Class of 2019 | The University of Sheffield

Class of 2019 | The University of Sheffield

November 7, 2019 20 By Stanley Isaacs


Sheffield – my love. How is it possible that everything is uphill? Why are my calves made of steel right now? It’s been three years Shef and I still can’t find a seat at the IC, still haven’t seen Sean Been in the flesh at Broom Hill Friery, still can’t leave Pop Tarts without belting ‘Never Forget’ as the lights go up, knowing an extra bit of gravy at Notty House will sort us out tomorrow unless it snows, then we’re not leaving home until we’ve ran outta tea. Or there’s no more series left to binge. Because Conduit Road is a residential ski slope… that takes no prisoners. Did you hear about the time John’s Van got stolen? But did you know that’s not even John? It’s his son. Saviour of the 9 a.m. come rain or shine. Let’s take a library break in Weston Park loosely translating in student to mean ‘let’s sit beside the bandstand with our barbecue spoils from Sainsbury’s’ dodging a rougue football as the tiniest ray of sunlight creeps over the Arts Tower. ‘I rode in the paternoster once and lived’ should be printed on a T-shirt or made into an IPA. Say Henderson’s Relish is the same as Worcestershire sauce. One more time I swear I will rat you out to every local in this pub. Don’t think I won’t just because we’ve lived together since first year and because I still owe you a tin of chopped tomatoes or because you made me more life saving cups of tea than I can count with milk you definitely didn’t buy. Just meet me by the tram lines in your black and gold and listen to my best impression of an ice hockey enthusiast. Don’t ask me how it’s played. Ask me instead about the friends I have made from all over the world, about the skills I have gained and the versions of me I almost became. Each time there was a freshers’ fair. I may not have made it as a Forge Press netball playing pool fitness assassin, but at least I tried them all. At least we explored the peaks more than once, saw a 24 hour musical and danced down West Street on a Friday night, sing Mardy Bum like you haven’t heard it a hundred times before. Call everyone love and duck out of habit, chant ‘Yorkshire, Yorkshire’. In any large crowd even though you were born in Brighton because the city is a part of you now. These people are your chosen family. These moments are testing and silly and fun and we have learned so much. And though I’ve never been in Firth Court, the mysterious Hogwarts looking one with the red brick. I know it’s here we’ll take our pictures, throw our caps and reminisce about everything he taught us. Every friend we made along the way, every tutor who told us we were capable of greatness, every hard earned grade and celebratory drink at Bar One because we did it. We’re here. Thanks to you. My love. My Sheffield.