Today I was on - irony of ironies - a first aid course at my old secondary school. It has been 27 years since I left and I am quite surprised at how warm and fluffy it made me feel being back there. Sitting in my old English classroom, I could feel the whispering presence of students past - Louise, Graham, Ian, Ann, Ali, Andrea - and remembered exactly where we all sat. I could even remember an essay I wrote in that room - 'What Freedom Means to Me'. I am sure it was a hotheaded spiel on freedom to protest( about what?why?), freedom to choose a career (ha!), freedom not to have children until I wanted them.....(double ha! When I got around to trying to have them, my body failed to do as commanded until years later).
It's funny, but I didn't remember all the geeky awkwardness that I felt for the majority of my school life. Sitting there with my two lovely colleagues and friends, I felt that I was finally cool!!! Finally, at the age of 43, I was in the cool gang!
But what I didn't realise is that being in the cool gang for me, means being pretty much everything that I depised and still despise about cliques - laughing at other people behind their backs, feeling superior ( Because I have a slightly less Essex accent than them?Because I have been luckier than them?), feeling more clever, better dressed, better educated. Basically I was a total shit, just like all those people were to me at school. What a fine line between being victim and a bully there is. Is it because I wanted to impress my friends? Or was it some deeply pyschologically closure exercise? I hope so. Because I don't really want to think about the alternative.
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I've never been back to my old school. I found out quite recently it had been demolished - which may be a good thing since it was one of those hideous relics of 1950s architectural styling. I was lucky enough to go to an all girls school and still believe in this concept as boys are such a bloody nuisance at any age. But school wasn't a happy time - I used to play truant as much as possible and then forge (badly) various notes from my grandmother or father and also try to change the number of absent days on my report card. I remember being in love with my RI teacher and scaredstiff of our geography teacher Miss Cunoni - who used to sit on her desk open-legged with giant drawers hanging down much to be bemusement of most of the classroom. We also had the slipper which was kept in a locked case on the wall in each classroom. If a pupil was 'naughty' - that could be anything from smiling at an inappropriate moment to wanting to go to the loo - said pupil had to go to the teacher, ask for the key, unlock the case, take out the slipper, lock the case, return to the teacher and in full view of all pupils receive five whacks on the palm. Then say 'thank you Miss' - return the slipper to its case, lock the case and return the key to the teacher. My favourite lessons were English, RE and Domestic Science. I loved to write dramatic tales about spies (how ironic!) and war stories - no girly romantic stuff for me! Domestic Science was brilliant as we used to trade whatever we made with the boys school just down the road for various objet d'art. At school I was bullied because I was minus one parent (an unusual thing in those days) and because I was 'foreign' looking. After sitting my GCEs I then buggered off as quickly as possible and then the adventures began.
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