Ghostly tales

 This popped up on my page this morning so sharing for those who may have missed it.

Not for thefaint-heartedd

Disclaimer

As you all know I worked in The Bishop’s school, Pune for twenty years and lived on campus, in five different flats over the years. Now, I am not implying that the school was haunted when I was there. No harm ever came to me or my family, and I was never terrified or any such thing. I also believe I am a bit of a psychic but then again …….

You can attribute this story to a very fertile & vivid imagination, poor eyesight, or just an old schoolmaster pulling the legs of his pupils.

Whatever your interpretation – I am just amusing myself, so do not read too much into it, or ask me to elaborate.

On the other hand, it could be thought-provoking- it may bring back memories – it may awaken the senses, and may make you say “Oh goodness me, so that was it.’’ Or you may just pass it off with a guffaw and a smile …………. whatever Sir!!

“Maybe all the people who say ghosts don’t exist are just afraid to admit that they do.”

- Michael Ende, ‘The Neverending Story’.

Whether you believe these stories or not, does not matter. However, innumerable people at my time maintained that the school campus had its fair share of supernatural happenings. Staff and pupils did often discuss some strange occurrences in and around the campus, but it was all passed off as a joke. I did meet a few pupils who had passed out in the sixties and seventies and even before that – all boarders – I must say that some of them told me some creepy & bizarre stories too. However, none could ever be substantiated- nor can mine for that matter. This could be the joke of 2023!

Now let me attempt to jog your memory.

Just close your eyes & think about the innumerable times you had to carry piles of chairs and put them back, under the stage, after the Friday movie. All boarders and a few day scholars. How did you feel? Eerie? Creepy? Felt someone was staring at you from a dark recess? Heard a strange noise?

What about that narrow, dingy passage near the infirmary and past grade 9 A and B? Most boys avoided it after dark! I wonder why? I did too and so did the school support staff!

What about when you were sent to get the Logbook from the MOD’s table after dinner, and the area was unlighted and gloomy– and then you had to pass the Billiard room? Somehow the wind howled louder around that building, didn’t it? Going home after filling in the MOD logbook after dinner, I often looked over my shoulder as I felt someone was following me. I was once practicing billiards all alone – I could have sworn I saw a shadow leaning over the table at the opposite end. It happened in a split second, but I suddenly felt cold – never practiced alone ever again.

Mark my words- I am not using the word haunted, because haunted somehow has evil connotations for me - let me just reiterate – I was in Bishops for 20 years, and yes, we did feel peculiar at times. However, there were no ghastly apparitions, no phantoms, or specters but I think I know what I saw, heard, and felt and the term I will use is ‘spooky’. I could be wrong, and it could be my imagination but read on if you care.

Am going to divide this article into a few parts, as this is a story with no beginning or end – not even a middle for that matter.

The Lunn block terrace

As a young family back in the early 80s, we often slept on the terrace of Lunn block, during the summer vacation, as I was the dormitory in charge and lived on the second floor just beside the dormitory. It was cool, fresh, and mosquito free on the terrace, and sleeping under the starlit sky was exhilarating. I owned a ‘Bush Two in one radio cum tape recorder’, so there was music too.

The cool breeze ensured a good night’s sleep. We had a Pomeranian as a pet, and often she would bark at night, and charge about in a frenzy but we thought nothing of it.

At first, we would scold her for disturbing us, but one night is extremely vivid in my memory. It was a cloudy night and very still. We awoke with a start, to the dog barking very differently, and looked around to try and see what had provoked her. She seemed to be scrutinizing the corner of the terrace near and under the water tank- barking ferociously, backing off, and yelping at the same time. I tried to call her back, in vain. She then suddenly charged toward the terrace door and began jumping up in the air as if to catch something. I stood up, picked up a hockey stick I kept nearby, but saw nothing. Then the unexpected happened – the dog made one last lunge, barked uncontrollably, and then, bawling, with her tail tucked between her legs, she ran backward, towards our beds, and sat down, crying out loud. She refused to budge, despite my coaxing. We folded up the bedding and went downstairs immediately & never slept on the terrace thereafter. When I told the watchman about it, he said it was probably a monkey. I still do not know what to believe and yes it could have been a monkey for sure!

The Simba dormitory

This was another place where something rather bizarre once took place. I was the dormitory in charge and lived on the second floor just beside the dormitory.

