The Liberating Joy of Studying the Classics

It is an unseasonably foggy and cold morning in Sydney and I am supervising the last skirmishes of a rugby training session. As the boys are still scrimmaging around the ball, the baritone voice of the school bell brings the action to an end. Magically, the fog begins to disperse, and so do the boys, some of them rushing to the pavilion to recover their accoutrements for the school day, while others head to their boarding house. Still in my coaching tracksuit, I reflect on the modern scourge of mature men in activewear as I make my way to the refectory to have breakfast. I sit in a quiet corner and start gathering my thoughts for the day’s activities. Breakfast does not take long. Then, I move to the teachers’ quarters to have my daily ablutions and put on my full teaching regalia. I straighten my tie, I put on the essential name tag and off I go again. Senior Latin will be opening the day’s proceedings. Soon, some of the mud-clad boys whom I was supervising on the rugby…