As I start to think about our school days many memories float by and some linger longer. One of them I still remember is the poem Mr. Suntharalingam made us learn by repeating for hundreds of time... There's a breathless hush in the close to-night Ten to make and the match to win A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play, and the last man in. And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat. Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote "Play up! Play up! And play the game!" From Lingan Nathan