Rector’s eNews 31: 7 October 2026

In assembly yesterday I addressed the school on finishing well. It is a peculiar thought that the start of term assembly focused on finishing, but such is the nature of this short 4^th quarter. On Friday we have Speech Day, an opportunity to recognise and celebrate the achievement of our boys – but after that, our A Block boys depart on their study leave and their days of following a normal school routine are over.

Regardless of the circumstances, the principle of finishing well is an important matter, and it is not only in the sphere of school life where this is the case. In our adult lives, moving from one job to another, or simply concluding a contract, all require a certain skillset to ensure that the best possible outcomes are secured for everyone. Whether we like it or not, we all leave behind a legacy, the question is only whether it is a positive one or not.

Karl Marx is supposed to have said: “Go on, get out – last words are for fools who have not yet said enough!”, but the poignancy of final words often has particular pathos and gravitas.

This is from my address to the boys yesterday:

There was a man by the name of Lawrence Oates. Captain Oates was a cavalry officer born in 1880. He attended Eton and fought in the Boer War. He was shot in the leg which left him with a limp for the rest of his life. In 1910 he joined Robert Scott’s Terra Nova expedition with the ambition to be the first team to reach the South Pole. In 1912 Scott and his men reached their destination only to find that Roald Amundsen, the Norwegian adventurer, had beaten them to it. They turned back defeated and their return journey became a desperate struggle against cold, exhaustion and dwindling supplies.

 Lawrence Oates was suffering from severe frostbite, and he was anxious that his slow pace was jeopardising the survival of his comrades. Repeatedly, he asked to be left behind but the men refused. Finally, one evening he declared: “I am just going outside, and I may be some time.” He disappeared into the blizzard and was never seen again. His body was never recovered. He was 32 years old. Tragically, Oates’ heroic sacrifice was futile and Scott and his men perished.

 “I am just going outside, and I may be some time.”

 There is extraordinary dignity in those words: no grand announcement, no demand for recognition, just a quiet concern for those he was leaving behind. Your departure from Michaelhouse is, of course, an altogether happier occasion, but there is something to learn from his grace. How you leave matters. Leave with gratitude, with consideration for others, and with respect for the community that has helped shape you. Let your final days reflect the best of who you have become and leave those who follow you something worth carrying forward.

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