No. 4 March 1927
Editor: A. E. HOLDSWORTH. Asst. Editor: \V. L. ROBERTS.
Let loud the trumpets blast! Let the bells ring out! Let there be martial music! Let there be flags and cheering voices! Let innumerable local dignitaries prepare their flowery speeches! On July 21st, Sir Rowland Blades, Bart., Lord Mayor of London, worthy successor to good old George Monoux, qui hanc scholam fundavit, A.D. 1527, is coming, with due solemnity, to open the new and spacious buildings of this, the Sir George Monoux Grammar School, so long harboured within these red tin huts, and lulled by the soothing odours of sweet, bubbling pickles. Let us pause here and think great thoughts. Yet stay! We will leave those to the local dignitaries. Suffice to say that the long-promised new building is at last to be officially and authentically opened in this four hundredth year of the School's existence. And though, of course, we can scarce contain ourselves at this prospect, we have still contrived to follow our normal round of Prize Days, Old Boys' Dinners, football matches, and occasional lapses into hockey, chess, and sanity. We have still managed to yawn our way through various debates and committee meetings; and a few members of the Sixth Form, with their well-known devotion to good causes, have been able to record these and other things for the "Monovian." We will not therefore trespass unduly on your patience; but having made our momentous announcement and briefly introduced you to this fourth number, we retire with blushing apprehension and bid you cast an eye, critical perhaps, but not unfriendly, on the pages which follow.
No. 5 July, 1927.
Editor: A. P. HOLDSWORTH. Asst. Editor: \V. L. ROBERTS.
Goodbye, goodbye to High Street! Goodbye to corrugated iron and gravel! Good-bye to Messrs. Gillards, Purveyors to the King and makers of sweet scents! Good-bye to the jovial guardians of the recreation ground! To the amiable person upon whose head our straying ball was sure to drop, good-bye! For we are moving. No more to frequent Room D, home of antique erudition! No more to manufacture gases in the Lab., dusky dormitory of spiders! No more to swing our planes in the dusty Workshop, where Mr. Ingleby gave us lines! No more to take afternoon tea with Mr. Toplis in Room P! No more to gaze with awe on Room O's bookcase, filled with mighty classic tomes! No more to tremble as Mr. Prowse strides to the rostrum of Room M, wipes his moustache with mighty sweep, and proclaims a viva voce! No more to sing sweet songs to Mr. Belchambers in the musty Hall, partly hall and partly bungalow! No more to park our bikes in those discreet old sheds, where so many nightly truants have penned their neglected homework! No more to disturb the Staff room's nicotinal peace with rude fracas in Room H! No more to play at pushing off the log! No more to carve our youthful names in inky places! Tempus ferax, tempus edax rerum, and we are moving from High Street for ever. We go now to Chingford Road. All is ready for Lord Mayor and Sheriffs to unlock the doors, which interesting function will take place on July 20th. It is peculiarly fitting that the Lord Mayor should perform the great ceremony, for readers of our series of articles on " Monovian Celebrities" will remember that our worthy founder was himself Lord Mayor of London in 1514-15.
No. 6 November, 1927
Editor: J. H. PAYLING.
All hail, noble pile! To thee, drab ruin of High Street, farewell, a long farewell! Now, lulled by the Sweet music of the trams, amid the smiling meadows of Chingford Road, far from the land of stalls, decrepit gramophones, and quackdoctors, where neither the odour of Messrs. Gillard's world famed pickles, nor the clamouring of the most enterprising vendor of bananas can penetrate, we are able to contemplate in peace the events of our departure from High Street. Those were days of high solemnity: when we in exaltation cried "Jo triumphe," as the Lord Mayor passed on his way to unlock the portals of our new home; or later, when mournful prefects performed the solemn obsequies of the old building-by decking its, gates with crape. Perchance we crept back to our late habitation, forlorn and desolate, there to shed a silent tear for the glory that was. The School Camp came and went; the examination results - but, enough! Let bygones he bygones! From the whirl of opening days, civic luncheons, and other momentous happenings, many have emerged with minds somewhat dazed. But life in the new building soon dispelled the mists of bewilderment, and, long ere now, the majority have settled down in their new surroundings. Some are even working hard. Let it not he forgotten that the School this year celebrates its four hundredth birthday-an impressive occasion which needs no editorial flights to commend its importance. We should like to draw the attention of our readers to the Foreword kindly contributed by the Headmaster to this, a special number of the Magazine, in that it is the first to be issued from our new home.