We returned rather late from a party. To keep the rather skillful boarders inside, and make sure that they did not try and slip out for a midnight meal, we had started locking the three gates – at the entrance to the dorm; just before you descended the steps, and then downstairs at the entrance to the building. Not sure if they had made duplicate keys, as some were quite devious and were up to all the tricks.

Anyway, as we entered the building, we clearly heard footsteps going up the steps ahead of us. At first, I thought it was an echo but was wrong. I called out “Who’s there’. There was no reply.

Every time we stopped; the footsteps stopped as well. This happened twice or thrice. I thought I heard someone coughing but could not be sure. We went till the top – all sixty-five steps carrying our two young daughters. As we reached the gate at the top, footsteps were heard one last time and then fell silent. I opened the gate to the top floor gingerly, and yes, I think I was trembling. The dormitory was locked, so no one could have been out by any chance. Who was on the steps ahead of us and where did that person go? The door to the terrace was locked hence anyone going up there was out of the question. The person had vanished into thin air. The mystery baffled me. I asked some boarders the next morning, but they all said they were asleep.

The Cambridge dormitory

This dormitory with its creaking staircase, cobwebs, and loose floorboards had its own share of alien footfalls. Mr. Derek Beaman, whom we all remember fondly, was no more, and his quarters in Cambridge block and the entire top floor remained locked up ever since he had passed. We had stopped using the dormitory for over a year or so, hence it was a trifle dark & rather dilapidated. One dim light at the entrance was switched on daily, after dinner, by the watchman.

We stayed in the staff quarters in Simba Block, and could almost look into his flat through the window which was parallel to ours

On a few evenings, we thought we heard the distinct sound of a vessel being washed and put down/ at times dropped – then there was the sound of a tap being opened and water flowing ----------- things that Mr. Beaman did regularly at about the same time, after the boarders’ s supper, while he stayed there. What were those noises and who was making them? Were we imagining? The building was empty. The strange sounds baffled us. We never fathomed them out .

Late one night

Came home past midnight, all four of us on our scooter- driving up from East Street towards the roundabout outside Bishops, past the large palatial Talera bungalow on the left. We could either go straight past the crossing and enter through the wicket gate near the school kitchen, or go right, and enter through the wicket gate near the office. As we approached the small roundabout, we saw something freakish. Standing in the middle of the road which went towards the kitchen gate/ Racecourse, was a very tall fair woman, in a white knee-length dress, carrying a large blue suitcase in her right hand. It seemed light and empty. Her left hand was up - palm facing outwards as if she wanted to stop oncoming traffic and request a lift. I saw her from about twenty meters and my heart skipped a beat or two. Needless to say, I accelerated, turned right, and sped toward the office gate from where I entered the campus. Yes, my wife saw her too.

On making inquiries the next day, I was told by the school support staff that a similar figure was seen on that road once or twice a year and in the vicinity of the army house at the crossing. There is a story about her, they said- it was not a very pleasant one so I will not repeat it here. That sighting was eerie, and it played on my mind every time we came home late at night. Thankfully, we never saw her again. Were we imagining?

The principal’s bungalow

Returning home after a movie one night, and entering on my scooter from the office gate, we saw the watchman sitting at the gate to the principal’s bungalow. He was facing the office gate. About ten feet behind him, lying on his stomach and peering into the bungalow was a figure of a man- his face almost touching the bungalow steps. I rode passed on my scooter but thought it so strange. So, I parked outside the billiard room, reached the family upstairs in Simba block, and walked back to check. The watchman, when asked as to whom I had seen a few minutes ago, feigned complete ignorance, and said that he had no idea. He swore he had not seen or heard anybody. To his credit, he was wide awake and sober.

The wedding

We returned from a relative’s wedding, and it must have been past one am. We were about to go to sleep on the Simba dorm terrace – summertime as usual. Had barely closed the terrace door, when we heard a female voice, distinctly calling out my wife’s name. At first, we thought it was her mother, who was visiting us at the time. When the call was repeated for the third time, I opened the terrace door & went down- I opened the door to our flat and went in. All was completely silent, and no relatives were awake. I then went downstairs to see if there was anyone outside. As expected, there was no one. Who called out and why, we will never know.

