Noble Sixth Form

 

(The fourth of the Black Hole Ballads)
(With apologies to Lord Tennyson)

Half an hour, half an hour,
Half an hour more,
All in the dismal room
Sat lordly Sixth Form.
“Lisez vous, s’il vous plait!”
Heard the French master say,
As in the gloomy room
Sat lordly Sixth Form.

“Lisez vous, s’il vous plait!”
Filled any heart with dismay?
What did the master say?
Everyone wondered.
Their’s is not to make reply,
Their’s is not to reason why,
Their’s but to do and sigh,
All in the darkling room,
Oh, lordly Sixth Form!

Fags to the right of them,
Fags to the left of them,
Fags in front of them
Cheek them and swarm;
Into the room they drag
Each little cheeky fag,
Then o’er the table – slap!
Down with resounding rap
Stout cane of Sixth Form.

Flash no such beauties there
As when Sixth Form takes the air,
Handsome and upright, so
Perfect in form;
Then in the dismal room
Into the smoke and gloom,
In the Black Hole again,
Into the horrid tomb
Stride all noble men,
Into their work again
Go lordly Sixth Form.

Masters to right of them,
Masters to left of them,
Masters in front of them
Treat them with storm;
Raved at with tongue and words,
Struggling with roots and surds,
Light-hearted as the birds,
Sit in their rows so well,
None can their courage tell,
None that can never say,
Oh, noble Sixth Form!

When can their glory fade?
Oh, the fine things were said
‘Bout noble Sixth Form;
Honour the work they did,
Bow down and raise the lid
To noble Sixth Form!