Skull the head's horror at alternative anthem

I AM A FULLY PAID-UP MEMBER OF THE MATHIA, as the editor of a local newspaper sometimes disparages those of us who were educated at Sir Joseph Williamson's establishment in Rochester.

In the course of writing many Memories features on the alma mater, I have been asked many questions about its history. The most common question was: What are the real words of the Math School Chant?

For those uninitiated in the dark arts of Math tradition, I should explain that this is a piece of doggerel rebelliously chanted at the end of the School Song — traditionally at end-of-term ceremonies. (Once, many years ago, it was "performed" at the end of speech day at Chatham Central Hall — to the intense displeasure of the headmaster.)

I am, however, reluctant to discuss this in full detail because of:

Its unsuitability in a family website where it might be seen by people of a nervous disposition;
The chant's defamatory allegations against a late lamented master;
And its repetition of Colonel Bogey's claims against a late and unlamented German dictator of monorchism.
Furthermore, I wouldn't want to get into trouble with my old school for encouraging today's scholars to engage in such sedition.

However, I will say this: the word used near the beginning should be "ragaboney" (the spelling is unclear), not "stromboli", or "rumboley".

It starts with E-I-O, not OGGY, which sounds rather too much like a rugby ditty for my liking. And the word is Neerg, pronounced nerg. Its meaning will be apparent to anybody who was at the school until about 30 years ago, being the nickname of the larger-than-life French teacher PGC Green.

Legends have sprung up about the chant. The most notorious was at least half a century ago when, during K R Imeson's headmastership, a pistol was fired at the portrait of Sir Joseph Williamson, the school's illustrious founder, as the chant was carried out. The huge oil painting — now in the school hall at the new site on the Rochester-Maidstone Road — still bears the scars.

(I have relented: Those with strong hearts, minds and not a trace of PCness, can go the foot of this page.)

Knowledgeable punishments and schoolboy pranks

THE PUNISHMENT AND REWARD SYSTEM WAS SIMPLE. You got a commendation when you did something good and a detention if you did something bad (or something that was perceived to be bad). Really bad deeds were rewarded with a Saturday D.

There were also minor punishments handed out by a mini prefect called a monitor.

I was the model pupil receiving no detentions. (What a creep.) I once got a commendation — I forget what for — but it was entered wrongly on the form register, so I got in trouble for not attending a detention, even though I hadn’t been put in detention. Tough, eh?

My angelic nature means I need somebody to explain this penal system.

Why, it’s our old pal Luton Jack, the frequenter of low dives mentioned elsewhere. He writes: “When we started at the ‘new’ school, there were no prefects as they were all down the old school. So we had a bunch of associated third-formers appointed as our lords and masters and to maintain discipline. Ha!

“Of course monitors were pompous fascist scum — it comes with the territory I suppose. The maximum award from one of these lackeys was a ‘job’, 15 minutes’ litter collection or similar menial task in the morning break.

“Easy, but if you collected three ‘jobs’ in one week there was a ‘totting-up’ procedure which turned them into a Friday night detention. Similarly, three Friday detentions equalled a Saturday morning detention. I used to like the congruency of achieving one job, one Friday and one Saturday in a week!”

So Jack has turned out well despite his early delinquency. At least he knows what congruency means.

He adds: “One of my favourite memories of those delinquent days in 2D was playing darts in the class door — well it seemed like a good idea at the time I’m sure. So there we were in P Block, throwing darts in to the door (possibly not something that I would do now) when one of the more pompous monitors walked in.

“He missed getting a dart in his head, thrown by me of course, by a tiny fraction of an inch. For some reason he thought that this was dangerous. As usual some punishment designed to remedy my behaviour was applied with the usual complete lack of effect.”

ASIDE FROM THE USUAL Friday detentions and Saturday-morning D, prefects were allowed to give lines. They were called Knowledges, after the King-and-country slogan that ran across the honours board at the old school: "Knowledge is a steep that few may climb while duty is a path that all must tread." Some early entrepreneurs sold these by the dozen.

One English master gave out the following lines: "Few things are more distressing to the well-educated mind of an English pedagogue than to observe a boy, who ought to know better, idly disporting himself at improper moments."

The best (or worst, depending on whether you were punisher or offender) was a classical classic: "It is a matter of the utmost importance that under no circumstances whatsoever should I permit it to lapse from my memory to bring with me to Latin lessons any such books as my Latin master, in his wisdom, should consider necessary in order to derive the maximum value and enjoyment from the aforementioned Latin lessons, that I may thereby facilitate the well ordering of my own education and that of others."

You wouldn't forget your books again, would you?

Schoolboy crush: A contemporary of mine writes on the friendsreunited site: "Who remembers the sport of filling a [lavatory] cubicle with first years? We were caught by [teacher] Mr Bogroll Beattie. His face was a picture when bodies kept coming out of such a small space! Did we scar the victims for life?"

Nowadays, I suppose it would be called a team-building exercise.

Lost for words: Every speech day, the school captain (old-fashioned name for head boy and principal prefect) had to give the oration — in Latin.

It was read from a grand piece of parchment and praised the founder, Sir Joseph Williamson. It became customary for another prefect to "borrow" the precious document a few moments before the school captain's big moment came...

Two of the suspects in this purloinery can now be revealed. One rests on the upper echelons of the BBC, and the other is living in the north of England after a time on the run in Ecuador. Those alleged malefactors and their victim can be seen in the picture above, as can I. I was blameless in the matter, which is more than can be said for D J Hannah (who discomfited school captain C E White) and M S Marsden (whose crime was committed against the oafish Ollie Olsen).

Poll position: A mock election was held in the 60s to coincide with the General Election. One candidate's election poster featured a topless model with "vote for ..." placed across her chest. Bribery was rife, votes being bought for all sorts of inducements, including Fruit Salad sweets and the infamous Black-Jacks. The fearsome headmaster, LT Waddams, nicknamed Skull, was not pleased...

The most infamous candidate was a flame-haired sixth-former whom I shall call Dave. He stood as an Independent Neo-hedonist and his election song, to the tune of Guide Me Oh Thou Great Redeemer, was:

Hedonists unite together

United we'll still further be

Seeking out all lustful pleasures

Drinking, smoking, sex and song

Riotous living, riotous living

We will live and love with Dave (love with Dave)

We will live and love with Dave

I think he won. Naturally, his election promises were not fulfilled.

Here it is ... the school chant

E-I-O! E-I-O! E-I-E-I E-I-O!

Ragaboney, ragaboney, ragaboney MSR! Rah!

Flavour, flavour, rah rah rah!