Jonny McCambridge: Let’s meet up for a school reunion? Probably not, but thanks for asking

Like most new things, I viewed the messaging platform with suspicion at first. I had just got comfortable with emails and texts, and now here was something fresh to confuse me.

I have no data to back it up, but I suspect more of my communication now is done through the app than by text, email or phone call. While I use the service to communicate with friends, colleagues and contacts on a one-to-one basis, it is the group conversation function which is the selling point.

Group chats control the direction of much of my work as a journalist. There are also shared conversations with family and friends. Every social, domestic or professional tributary seems to have its own chat.

I am, by habit, poor at staying in touch. WhatsApp makes it easier. I now have regular communication with people who I would otherwise perhaps not reach out to for months. It has undoubtedly stopped me from losing contact with some relatives and friends.

There are, of course, pitfalls. I am in more groups than I really want to be. Sometimes there can be too much conversation. Occasionally I groan when I see the unread messages piling up on the phone screen.

Last week, my mobile buzzed in the way it does when it wants to tell me something. I had been added to another WhatsApp conversation. This was a large group, with more than 35 participants. What was unusual was that there was not a single member who was a contact on my phone. I became curious. What was this group and who had added me?

From the theme of the chat and the profile pictures of some of the members, I realised they were all people who had been in my year at secondary school. A couple of ex-pupils had come up with the idea of a reunion to take place in Portrush later this year. Someone had my number and added me. The group continued to expand, like dough on a warm day, as more numbers were added.

As I scanned through the members, I became aware of something which should have been obvious but which I had never previously thought about – I do not remain in touch with anyone that I went to school with. Even with my clear social limitations, I was surprised.

When I left school more than three decades ago, I was part of a small circle of friends (none of whom aside from me were part of this WhatsApp group). But since then, through carelessness and lack of application, those links have become diluted. What was once a tight group which met up several times a year, has loosened and unpicked. There is no ill-feeling, just life taking us in different directions.

One old friend, perhaps more dogged than the rest, continued to message me every time he came home. I last saw him a couple of summers ago when our children met. A subsequent attempt to arrange a lunch floundered because of my work commitments. That relationship too, like so many others, has now become dormant.

I returned my attention to the now steady stream of messages in the WhatsApp conversation. Possible dates were being discussed as well as the potential of renting a house for those who would be travelling to the reunion. I felt I should contribute to the chat but was troubled that I didn’t quite know what to say. I left it.

Later that night I recalled an incident from a few years earlier. I was in the supermarket when I was approached by a smiling man who I did not immediately recognise. After stumbling through the beginnings of an awkward conversation, I realised I had known him as a boy. He was warm and charming, introduced me to his wife and kids, and seemed genuinely interested in what I had done with my life.

Had this been my first ever meeting with this chap I would have considered him to be the most perfect gent. The problem was I had known him before. I want to be very delicate in my language here, but I had regarded some of his behaviour in adolescent years as less than gallant towards others.

Was this at the core of my hesitation in participating in the reunion talk? Some unresolved social anxiety about treatment during school days? Maybe so. Being a parent has sharpened my focus even more about the cruelty of children and the damage it can cause. And I don’t make this point from a position of piety, I have no doubt there were occasions when my own behaviour as a youth did not display the compassion or empathy I would have hoped for.

I continued to scroll through the messages in the conversation. There was no doubt they contained a warmth and sense of welcoming. There was no suggestion that there were only certain people who were welcome to get involved. Instead, a recurring theme was the desire to reach out to as many people as possible, to enrich the reunion by distributing the invitation far and wide.

And yet I still did not contribute. No matter how hard I tried to still the discordant voices in my head, there was just no way that I could convince myself that this would be a place of comfort for me. Once more I was the quiet schoolboy at the back of the classroom afraid to speak up while the louder voices took over.

The following day my wife asked me if I intend going to the reunion. I told her I probably would not. I do not do well in social settings with large numbers of people. In truth, I have no idea what I would even say to some of them.

But it was still nice to be asked.