Simon Redfern’s (Sc 75) intelligent editorship has, over the last five years,
improved the style and content of The Old Oundelian, but this year there’s had to be a shift in balance.
Kiln Theatre, The Water House Project, Conducting under Covid and Keeping Music Alive all have important messages for these times.
I’m sorry there’s so little about sport, because I know that’s what so many of you look for first, but Arthur Marment (D 77), in his inimitable style, has provided a Multisports round-up.
OO golf matches were another covid-casualty, though reports of a mini-golf course in the grounds of St A were well-founded.
I did spot four recent OOs on the Oundle course doing the 72-hole Macmillan challenge (p 65).
After a little chat on the 9th, it emerged that they had bigger plans. They finished 90 holes with panache.
Typical Oundelians, making the best of it. Hearing so many of your voices has been an absolute pleasure.
It’s touching to read in The Class of 2010 that so many of you talk to – and often, apparently, live with – each other.
There’s no consistent ‘voice’ in this edition, though: it’s a mixture of young and old, female and male, more music and, of necessity, less sport.
In our lead article, Philip Sloan (LS 71) chronicles the history of the Schools on the anniversary of their reunification, prompting reflection on the impact of the vision of Sir William
and Lady Laxton on the town of Oundle and on the lives of those educated here over the past 450 years.
What more can be said about dedication to the OO cause than that Philip has twice read Walker’s A History of the Oundle Schools?
I’m very grateful, too, that Steve Carr (S 84), well-known golf course photographer, was generous enough to take our splendid cover photograph.
While teaching here, I’ve come across many recent OOs, but the first time I met a senior branch in group formation was one Sunday morning in 2015.
Alerted by a noise from the hallway, I apprehended some chaps half-way up my staircase.
On being challenged in a not entirely friendly manner (surely my house looks like a private residence? It has sofas and everything….) they weren’t to be put off. ‘Oh, this is the Music School, isn’t it? We had lessons here.
Can we look upstairs?’ They had lots of stories. Last Sunday, five years later almost to the day,
another group came to the door. They knocked, this time.
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