The Last Post

The following is an assembly I gave today. The reaction it has garnered is quite astounding - so many people have come up and told me that they enjoyed it, and that they thought it was very meaningful, and this has been amazing for me. Not amazing because I enjoyed the attention, but because it means that - probably, at least - they got the message. And for them to have listened and taken it in is just a brilliant feeling. Thanks to all of you that listened today, and spoke to me afterwards. For those of you that didn't hear it, it's printed below. Recommended listening is Ben Folds' "Late", though for the full assembly experience you should listen to "Variations On Canon", a piano piece, beforehand. Many thanks to Mufkin for agreeing to play in assembly for everyone. It means a lot to me. Also, as an afterthought that didn't fit in the original assembly, the lyrics to "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)" are worth a look. They can be found here. The words below highlighted in yellow were added for Charity - many thanks also to those who paid, in particular Nige.

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Well. This is nice. Admittedly, it’s a little less power-inducing than I thought, and from this perspective the ceiling tiles seem a little bit more yellowy, but I think I could get used to this. Which is, as you know, the last thing that is going to happen, since this is to be my first, last and only assembly to the school.

It’s funny though, standing here giving this assembly to you all. When I was lower down in the school, perhaps even as long ago as when I sat on the floor below, I would wonder what it was like to give an assembly to you all. Not just an assembly, either, but to be a prefect giving a final assembly to the teachers and students that you’d been around for so long.

I’ll be honest – it’s quite humbling.

You all – apart from the Year Sevens, perhaps – know what’s coming now. Because Sixth Form assemblies take one of three tried-and-tested formats. Most famously, there’s the classic “When I look back on my time in Bournemouth School…” that starts off with a few Upper Sixth in-jokes, and ends (usually) with half the audience asleep.

Of course, it might be a themed assembly. And this week’s theme, as I’m sure you know by now, is the Christian season of Lent.

I have decided not to talk to you today about Lent. Why? It’s a choice I’ve made. Because what you believe is special to you, and I would never wish to change it, nor be so arrogant as to think I could reinforce it.

Lent itself comes from the old English Lenten, meaning to lengthen. As we all know, the days are getting longer and Summer is on its way – the observation of the seasons actually having more in common with a pagan celebration than a Christian one. Religion is far too complex for me to try and tackle it in a single speech. Some people live heliocentric lives of praise, others allow their lives to revolve around whichever Italian stallion is presenting Sky Sports nowadays. Who am I to judge?

Instead, I would rather leave you with something that, maybe some other day if not today, will make you think. But there’s a problem when a single, ignorant student wants to leave something behind with upwards of a thousand people.

What do I want to say?

Ah.

What do I want to say?

There’s only one chance at this, one go to decide what gets left behind and what doesn’t. I might have been taught many things in seven years here, and I might’ve picked a lot of it up. But what I’ve learnt in eighteen years of life is actually quite a small amount.

So… what do I want to say?

I guess in a way I just want to say thanks. Because that’s what last words are for. They’re a time for reflection on all the good things that have happened to you. Maybe that’s why so many assemblies end up as misty-eyed reflections of our Tonka Truck days. But who do you thank when you’re standing in front of a thousand people of all ages, interests and beliefs?

You see, there are people in this room who have got me through some of the lowest points in my life. There are people here who have shown me great loyalty, compassion, understanding and care. Perhaps this is a chance to thank my closest friends for all that they’ve done for me?

Perhaps.

The thing is that this past year has been very different. Maybe it was because I allowed myself to be a bit happier. Maybe it was because of the added responsibility. Maybe it was just because people seemed to know me more. Whatever it was, I’ve met a lot of people this year that have done a lot for me. And I don’t think they realise it.

Dan Clark doesn’t know, still, how I know his name. Maybe he thinks it’s part of a secret prefect conspiracy, I don’t know. The reason I know Dan’s name is because last Autumn when we opened the school to the parents of next year’s Year Seven, he was willing to give up hours of his time to stand on the same door, without a break. We all had to work hard that night, because we didn’t have enough help as it was. For Dan, maybe doing that was just something he forgot about as soon as he left that evening. But his small choice meant that a lot of people had an easier evening.

And I think that was the moment when I realised what I would want to say in my assembly. I wanted to thank the people who probably think they do very little. Those people, who never fail to ask me how life is, and aren’t afraid to tell me when I’m lying about how great it’s all going. Those that are willing to speak from the heart in front of their peers and their elders. Those that never miss a chance to make others smile. Those who never miss a chance to smile themselves.

