Things you only knew if you went to Uppingham

Chapel Singing

You could be forgiven for thinking that there is little that stirs the Uppinghamians’ blood into a passion at 8:30 on a Friday morning. One by one they file into the freezing chapel, their faces glum with the knowledge that we’re only half way through the term, chemistry is first lesson….then the first notes of the organ sound and a transformation occurs. Waves of (mostly) harmonious sound pour out of the previously incumbent Uppinghamians as they sing their way through “Guide me o thou great redeemer”.

Perhaps the only uniting life skill all Uppinghamians learn is the ability to sing very loudly and boisterously at the drop of a hat. You’ll leave school with your parents saying: “The fees cost an arm and a leg but at least they taught Edmund how to sing a good hymn!”

Before the eruption begins

The skate park

That place you used to go on a Wednesday evening in the middle of freezing February, booze and fags secreted into your pockets making you feel like you’re wearing a tractor tyre around your middle. Desperate? No, you’re were just hanging out with your fellow mates, as you sat around in huddles like penguins trying to get some protection from the lashing rain and howling Siberian winds. You even dressed “normal” in hoodies and tracksuit in case a teacher walked past.

Being allowed out

We all remember the first time we could finally leave the house on a Wednesday and Friday evening and hit the big lights of Uppingham. We stepped out and breathed the sweet air of freedom, albeit temporarily. We prowled around town like caged lions, and it took ten minutes before we realised we’ve done the circuit, what can we do now? This is when we realise that we never ever want to live in Uppingham. Thring? Erm, no. Pub? The teachers will have been boozing there since 4:30. It’ll have to be the culinary delights of Zorba’s and Saffron.

What happens when we can’t go out

First XV rugby

Unlike any other first team at our school, our first XV are a bit special. They must be cursed. Every year they promise they’ll be bigger, better, stronger, harder, faster etc. yet it doesn’t work. Every other team has the fun of outdoing the first XV by winning all their matches, and the joke of their loss rather loses its appetite after the fifth or six loss in a row. A bunch of one-legged, immensely shy gorillas would do a better job. Clearly when the words “to be better than before” are imprinted on your kit and your rugby soaked brain they produce a comically paradoxical effect.

Could they beat the 1st XV? Probably…

The Middle has its own climate

Ever been walking to a training session on a glorious sunny afternoon, to step out onto the middle and wonder why you didn’t bring your hoodie, oh and your waterproof and a hat and gloves? The hallowed turf of one of Britain’s largest playing fields, and the place where we spend so many delightful hours of school time, is well known for producing its own unique extreme climate. Why waste money sending the geographers to Iceland when they could see some real natural disasters happen on the Middle?

Wednesday Bar

Monday is over. You slump down on the sofa, books and files cascading around you like Niagara falls as the relief creeps in. Yet it only takes a moment before you realise there’s the rest of the week to go. Except…. suddenly, a glimmer of hope, an oasis in this parched desert of academic suffering and embarrassingly poor jokes by your housemaster: Wednesday Bar. Just when you need an alcoholic pick me up in the middle of the week, Bar provided all of that. The big question of course is when do you start pre-drinks? Some members of the chapel choir have even been known to secrete bottles of “water” (read: any alcohol you can find) into choir practice, and play the “how pissed can you get without the teacher noticing?” game.

Port

Let’s not pretend we are complete philistines. Ever since Daddy started us young with our first port and stilton session aged five, we have developed strong emotions for this manly drink. We love the history of it, the ritual of passing it clockwise around the table; if you ever attend a prestigious and old male-dominated dinner and feel the need for things to liven up, pass the port the wrong way, they will soon erupt! But Uppinghamians know all this, so much so that one Uppinghamian nearly choked on his Friday fish and chips to hear his neighbour had never drunk the divine liquid. “But Port is the essence of masculinity!” he wailed, to the wise nods of his fellow companions.

A ghastly Freudian nightmare

House Shout is a do or die affair

You can have your sports days and your house debates, your quizzes and your inter-house football; in fact, you can add them all together and you still wouldn’t match the seriousness of House Shout. What used to be for boys houses at least an entertaining event where you sung the most explicit song possible and toed the rules to the utter limit has transformed into a viciously competitive event, with houses summoning all their musical prowess to impress the judges. Cue for the most stressful period of the year if you’re actually put in charge of your house.