Tuesday, June 4, 2013
the weekend report
The main purpose of the weekend trip was to attend the memorial for Miss Larmour (aka Mrs. Loomis/Rosamond) that was held on the school campus. You can tell by the photo that it was grey and overcast and, in fact, that was the weather story the whole time.
This is the quad, looking west toward the chapel and the tower, El Mirador.
This window, the one to the right of the bow, is where I lived during my senior year in Bentham Hall. I had a view of the quad and the old library across the way.
The celebration started with a service in our beautiful little chapel.
"Little" is the operative word here. The current student body could not all fit in the chapel now, but in my years there, it was the heart of the school. We started every morning with Matins complete with a "thought for the day" sermonette. Boarding students had Evensong on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then choir practice on Saturday mornings and THREE services on Sunday, two of which were mandatory.
The service was absolutely perfect, with words and music chosen by Miss Larmour. The music included this beautiful anthem "Calling My Children Home" sung by a splendid quartet. There are several versions on YouTube but I liked this one because you can understand the words. Chanticleer does one but it's unintelligible.
After the service it was meet and greet and a luncheon on the lower quad in front of the new Manchester Library, about ten times the size of the original. Many guests offered up remembrances and funny stories about Miss Larmour; she seems to have had a better sense of humor than I remember! There was only one other member of my class but lots of others who looked vaguely familiar. It was a very nice and fitting farewell to a quite remarkable woman.
The rest of the weekend, both before and after Saturday's event, was delightful. We had lunch with one other of our classmates who didn't attend the memorial, strolled Girard as we always do, ate some delicious meals, drank some delicious prosecco, walked the dogs, and talked until we were almost hoarse. The visit was all it should have been.