Why you (maybe) shouldn’t skip that reunion

Thank goodness for name badges. There comes a time when they are indispensable — and none more so than at school reunions.

Big lettering on the badges helps, too. It means you can read the name of Perkins minor at a distance before shuffling over to offer a friendly handshake or scurrying behind a pillar before the bastard spots you.

Of course, there are those who resolutely refuse to go to reunions on principle. After all, if you really wanted to re-establish contact with that boy or girl you sat next to in Mr Winter’s history class, you would have done so ten, 20 or 60 years ago. Facebook, LinkedIn and suchlike can all help trace people who were part of your life as a student. So why bother?

I’ve not bothered many times but have also bothered quite a lot over the years. Not long before Christmas an email arrived from my prep school, Sunningdale, inviting old boys to the Rifles Club near London’s Grosvenor Square for a 140th anniversary drinks party.

There was no mention of buying a ticket or any suspicion of an auction to raise funds for a new science block. Just turn up, find your badge and fill your glass. And that’s what a couple of hundred or so of us did.

The current headmaster, Tom Dawson, gave a good speech; his father, Tim, and uncle, Nick, who were joint headmasters before him, were in sprightly form; and even Mary Sheepshanks, wife of Charlie, who was the head from 1953 to 1967, turned up at the age of 83, kissing all the ‘boys’ as if they were eight-year-olds on their first night in the Lower Dorm.

One of the highlights was hearing that earlier in the day Sunningdale had beaten Ludgrove at Fives.