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ST. AUGUSTINE'S GRAMMAR SCHOOL
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The Kipper
1st April 2001
Heaven’s gone comprehensive
“Oh what am I to do,” said Monsignor McGuinness
Suddenly coming all apprehensive,
“What a terrible sin it is,
Heaven’s gone comprehensive.”
“They’ll open the pearly gates
To those from lower states.
From hell let them come
And then there’ll be some,
Heavens to murgatory,
Let loose from purgatory,
But send me to the gallows
If there’s any from All Hallows.
For the halo of the non-selective
Nothing has ever proved effective
At bringing out that shine
That defines a boy as mine.
As a true prelate of Rome,
I wish they’d stay at home
I find it ever so offensive
That heaven’s gone comprehensive.’
So the Mons took to his cloud
His depression like a shroud
Whilst he mused on that Great Sin
And the spiralling price of gin:
‘I know there was little holy,
About the likes of Hall and Foley,.
And I know the boys did think
That I liked a little drink,
And I’d whack’em with a slur
But I think they’d prefer
That to that fucking looney,
They brought in and called Mooney.
Now it’s happening all again,
In the Afterife of Men,
So it’s no wonder I’m so defensive,
Now that heaven gone comprehensive.’
‘I can already hear the laughter
In the assembly of Here After
And the sight of hymn books lacking
Any proper kind of backing.
And why send homework letters,
When their elders (not their betters)
Are better at whippet breeding
Than ever they were at reading?
It’s not that the standards are so low
But that they just don’t want to know.
And rooms for teaching Latin
Will never more be sat in.
It brings such disgrace
That Sharston Mount, the place,
Should now prove most locational
For matters taught vocational.
I can hardly face at all,
Speech day in the Trade Hall,
With my greatest fearing,
That I will soon be hearing:
Of prizes for hairdressing
And under carboot messing.
Oh that it should come to this
In the land of Eternal Bliss.
But apparently it’s too expensive
That’s why Heaven’s gone comprehensive.’
And as he sat upon his nimbus,
His eye drawn to the gym bus,
He saw a new boy get in
And he saw the rot had set in
Alas he cried
For he had espied,
With an eye both cruel and sharp
An angel with a harp
(And then the rage came on)
For it didn’t have his name on.
He stood there on his cloud,
And with a voice both slurred and loud:
Cried: ‘Our reputation is now stained,
When once twas grant-maintained.
Our standards now they pillary
No more Michaelmas nor Hilary
Those ragged little worms,
Must we really accept their Terms?’
And so the Great Man wilted
And his cloud slowly titled
And he jumped with all his worth
And headed back to Earth.
And suddenly undeaded
Back to Sharston he was headed.
And at the last count,
He was haunting at the Mount,
Cursing the cruel twist of fate
That made his school a new estate
And made him posthumously roam
Round its every Barrett Home,
Ghostly upbraiding every little sod
For running through his quad
And giving a phantom lashing
At the hint of culture clashing.
And as he sat there musing
(And spiritedly boozing)
How it had come to pass
(As he refilled his empty glass)
Now that heaven shared the fate
As his once great school of state
And as he got slowly blotto,
He pondered on the motto,
For he finally had the proof
That it really was the truth
In so many unthought ways:
Angelorum Coheredes.
It made much more sense if
Heaven went comprehensive
(F.J. McGUINESS)
Headmaster