In the wings of graduation
Many of you know I don’t have any formal higher education beyond a single A level. No degree, no diploma, no apprenticeship I can proudly list on a CV to make me look smarter. No ceremony of my own, no borrowed robe, no flat hat to fling onto a roof and then sheepishly explain to the hire company.
But now I work at a university.
Which means I finally get to be part of graduations – not as someone crossing the stage, but as someone helping make hundreds of those moments happen.
Discovering a strange, ceremonial world
From the outside, graduations are a wonderfully odd world. There are ceremonial maces, processions, Latin job titles, and even a role simply called “Steps”. It’s the kind of environment that makes perfect sense to insiders and feels slightly surreal to everyone else.
Processions I understand. In a theatre you dim the house lights and draw back the curtain to signal that something important is about to begin. In the Great Hall, you do it with people. A slow, deliberate walk between the rows tells everyone: this is it. Time to adjust your robe, straighten your hat, sit up a little taller, and remember to smile.
Then there’s the ceremonial mace. Apparently it doesn’t contain mace, which is probably wise, though I do find myself wondering if that was ever the case – a deterrent against anyone complaining about the weather, perhaps. And leading one of the processions is the Esquire Bedell, carrying a different mace. I knew the word “Esquire”; “Bedell” was entirely new. It all adds up to a sense of tradition that is both serious and faintly comic.
And then there are the “graduands”. As far as I can tell, this is the formal stage in the journey: student → passes exams → graduand → walks the stage → graduate. I am convinced there is an unexplored greetings card market in “Congratulations on becoming a graduand!”
Robes and hats pull it all together. It’s basically the school trip uniform for grown-ups: everyone matching, everyone recognisable, every institution with its own colours and patterns. You won’t find these in the middle aisle any time soon.
My role: Floor Manager, left side
For this set of ceremonies I was Floor Manager for the left-hand side of the hall. It’s a role you can do comfortably if you’re used to managing people – the volunteers who know the drill, and the students who absolutely don’t. A calm appearance goes a long way. If you look like everything is going to plan, people usually believe that it is.
Behind the scenes, it is still a very paper-based process. There’s something reassuring about that. Lists are checked and triple-checked. Who has arrived. Who is in the right seat or standing in the correct order. No swapping places. Name pronunciations carefully verified. Latecomers quietly slotted into exactly the right spot.
All of this is handled calmly, right up until their 15 seconds of fame.
For each person, that tiny slice of time is the culmination of years. Their name read aloud, beautifully. A scroll passed from one hand to another. The firm handshake. Sometimes a triumphant air punch. And then that beaming smile as they walk back through the congregation.
Around that moment you have speeches, thanks, music, applause. A few hundred individual stories cross a single stage, and then everyone leaves again in another slow, carefully choreographed procession of success.
Proud to be backstage
As an outsider, I was lucky enough to play a small part in all of this – one person in a very well-rehearsed operation. My job was to be in the wings and backstage, crossing t’s and dotting i’s, helping other people shine.
And as I stood there, quietly keeping things moving, I realised this is what I’ve always done.
In my day job, designing and building data models and reports is exactly the same kind of work. Users make critical decisions based on the outputs, and my responsibility is to make sure the information is right when the spotlight hits. It’s not limited to business either. Analytics and reporting that support compliance, disease monitoring, or medicines need the same attention to detail as sales, manufacturing, or finance. Someone somewhere gets their own “15 seconds” with those numbers, and they need to trust what they see.
The same is true in theatres. The front of house experience, the smooth scene changes, the perfectly timed lighting and sound cues – they all depend on hidden figures in black clothing who most people never notice. If the audience is fully immersed, we’ve done it right.
Even at home, I recognise the same pattern. Inventing games and stories, helping with homework, teaching someone to cook a new meal. The best moments often land for someone else, and my part is to set them up.
Helping others shine
Graduation ceremonies made something very clear for me. I may never walk that stage as a student, but I am deeply proud to help others walk it with confidence.
Being unseen is often what makes the magic happen.
To everyone I’ve helped – in a hall, a theatre, a meeting room, or at the kitchen table – I am as proud of being able to support you as your friends and family are of watching you in the spotlight.