The Face on the cupboard

One night, there was a minor fire in one of the residential master’s flats – they resided on the first floor of the Junior school building – it may have been around midnight. I will make this short – I rushed to help & together we managed to extinguish the fire which had begun when a large candle had fallen onto a cushion. When we cleared up the mess in the room, we were shocked when we looked at the cupboard – etched on the front, and very clear, was the face of an old man or woman (my memory fails me here) . “The house smelled musty and damp, and a little sweet, as if it were haunted by the ghosts of long-dead cookies.”

I can tell you who the face resembles if ever you want to know. I presume the family discarded that cupboard the next day!

The Piano

There was a story of the sound of a piano being played in the principal’s bungalow late at night, and this was from a very reliable source. I once asked the principal about the supposed ‘music at midnight’, but he just guffawed in his typical style and said ‘Rubbish- people make up all these stories’. I dare not tell him who told me! She would have been in serious trouble.

I heard several other stories from visiting Bishopites over the years – some eerie and others which made me think and believe that I was not going off my head.

Coming to think of it, I am writing this story here in Dubai – and even if it ever did, all this supposedly happened over twenty years ago – was it just a frightening dream?)

Frankly, I am not sure. Am I an oneironaut?

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We need more teachers

 Education is the cornerstone of societal development and thus plays a crucial role in shaping the future of our world. TEACHERS, as the backbone of the education system, are responsible for imparting knowledge, instilling the right values, and above all, nurturing young minds. 

“Teaching is the essential profession, the one that makes all other professions possible."

However, one does not need to be a rocket scientist or a nuclear physicist, to see that there is a significant shortage of qualified teachers in many parts of the world. The fact there is a Global education gap is undeniable, and to add to that, there are still millions of children worldwide who do not have access to quality education. Quite a pickle for the world to be in indeed. 

What surprises me and I am sure many other discerning individuals as well, is the unpleasant fact that most Governments do not seem to be comprehending the looming crisis, or if they are, they are dragging their feet, and for me, that defies logic.

According to the World Economic Forum's- Global Risks Report 2023, the world's top current risks are energy, food, inflation, and the overall cost of living crisis. I suggest they add “shortage of teachers” to that ominous list. 

This raises a few extremely pertinent questions.

What is the plan going forward to address this shortfall? 

Why is teaching not a preferred vocation? 

What’s the solution?  

On World Teachers’ Day, the Director-general of UNESCO called on all governments around the world to step up their support for teachers, warning that the profession is struggling to retain its workforce and attract new talent. Worldwide, 69 million teachers are needed to reach universal basic education by 2030. The largest deficit is in Asia & sub-Saharan Africa. Lack of direct government support, inadequate training, unattractive working conditions, and insufficient funding, all undermine this noble profession and aggravate the existing global learning crisis. Factors such as low salaries, limited career progression, and excessive workload are contributory forces that are driving people away from teaching. 

Don’t get me wrong – Teaching is still very respected. In fact, there is no nobler profession. In countries like Finland, Switzerland, Norway, and Japan it is said that teachers are more trusted than their army. However, that thought needs to fan out- the quicker, the better. 

As societies evolve, and the world zooms forward, everything has become more complex. The demand for specialized knowledge and skills has increased manifold, and the education landscape is in a period of change.

 The emergence of umpteen new technologies, evolving curriculum requirements, advanced research in pedagogy, the need for personalized instructions and individual attention, and catering to the learning styles of pupils, have all put more pressure on teachers. With the emergence of AI, there are additional responsibilities and teachers must keep pace. Teachers who trained yesterday are being called upon to upskill, to prepare students of today, on how to face tomorrow, and no one has a clue what that tomorrow will look like!

I don’t want to sound like a prophet of doom, but, with fewer and fewer people entering the teaching profession, the quality will take a beating in the very near future. That in turn will surely impact school leadership as well. It is a downward spiral that must be arrested for the common good.

Here are two thoughts that come to mind. 

Quite a few countries have initiated compulsory national service or military training, lasting a year or two, and that is a great idea that has proved to be successful. Let’s look at why countries have made this service mandatory.

Mandatory national service fosters unity and brings people from diverse backgrounds together. Compulsory service saves the government money and provides benefits to all citizens. Performing national service helps young people mature, build character, master certain skills, and serve as a bridge to adulthood.

The most populous country in the world – India, has the National cadet corps which was established in 1948. Look at what the NCC is all about 

Cadets in the NCC develop qualities of character, courage, commandership, discipline, leadership, secular outlook, the spirit of adventure and sportsmanship, and the ideals of selfless service among the youth to make them useful citizens in the future. The NCC also creates a human resource of organized, trained, and motivated youth, to provide leadership in all walks of life, including the Armed Forces, and be always available for the service of the nation.

