WELL, that's it. Ten years of Richmond School gone, just like that. It seems only the day before yesterday that Senior Son was starting there, scrubbed and smart with a shiny new geometry set and calculator.

And then I must have blinked. Because yesterday, his little brother did his last A Level and now, with that AQA Business Level 6, his school days are over too.

Gulp.

We have been through a lot, Richmond School and this family. Largely, on account of Senior Son whose progression through school was, shall we say, erratic.

On a number of occasions this led to his father and me being summoned to see the headmaster. "I'm too OLD for this!" I would wail as we trudged conspicuously across the car park at 8.30 in the morning. I'd spent half my schooldays waiting outside the headteacher's study, it seemed too cruel to be starting all over again in my forties.

If I'd been his headmaster I would have cheerfully throttled him quite often. Jim Jack, as always, showed far more restraint and common sense. He was also wonderfully reassuring that it would all turn out alright in the end. And he was right - but that was largely thanks to the school and its staff - too many to mention, but you know who you are and have no doubt got the scars to prove it.

We were amazingly lucky in that school. Friends in other parts of the country have long since forked out small fortunes to opt out of the state system, citing indiscipline, poor exam results or slapdash staff. Or hardly any staff at all. They could only envy us Richmond. Definitely not one of your bog standard comps.

Senior Son played rugby, Smaller Son played football. For those and many other activities, enthusiastic staff gave up their time to coach them and bellow at them - and wear them out. When I was waiting in the car park for them after their after-school training, there'd be hordes of other children there too, taking part in other sports or clutching instruments for music practice in the school's orchestra or bands.

The school took the boys off our hands quite often too. They went all over Europe skiing, playing football, studying history in Prague, politics in Berlin, tourism in Bruges. At times, it seemed they were hardly ever home. Not to mention various field trips and outdoor weeks, all blurred into one mud-covered memory.

Any teacher who takes high spirited teenagers across the Channel - or anywhere else come to that - deserves a whacking pay rise and our undying thanks. Would you take a gang of other people's adolescents abroad - especially to one of the lager capitals of the world? Precisely.

What's impressed most of the other parents I know is that despite its vast size, about 1,300 students I think, Richmond has the air of a much smaller school, a relaxed atmosphere where staff know pupils well and will do their best to get them through the inevitable tricky patches. It does also mean that at pleasant social gatherings you're likely to be pinned against a wall by a wild-eyed teacher who says, "So he's your son, is he?" but that's a small price to pay.

So now we've had the exams, the Prom, the Year book. Apart from the exam results, that could be the end of our association with Richmond School.

And yet...

Three years ago, staff thought they'd got Senior Son safely off to university and you could practically hear the sigh of relief. But then he dropped out. And when he wanted to apply to university again, where did he go for help and advice but back to school, of course. And once again, they set him on the right path.

So this is meant to be goodbye and thank you to Richmond School.

There again, you never know...

Published: 27/06/2002