where all the poets went to die [dead poets society]

1 - welcome to welton

There had never been a girl at Welton Academy before. That is, there had never been a girl in class attendance at Welton before, because currently in the stone chapel of the elite preparatory school sat many a-woman-type.

Mothers, sisters, and perhaps the odd cousin or two sat on the pews of the chapel. They were scattered amongst the three hundred or so fresh-faced boys dressed in their academy blazers.

A procession of students, all boys of course, as established just now, followed behind the drowning sound of a bagpipe. Four banners followed, towering over the audience, and displaying the four pillars of Welton in shining gold embroidery.

They read: Tradition, Honor, Discipline, and Excellence.

At the front of the church, Headmaster Gale Nolan stood. He was an old man with white hair and a rather unfriendly disposition. Though at the moment, it shone with satisfaction as the bagpipe song came to an end and the four banners of Welton were lowered and situated appropriately. He watched on with a solemn nod as the flag carriers quietly took up their seats.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys, the light of knowledge," Nolan said, directly the attention to another old man who held a candle.

The man who had been tailing the procession of young boys – came to the front of the church. He stood where the youngest of the Welton boys sat with unlit candles. He leant forward and ignited the first boy's wick.

"The light of knowledge shall be passed on from old to young," Headmaster Nolan intoned as each boy lit the candle of the boy sitting next to him. In a quick and orderly manner – as all things are done at Welton – candles were lit up one by one.

"That seems like a fire hazard to me," came an amused whisper among the crowd of watchers.

The girl sitting beside the man who had voiced his thoughts pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop herself from giggling. "Uncle John," she whispered softly. "Don't make me laugh."

John Keating looked down at his niece. "It would certainly make this dull event a little more lively, don't you think?" He whispered back. "Just a little singe to those god-awful banners."

A barely-audible giggle escaped his niece's lip and he grinned.

A faculty member with brown mousy hair turned to look at him, a sour expression on his face and John gave the man an apologetic smile. "Apologies," he mouthed and when the sour-faced man turned back, John gave his niece a cheeky look before squeezing her knee and turning his attention back to the ceremony.

Maria Joanne Keating - John Keating's most beloved and only niece - followed his motions, her gaze turning toward the front of the chapel where the headmaster had begun his speech.

"One hundred years ago, in 1859, 41 boys sat in this room and were asked the same question that greets you at the start of each semester. Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?"

A rustle of noise followed as the uniformed boys rose to their feet and recited evenly: "Tradition, honor, discipline, excellence."

"In her first year, Welton Academy graduated five students. Last year we..."

Maria stopped listening, already quite familiar with the history that Nolan spoke of – of the prestigious reputation, the successful alumni birthed from its halls, and its obviously stuffy nature.

The latter bit, she had been privy to only because Welton had once housed both Maria's father and her uncle – Joseph and John Keating.

As a small child, Maria used to sit on the plush carpet of her Uncle John's living room and demand story after story about her father's and uncle's time here. She had grown up on stories about their misdeeds and adventures, about their strict teachers, and the ways they would sneak off the school grounds to "suck the marrow out of life".