Why can we not think of a period of compulsory teaching service? It will do all the above and more.  

It will build character, cultivate social responsibility, and teach needed skillsets, manners, and communication. It will foster empathy and understanding while teaching adaptability, respect, positivity, accountability, and the like. By serving as teachers for a period, individuals will become active participants in the betterment of society and will be contributing to shaping the next generation. They will also get to witness the transformative power of education, firsthand.

 I can think of no better way for the youth to serve their nation – a win-win situation for all.

 Not everyone can be a great teacher, and that is a known fact. However, there are many others who make wonderful teachers, and they never knew they had it in them. Thus, there is every likelihood of more people entering the profession.

There is a well-known saying – “If you are planning for a year, sow rice; if you are planning for a decade, plant trees; if you are planning for a lifetime, educate people.”

Haircuts- Gents only

 

 

This post is for GENTS only – LADIES please ignore as it will NOT interest you.

 

Well, I have written about haircuts before, but this is slightly different. First and foremost, my hair and nails grow very fast, and I am not sure if that is good or bad. Not Googling it either, because one never knows what Google will throw up!

 Last evening my hair was irritating me – it happens when my hair reaches a particular length. Hence, I decided to go and have my haircut. I have found a nice, clean saloon, quite close to my house. No, it is not 5 star or anything, but the last few times the guy there gave me a nice haircut, so I went back again.

It was already a little past 8.45 pm and hence quite uncharacteristic of me, as I am usually an ‘early morning hair cut person’. Anyway, let me get on with my story. I have this horrible habit of digressing at times.

 Now, whenever I visit this saloon, I am always greeted warmly by the manager and his assistant, a smart young man, who always cuts my hair and does a brilliant job – very much to my satisfaction.  I am offered tea and biscuits and they always enquire about the family. Both are very genial, always smiling, and eager to please.  

Yesterday, when I walked into the saloon, something was a trifle different. The shop seemed to have been rearranged and I was greeted by a stranger who himself looked like an actor in a crime thriller. When I enquired about the manager and the man who usually cuts my hair, I was told that they were out and would return soon. This stranger offered to cut my hair, but I told him that I would prefer to wait. Something about him was shifty. Did I see him grimace when I refused his offer?

Anyway, he grudgingly agreed, and went about his business, pottering about the shop, rearranging items meticulously on the counter& counting the notes and coins in the safe box- all which seemed rather unnecessary.  Meanwhile, I picked up a magazine and feigned browsing through it, while keeping a close eye on him. His whole manner and unnecessary fiddling about with the items on the counter was weird. This man was beginning to worry me, and I thought of walking out. My usual calm disposition and self-assurance seemed to have dropped a notch or two for no concrete reason.

Was my heart beating faster? Was I getting a panic attack? Was I overreacting?

Let me tell you what he looked like, and leave you to judge, as to whether I was being unnecessarily distrustful & paranoid.  His was stocky, and one could tell that he worked out for sure. His black shirt and jeans had seen better days. His eyes were blood shot, and he had a moustache which was badly in need a trim. He needed a shave as well.  There was something ruthless about his whole persona that I could not fathom. He wore a flashy gold watch to match the two gold chains around his neck. He had two mobile phones and made and received calls on both in a span of fifteen minutes. He was a busy man indeed. And oh yes, lest I forget to mention it – there was a stud in his ear – it looked like a diamond. Cover the bottom half of his face with a large black mask and what have you?

Meanwhile my mind went into overdrive. Could this chap have done away with the owner, threatened the other workers, made them leave and then taken over the shop by force? Could this have happened that evening itself and was I the first customer after the coup, so to say? Was he a barber in the first place? Did he know how to cut hair? Was mine going to be the ‘first haircut he gave in his new avatar? There were so many unanswered questions.

Suddenly, I was awoken from my reverie, by him telling me that the manager and his assistant would not be back for an hour or so, and hence he would be cutting my hair. I don’t know whether he was a hypnotist or not, but I got up, sat down on the proffered chair without protesting any further, and prepared myself to be sacrificed! So, this was how they did it. I had read so many stories in the past and they all seemed to be finally catching up with me.

I was tense and ready to jump and bolt in case he made any sudden moves or tried to strangulate me.

