N O. 1 2 2 T H E T R U S T Y S E R VA N T
Goats, goatees and gestational improbabilities
Angus Robinson, Aulae Prae 2015-16, busts myths and wants his colon back:
The Prefect of Hall has a strange position in contemporary Wykehamical consciousness. On the one hand he is the subject of a diverse and extravagant mythology and, on the other, may not even be known by hundreds of Commoners over whom he has great notional seniority. Although the recent convention has been to treat him at least nominally as one equal half of the pupil leadership with the Sen Co Prae, any real authority is limited to that over the population of Chamber Court – although perhaps this is as much due to the Devo Max under which the School tends to operate as it is to relative anonymity.
There are six College Officers, who are each responsible for the welfare and order of their respective chambers and are together responsible for the greater community of Collegemen. Of these the Coll Cap Prae( né, in a better time, Sen Cap Prae) is most inconvenienced by his specific duties, given the arduous task of standing outside a door seven times a week( on five of which occasions he must close said door). The main individual task of his direct senior is saying the Latin graces before and after lunch( 20 and 27 words respectively) each day of the school year bar the week of Election, during which College Voice sings them to John Reading’ s music.
The College Archivist informs me that there were five officers in College as early as 1647, but the obligations have diminished from what they once were in a manner in keeping with modern practice and law. The Prefect of Hall was once actually responsible for the maintenance of the windows and furniture in College Hall, and for deciding when the fire should be lit there. A notions book also specifies the responsibility of preventing‘ smoking and sherking out’. Naturally, as well as losing the higher burdens, he lost
A previous incumbent enjoying a genuine privilege
the fees paid to him by scholars and commoners and there is no longer any need for the extra ration of bread and meat.
But for most of the mythic privileges associated with the role there is unfortunately very little evidence. The Aulae Prae may be carried up to books in his bed by his peers. But, alas, he has never been allowed to grow a beard or run naked up College Street. A wife would presumably not be supported by the School, while the accompanying tale that I once heard that he could have two children with her seems mathematically unlikely given the short length of incumbency. And as for the famous myth of the goat, to that I can only say that we tried. Two years ago – in typical College fashion – the Writer( read‘ helpful second-year’) of the then Aulae Prae composed a five-page proposal on how College would be able to keep a goat on Meads, considering necessary taxes, licences, veterinary care and even who would feed it. The document was signed by all but one of the Collegemen and submitted to the necessary powers. Vile tyranny and dark webs of conspiracy alone can explain why the idea was never realised, but the one outcome was a stuffed goat, sporting at various( different) times a gas mask, a bandana and a tie, fated to live out his days in the chamber of the Aulae Prae. The legend also inspired a chant for Xs, yet to be performed, set to the tune of‘ Jerusalem’ and featuring‘ the countenance hircine’.
So the legend of the goat at least has its longevity assured. And if the significance of the Aulae Prae should disappear with the colonic abbreviation( e. g., Aulae Prae:) that has gone even from the pages of The Trusty Servant, at least we can hope for more colourful legends.
With thanks to Suzanne Foster. ■
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