Captains’ Corner | College Captain, Jake Laherty

I will just come out and say it – I am a Harry Potter fan. I have read the series at least seven times over, and I religiously listen to the audiobooks as I drive (which often serves a pretty harsh surprise when mates hop in the car).  It is not something I promote, but I am unquestionably a nerd of the wizarding world. There is a line that I have come to love in the first book of the series, when Dumbledore says to the student body, after singing their school song, “ah, music… a magic beyond all we do here” (for the uninitiated, Dumbledore is the headmaster of a wizarding school, and commonly regarded as the greatest wizard ever to live). I have never possessed an ounce of auditory inclination, so this line fell flat with me for many years. However, more recently, I feel that I am coming to appreciate it.

This past Sunday, Terrace invited me to attend the Anzac Day service at St Stephen’s Cathedral and read a prayer for the congregation. In attendance were the likes of Queensland Premier Anastasia Palaszczuk and the Governor of Queensland Paul de Jersey. Needless to say, it was a pretty intimidating environment. What took me aback was not the grandiosity of the stained-glass windows or the armed precession that accompanied the Archbishop – it was the music. The choir sang beautiful hymn, after beautiful hymn, without falter. In particular, there was one woman who could sing with such pitch, volume and texture as to make the roof feel like it wasn’t there. For the most part, I didn’t know the words to these hymns, nor even the general tune that might have let me fumble along. And yet, I appreciated for the first time in that cathedral the enduring nature of these songs; the rich histories that have led to their being a part of the mass in 2021; the unimaginable contexts in which they have historically been performed; the perfectionism that contributes to their haunting tones on a Sunday morning. They were not selected like you or I would choose songs for a playlist, rather they have been laboured over – some for centuries – for the connection that it is felt they wrought with God. That music is the feature punctuating a ceremony. Of all mediums, we chose music to connect us to the heavens.

And then those beautiful tones of the bugle rang as the Last Post was played. Again, I was struck by just how lovely a piece it is. Putting aside the specific notes that make it up, the history, gravity and reverence we have attached to the Last Post are almost unparalleled in Australian culture. Of all mediums, we chose music to thank our fallen.

As my final year at Terrace continues to barrel past at an alarming pace, I find myself continually trying to square the same circle – the fact that come November, I will be made an Old Boy. I will have to put behind me something which has become a central part of my identity. I will always be a Terracian, my mates will always be Terracians, and yet I cannot cling to that identity alone. Like it or not, I will have to continue onwards into the unknowns of adulthood and find a new pillar to fill that vacuum. During those enjoyable hours in which I consider this sad inevitability, I find myself considering just what has made Terrace so central to me. What are those specific notions attached to Boundary Road, or the College song, that makes them so intoxicating to the vast majority of Terrace students? 

Now that is a question I am yet to find an answer. It would undoubtedly be an excellent answer to find in my endeavours throughout this year. Nonetheless, it will evade me, I imagine, long past its relevance. However, my experience at St Stephen’s shed a little light on that subject.

We attach incredible gravity to the songs we sing and the tunes we listen to in various contexts. Be it the Last Post or Hallelujah, and each has a particular meaning to every individual. When I sing the College song or when I hear Boundary Road, I consider the gravity I have attached to it and the context I am in. The common denominator is clear – both are performed in the presence of mates. We sing these songs when very few of us would be inclined to sing any song at any other time, in the presence of our fellow Terracians. That context creates their meaning and that ineffable shared experience of the boys around us that permeate the lyrics of any chant we can muster and that punctuate every note that we can produce. The music is made not by the words it contains but by the people we sing alongside and the history we all share. With that in mind, today, I try to hear that music in the context of the hallways – under a shared roof, as we all participate in that shared experience, whether we can perceive it or not, music is there. How we appreciate our time at the College all comes down to how we hear that music.

Answer the Call – listen to the music.