For some strange reason, he began by putting a new blade into the razor! I pretended not to notice and instead, stared blankly at the programme on the television set, which I was sure he had switched on to distract me. It seemed to be some sort of a murder mystery on Netflix, and that did nothing to calm my jarring nerves. However, my heart skipped a beat or two when I saw him place the razor on the table near at hand. The razor was only needed at the end, wasn’t it?

My fertile imagination immediately went into overdrive and the whole scene flashed before my eyes in a matter of seconds.

So, this was it – the door had undoubtedly been locked from within. He had obviously done this craftily, while I was reading the magazine. How did I miss it?  He was not a barber by any length of imagination. The lights would soon be switched off. I would be threatened with the razor blade. My mobile and purse would then be snatched. I would be tied up.  He would then walk out nonchalantly after threatening me not to report the matter, or else face dire consequences for my indiscretion. This was not his shop &he would never be seen in the area again.

There was a new protagonist for sure………

He then began cutting my hair. Within the first few minutes I felt foolish for my scepticism and presumptuous suspicions. His scissors flew over my head in experienced hands while he engaged me in an interesting conversation on cricket and football. Over the span of the next fifteen or twenty minutes, he washed my hair, blow dried it, used scissors, clippers, shears and a variety of razors and combs. He then used the blow drier again and followed it up an amazing head massage. He then brought out two different mirrors to show me the back of my head. All this while he told me about his family his school going children back in Delhi and how he had landed in Dubai a few hours ago and had come straight to the shop.

 I felt like a new man.   A slightly foolish new man, to be more precise, but a man in control of his life once again.

While I was making the payment, the door opened, and two familiar faces walked in- the manager and the one who usually cuts my hair.

They then apologised for being away & officially introduced me to the ‘Owner of the business’ the one who had just given me a terrific haircut.  

Appearances are often so misleading.

 God bless you Suresh Bhai and thank you!

Those were the days

 We managed without Internet, computers,  mobile phones, Google,  ChatGPT and much  much more.

We played in the boiling heat, biting cold and pouring rain. 

We were never struck by lightning, when standing under trees while it rained, and stormed.

We completed our homework, and found time to play outside with friends.

We fought, we made up, we fell, we got hurt, we healed and there were physical but no emotional scars.

We were never taken to counsellors and never had time to feel depressed.

We didn't complain to parents about our teachers .

We drank water from anywhere and everywhere- even garden hoses.

Fruit on trees, fruit fallen from trees,  fruit eaten by birds - we ate them all.

Measles,  chicken pox, fevers, colds, influenza came and went.

We wrote love letters by the dozen and got over heartbreaks in a heartbeat. 

We went to places of worship regularly. 

Parents refused to let us stay home from school and fake excuses letters were unheard of.

We used second hand text books and often covered them with news paper.

Yes we used postcards, inlands, aerograms and sent money orders while cramming in a few lines at the very bottom of the form.

We stood in line and waited patiently to make or receive a trunk call.

We also stood in line for vaccinations and inoculations and there was no such things as disposable needles.

We never checked for expirary dates on food packaging.

We flew kites, played marbles, hop skotch,  kick the can, I spy, and hide and seek. Oh yes- dark room too! 

Roadside eateries were packed and good hygiene was definitely not a strong point of the owners.

There is so much more.....

And here we are - many decades later and none the worse for it. 

Life was simple and fun.

Be stubborn

 Be stubborn in the face of the adversary

And take pride

In letting the uninitiated 

Get accustomed to the singing of your untamed spirit.

Refuse to surrender

Or bow before insolent might.

Let the unwavering flame within you 

Continue to burn as brightly as you desire

And never let the winds of doubt 

Extinguish it. 

Be stubborn and resolute in your pursuits, 

And let no one sway your resolve.

Better to be the realist who says the world is terrible, 

Then the naïve optimist 

who says the world is wonderful 

while turning a blind eye to the abounding falsity. 

Let not the naysayers erode your will, 

But instead, let their words fuel your fire.

Your beliefs are the roots

That anchor your character

The compass that points you in the right direction 

And guides your journey through life. 

So, march on, steadfast, in pursuit of greatness,

 And let no setback dampen your spirit's flame.

Let the world see your greatness 

And never sell yourself short

A master with a common touch

 A ‘Master’ with a Common Touch

Mr. Derek Beaman joined The Bishop’s School way back in 1972. I had the privilege of working with him since July 1981 when I was appointed teacher at the Bishop’s School, Pune.