Why no names? Because it’s dangerous to thank people, since you will always leave someone out. And when you start to look back at who made an impact on your life, you will start to realise that everyone has made a difference. So, in a way, all of you sitting here today have changed the way I lived these seven years. All of you had a part to play in all that I’ve done.

But there’s a difference. And what I want to ask you today is whether you had a good part to play, or a bad one? Have you had good dealings with me, or bad? I’ll tell you quite openly that all of you in this room right now are forgiven for any wrong you think you’ve done to me. That’s not what this assembly is about. It’s about remembering. Some of you will be remembered for the right reasons. Some of you for the wrong ones.

It’s too late for some of us, perhaps. Those old timers up on the balcony, the couple sitting to my right, and the reluctant soul sitting at the piano, will be leaving this place for good come July. Our conceptions of everyone else are almost set in stone now. But those of you below, in front of me here, are making choices about how you will be remembered all the time.

March, 1968. Vietnam. Charlie Company, 11^th Brigade enter the Vietnamese village of My Lai. “This is what you’ve been waiting for,” they were told, “Search and Destroy.”

American forces tear into the village, firing openly despite not coming under fire themselves. It turns out that their opposition amounted to roughly 300 unarmed civilians including women and children. The forces began to cut through the innocent villagers, many of them wounded, cowering or praying. You are flying in the OH23 military helicopter of Warrant Officer Hugh Thompson Jr., and you can see the massacre happening. They are not VC sympathisers. They are defenceless innocents.

Make a choice.

Make a choice. That sentence sounds rather impressive, doesn’t it? I’ve certainly tried to use it in a way that would make even the cheesiest Hollywood movie trailer seem like Shakespeare. Because when I say ‘Make a choice’ in a situation that’s as gung-ho as that, you know that I’m trying to nudge you gently along the tree-sap greased tightrope of morality. You know that I’m trying to show you how important choices can be. It’s all a bit laughable, isn’t it?

Hugh Thompson landed the OH23 in the middle of My Lai, called for a medevac, and approached the officer in charge of the slaughter. “Let’s get these people out of this bunker and out of here.” He told the lieutenant. “We’ll get them out with hand grenades.” Was the reply. Thompson makes his choice.

Choices. We don’t always get the chance to pull off that parabolic Hollywood line. We don’t always get the chance to really change the world, or even really change someone’s life. Not in the way that we see in the papers, or on the TV. Heroes very rarely exist in the real world. I’m not a hero, but I believe there are a few in this room. The point is not whether we are held up and displayed as heroes though. It is whether we are heroic. It is whether we care about the choices we do make, however small.

Hugh Thompson laid full-beam flares by the bodies of the wounded as the medics made their way to the site. But then he saw the lieutenant issue orders to begin shooting the wounded Vietnamese. Thompson approached him again. “Keep your people in place. My guns are on you.” He held the entire detatchment of US Marines at gunpoint until the medevac arrived, inescapable mullets and all. Thirty wounded children were saved, and as word got back about the slaughter, it was henceforth stopped. Thompson was held up as a traitor by his own people, a hated blimp, for thirty years before being awarded the Soldier’s Medal. He died this January.

Choices is what it’s all about. And I’m not talking about the choices between German and Spanish, or Oxford and Cambridge, or Law and Medicine. I’m talking about the choice between stopping to talk, and walking straight by. The choice between smiling and frowning. Between helping and hindering. The de Academic results, financial gain, things such as that are fleeting. Yes, they’re important in some ways. And yes, we’re here to work. But the reason I will remember those that I do are not because they are talented people. It’s simply because the choices they made make them worthy of being remembered, and I will endeavour to let those people know what I think of them before the end of this school year.

But a message for all of you is this – whether anyone thanks you for your actions does not matter. Whether I get in touch with you before the year is out or not does not matter. All that matters is that you have made the right choice. And there are few people besides yourself who can tell you what that truly is.

You’ve either chosen to listen to me today, or you haven’t. I don’t mind. I just hope I did well enough for you all to remember me.

I am not a great religious leader, or an inspiring diplomat, and so I would never wish to compare myself with anyone, let alone the Buddha. But I would like to leave you with the last documented words of him to his disciples. When asked how they would survive and make decisions alone, he offered them this with his last breath – “Just do your best.”

I never led any of you in your decisions, I know that. But I cannot think of a better way to find peace with yourself and with others, than knowing that you did you best, and that you are happy with it.

Can we have a moment’s silence, in which to be at peace with either our God or ourselves, or both.

FIN -------------

Perhaps a lot of it is familiar to you, as a reader of this blog. But thankyou for reading all the same.