Green Jim
Taylor (36-42) takes a long view ahead... THE 5OOth.
ANNIVERSARY Of PRESCOT GRAMMAR SCHOOL
The
powerful 'greenhouse' sun rose early on Founders
Day morning 2044 A.D. At least the days ol early
October would afford some respite from the
sub-tropical summer just past. Such summers had
become frequent since the global warming that
began hack in the 198os and the rise in sea level
whith followed it. A beautiful autumn day was in
the offing to crown no less than the 500th
anniversary of the founding of Prescot Grammar
School, first established in 1544 towards the end
of the reign of King Henry VIII and now enjoying
reconstruction following its temporary stage as a
comprehensive sdiool in the late twentieth
century. It all began with the reconstitution ol
Penrith Grammar School back in early March 1993.
It had since happened domino-stylee up and down
the country.
Later. that
Founder's Day morning, a very special service of
thanksgiving was held in Prescot Parish Church in
the Royal Presence of King William V, symbolising
the fact that Prescot Grammar School is one of
the few schools remaining in England which has
enjoyed royal patronage from its very beginning.
In the
afternoon a computerised Founders's Day-style
football match was held which the Omegas won by a
record of 24,678 goals.
In the
evening the 63rd Annual Reunion of Old
Prescotians, both ladies and gentlemen, held in
St George's Hall, I.iverpool attracted a record
attendance of more than 2000 persons including
guests. Following a time-honoured tradition
dating back to the 11th reunion of 1992, the
seating arrangements adopted were according to
age groups. A small gaggle of octogenarians and a
few nonogarians were allocated to an
inconspicuous corner table. They talked of things
past, recalling the temporary demise of the late
twentieth century Grammar School but not its
communities, and savoured happy memories of the
glories of reunion nights at the Statham Lodge
Hotel. This worthy building was now alas
submerged following the rise in sea level as the
Mersey Valley had become an arm of the Irish Sea.
Prescot Hill, however, had survived, overlooking
the mosaic of small lakes and islands beyond
which lay the large elongated Southport lake, a
vast natural body defining the south-eastern edge
of the city and belittling its minute man-made
twentieth century fore-runner. The early days of
the city of Southport had long since been
recorded by that eminent historian, little
recognised by his contemporaries, Francis Bailey.
The city itself, surviving on its own island, no
longer searching for the sea but artificially
protected from its destructive incursions by
massive, adjustable Dutch-type dykes. The
tremendous cost of their construction and
maintenance has heen amply justified by the
city's round-the-year revenue not only as a
continental resort ol unequalled tropical
splendour but also as the European mecca for
water sports and recreation.
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