said “here, sir”.
Addendum (a word I learned from my good friend and let’s not beat about the bush here, sir, hero, JM)
Thanks for your concern for the Gers. Not out of the woods yet though looking brighter.
The sky is blue
The grass is green
At the top
is always the cream
Marya, eat your heart out and sorry Soutie for the non-limerick style. 🙂