July 1979 The Sherwoodian Times 12th Issue

The Easter Monday Picnic


That Monday morning the school resounded with strange, wild, unfamiliar cries. On investigation it turned out to be fierce warfare with seniors trying dexterously to extract water-bottles from unwilling and loudly protesting juniors.

'Golfy' looked lovely that day. Lush, cool and cared-for with its commanding view of the cliffs and the stream down, down down below. Khurpatal, once Sherwood's home, tucked far away in the valley lay quiet and smiling in the morning sun. Nearer by the resounding laughter of happy school free boys and 'pop music' blaring forth a portable record player dispelled any illusion of peace.
We made our way down to where a traditional game of 'Kabaddi' was on and joined in the game. After an hour of the monotonous sound of tearing vests or some other vital garment, we abandoned the game in favour of a long, cold drink of water at Government House.
On our return we found that lunch was on. Without wasting a minute, we joined the 'Q' but with some apprehension because, you under-stand, a single push from your successor is fraught with dire consequences for you are liable to be sent, lunch and all, rolling down one of 'Golfy's' many, slopes.

Therefore, it was with a sigh of relief that I sat down to lunch.

Suddenly a great clamour rose near the orange squash 'degchi'. A million, dehydrated boys were 'piling on' the orange squash. There was an occasional splash as some poor unfortunate fell into the squash. Grabbing my mug, I flew towards this mecca and after squeezing and pulling and pushing and thumping, I finally made it. After renewing my spirits on this nectar of the gods, I turned to go, but found I could not back out of the melee and so, philosophically, I dipped my mug in again and again and again. Now that supplies were exhausted and the crowd had thinned, I staggered, gorged, like some vampire, to recover under the shade of a tree, but hardly had I closed my eyes in bliss when an inconsiderate voice bellowed, 'Okay, clear up the mess'.

Groaning and stooping like old men, we bent to pick up every bit of rubbish.

A shout of 'Tambola !' 'Tambola !' produced some surprising revival of flagging energies. There was a stampede for tickets and soon a veritable typhoon of 'bogey's' and 'Boos' swept over those lucky fellows who claimed the lucky number.

And thus ended another Easter Monday picnic in Sherwood's history.

SK Rao

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