The first few words that come to mind when I reminisce about      Mr. Beaman are ‘honest, God fearing, meticulous, straight forward and hard working’. There are many other traits worthy of mention, but the ones mentioned above, were his most endearing qualities.

As a teacher of English, he was ‘perfection personified’; whether it was vocabulary, punctuation or pronunciation, he knew it all, and as far I know, was never wrong. I could always count upon him to advise me correctly in any difficulties I faced with the English language, at which he was indeed a ‘Master’. His class always enjoyed his lessons, probably aware of the fact that they were being guided by someone who was the ‘very best’.

Mr. Beaman had other interests too, the school choir being one. He loved music and was actively involved in training the school choir for all its performances over the years. Classical music was his forté and he hardly ever missed a good performance, whenever there was one in Pune.

Quizzing was another one of his favourite pastimes and besides training and accompanying the quiz team to various inter-school competitions he enjoyed being the Quiz Master at the Inter-House Quiz Competitions held every year.

Being a bachelor and without encumbrances, the Boarding Section of the school was ‘his family’. He made it a point to attend all the meals in the Dining Hall, and even served the boys himself. He was in his element when school reopened after a long vacation – counting the boys, remarking on those who invariably returned late and on those who were usually homesick.

Mr. Beaman had a remarkable memory that enabled him to remember roll numbers, names etc. He could even tell you the year the boy joined school and whether he was a vegetarian or a non vegetarian!

He was meticulous while checking the class attendance registers, completing house lists and entering the names of new boys in the scholars register. His ability to spot mistakes in numbers and spellings of boys names was phenomenal- if you made a mistake you could be sure C.D.B (as he was often referred to) would spot it.

Another of his outstanding attributes was proof-reading, which, as I am learning through experience, is not only painstaking, but tiring, both mentally and physically. For Mr. Beaman it was just another job which he had mastered to perfection.

He loved animals - dogs, in particular. He also enjoyed reading, listening to the radio (BBC) and going for long walks.

Mr. Beaman led a very frugal existence and was accused of denying himself the good things in life. On visiting his room, one was usually taken aback at its simplicity – one look around told you that this was indeed a simple, God - fearing man, whose one desire was to serve others.

When I think back to 1981, and my first meeting with Mr. Beaman, I  remember that he filled me with awe,  but over the years that feeling was replaced with admiration and appreciation for a man who truly believed that ‘work is worship’.

To quote Mark Anthony in Julius Caesar:

“His life was gentle, and the elements

So mixed in him, that nature might stand up

And say to the world, ‘This was a man!”.

Paragliding at dawn

 I went paragliding at dawn this morning 

And it was a breeze.

The wind in my hair felt exhilarating. 

Clothes flapping- teeth chattering.

Yes, it was freezing up there.

The Italian instructor -  as bossy as ever,

Instructing me to look up 

And enjoy the ride. 

Strange accents these Italians have

And what an attitude !

Could hardly understand him.

He kept asking me to smile for the camera

I couldn't- I was nervous.

I told him so, and I heard him grunt.

Who cares - I was paying! 

Have never been the adventurous kind

In the first place 

So not sure why I did this.

I do silly stuff at times

And then regret it.

It's not about spending the money

But putting myself in unnecessary danger

at my age is a tad foolish - isn't it?

With my back and knees and neck

And left shoulder, and whatever else

That often pains and begs for

dollops of balm ! 

Saw other paragliders floating by and waving.

Two of them holding flags

And one with her pet poodle.

Shouting , screaming , gesturing 

And obviously having the time of their lives.

Crazy things these millennials do

Without a care in the world.

Paragliding with a poodle ?

What next - your pet parrot ?

Give me a break .

The hills below mesmerised me

The sands seemed to change in colour

As the sun rose in the Eastern sky

And a dozen  camels- all in a line 

Like well behaved schoolboys 

Following a young lad

Probably a farmhand- or the son

Of their owner.

The scene was awesome 

And I actually began relaxing

And taking in the sights for posterity.

This would positively be a day to remember 

And something I'd  talk about for a long time.

I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment 

Creeping in.

What next ? 

Deep see diving ?

A parachute jump?

I could see the fast approaching ground 

Which was rising up to meet me

Would I land with a thud?  

I had been dreaming about doing   this for ages.

And then I woke and realized

I had in fact been dreaming.

Old men do have vivid dreams.