There was a boy at the school, not so long ago, who really detested the place; resented the very ground it was built on, intimidated by the gloomy battlements and hostile yard. Up until he joined he'd done so well, gained some success, acknowledgement, now abandoned here, reduced to a surname. There was another boy, a few years later, quite different, who for his success, whatever that might be, was asked to be school captain. More of them later.

Despite appearances, I am not all that confident a chap, often comparing myself to successful people around me, and finding mostly I come off worse. They're more generous, sportier, better looking, whatever. It's not easy to stand here and lay myself open. Easier perhaps to hide solely behind the words of another, say something funny maybe, bolster my image which by now is probably flagging among my peers. But five years at Nottingham High School have taught me that here is a place, where I can speak my mind, behave as I wish, without fear of rebuff. Every day I am conscious how rare this environment is. My two older step-sisters, were scorned at school, not for any destructive trait, but rather for their intelligence. They were spat upon, literally, resented for who they were.  One modified the persona she exhibited and in doing so, her character shrunk; the other, defiant, struggled through her seven years at secondary school. And, fair enough, they weren't cool, or especially pretty; but no reason to be shunned. The year the elder went up to university, her six A-levels helped propel the school to be top comprehensive in the country.

In 1660 a preacher called John Bunyan was imprisoned because of his religious beliefs and spent the next 12 years in gaol, unwilling to compromise what he held to be right. During that time he wrote the Pilgrim's Progress from which the hymn we have just sung is extracted, extolling valour, constancy, strength, qualities which he himself demonstrated in his refusal to surrender his integrity. Through this sacrifice, and that of those like him, he helped ensure the freedoms and tolerance we enjoy today.

Though it pales in comparison, the everyday treatment suffered in schools, illustrates the fragility of what we have here. Acceptance. Freedom. Accolades more potent than any building, or position in the league tables. Sons of this school, members of this team, dare I say it, will not be dictated to, but will develop minds free from prejudice and prescription and be valued as individuals. No, not accolades for the school, not merely adverts, but the force which drives this place forward. Just consider the power of nine-hundred minds each working to their potential. It's a nice sentiment.  And at this time, in this place it's almost true.

But it's not Mr Parker, it's not parents or tutors who instil this freedom. It's you. You and you alone, have that choice. The choice either to conform and force conformity, or be yourself and help others to become the people their potential will allow. Here I have learnt the power of aspiration, of someone saying to me, Nick I think you might be good at this, and my having grown to achieve that success.

I am but the sum of my experiences and the care others have spent. And I am lucky, because at least for the short time I have been at school, I have gained encouragement and praise simply on account of those skills and attitudes bestowed on me by chance. And I suppose the only reason I'm standing here now, is because those chance attributes engage with those the school wants to promulgate. I am no rugby player, I am no musician, but I soon realised that here, my talents too would be valued. Poetry speaking: What on earth is that? For me, it was reciting in front of Dr. Sibly's Physics set in year nine. How many schools are there where a boy can do that without concern? What I do have is a belief that within the limitations of this place there lies open a path for everyone. It's not easy sometimes to see, but if you want it, it's there. And more than that, if you choose to step out, to embark upon that journey, should you falter, you shall find not criticism, but a hand to guide and support.

But at this school we select, we skim off the bright, the eager, the talented, absenting them from the state system, and thereby diminishing the richness of talent accessible to those without 7,000 pounds a year to spend. Yet on stepping outside, when we remove the tie what is there to distinguish us from them? Why the preferential treatment? How can I justify standing here? For the answer I look to a more powerful symbol still. Every day as I enter the school, like many of you, I see a boy, distraught but determined, a look of anguish and strain on his brow. And occasionally I have stopped to ask why he looks so sad. And engraved upon the stone on which he stands are these words:

To the glory of God, in lasting and grateful memory of those former members of the school, who by the sacrifice of their lives for the cause of their Country in the Great War, 1914-1918 and the Second World War, 1939-1945 ennobled the traditions which they had here received.

Only by grasping the privilege we have been given and using it everyday to better the lives of those without that advantage, can we be justified in maintaining this ancient institution. Only then do we transfer it from one built on Player's tobacco, into one built on aspiration and generosity. Only then will the look of disbelief on that soldier's face, remain fixed on the challenge ahead of him, and not turn to look in shame upon our doors. We can ensure this be so. Let us be liberal in the truest sense of the word; in thought and deed. So that we too may ennoble the traditions that we have here received.

The boy I spoke of earlier, the first, when confronted, when told he was rubbish, when told he was worthless, shrunk back and retreated. The second stood firm and resisted, with the conviction to know he was okay. He'll fear not what men say. How is it that in just five years this boy standing before you can change so dramatically?

The answer is all around you.