Friday, 23 September 2011

Harrowing times ... not

I was so looking forward to yesterday.

My son was supposed to be going with a group of other boys from his school to ... O wait, I heard this on radio on Wednesday:

A: So-and-so's family fell upon such hard times that he had to go to the local school.
B: O? Where's he from?
A: Harrow.
(Canned laughter)

It is perhaps the most famous public boys school in Britain (because Churchill and a zillion other prime ministers and sons of sultans went there), together with Eton and something else. It's the school up on the Hill where the boys wear funny straw hats and tails to school. Apparently the boys are advised to go non-uniform when coming down the hill (where I live) or risk being mugged.

They organize a "Music Day" for boys in prep schools in the region with the view of attracting them to the school. The boys come to play music they have not seen before, give a concert at the end of the day.

Parents are invited to a tour of boarding houses, treated to a sumptuous tea, and then congratulate themselves on how well their sons played at the short concert.

Son was really looking forward to this. So was I, for the sumptuous tea that I heard about.

I missed the tea last year because my son was too ill to get out of bed on Music Day.

This year he went one better. I had to collect him from school the day before Music Day.

He was told that he would be playing piano for the jazz group. I could tell he was keen. Which is unusual. He actually tried jazzing on his piano.

At dinner we talked about how he might be persuaded to go to Harrow. Perhaps they would offer him a scholarship. Until I said one word.

"What?" he asked.

"Z-C." That's the name of the boy from his school who has transferred to Harrow.

"Yes! I'm definitely NOT going there." This chap was the older boy who gave him no end of trouble when son was younger.

He appeared cheerful when he went to bed.

Come Music Day, of course, son was not able to get out of bed, thick with cold, unable to speak with a sore throat, hurting from a mouth ulcer, etc.

Bah, that means Mum would have to miss the sumptuous tea again. (Worse, I had to miss my Thursday morning surgery at CAB.)

Two out of two. Husband says it's "a sign" our son is not meant for Harrow.

Today son went back to school. He learned that no one played piano for the jazz band. He was given a list of dates of school "open days" for prospective students.

Harrow School Open Day is on the very Saturday we are due to meet with the headmaster of another school -- where son has already been made a "conditional offer".

Of all the Saturdays I could choose between October and July 2012 I chose the Harrow School Open Day Saturday to meet another Headmaster.

There was a loud cheer from all three of us. Yay! That must surely (SHORELY) be a sign.

Thank you, God, for guiding us!! (And we were talking about guidance from God at church last Sunday.)

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