HOOTING IN THE DORMITORY

Have you forgotten those nights in the dormitory?
Didn’t we have a hoot?
Hooting like owls on the end of a promontory,
each night eight hours of unlimited jollity –
didn’t we have a hoot?

Part One:
when Gwendoline brought a tree into school –
into the dorm, a tree,
and we disguised it as one of the girls,
smuggled it into Geology.
Mrs Septimus didn’t suspect us,
not for one second, until:
“Will that girl with the colony of spoonbills
up on the tiptopmost bough
of her uppermost branches
please see me after the lesson.
And do take off that ridiculous
No Poaching sign.”

Hoot hoot hoot hoot,
hooting in the dormitory,
Part Two:
when Jennifer brought a hermit into school –
an anchorite, if you will –
and we disguised him as one of the girls,
smuggled him into Spanish Conversation..
Mrs Septimus didn’t suspect us,
Not for one second, until:
“Will that girl on the pallet of straw,
with her head crudely cushioned
on a stack of Old Moore’s Almanacs,
please see me after the lesson.
Lump of dry bread – spit it out.”

Hoot hoot hoot hoot,
hooting all night in the dormitory,
except at midnight
when we’re feasting in the dormitory:
feasting on yeast extract and jam sandwiches,
crisps and Dundee cake, piping hot.
Spoonbill pâté? Bit of straw?
Oh go on, then, why not?