I suppose I’m a bit weird (oh… had that slipped past you unnoticed?)
When I was younger, at ‘big school’, there was a library. The lady that ran it was called Mrs Fieldhouse. I remember her because we used to call her Mrs Fieldmouse – yeah, I know… hilarious… the winter nights just flew by…
I found a book to read – Watership Down by Richard Adams. I checked it out and read it in one weekend.
I checked-out the book again over the term – and again, and again.
Over the next few years, I almost held onto that book by renewing it on my library card.
Eventually, Mrs Fieldhouse called me over.
“Michelle,” she said. “We’ve had a new copy of Watership Down because that one was getting very tatty. We’d like to give you this copy because you obviously love the book so much.”
She wasn’t wrong. I did love the book and because I’ve just been on to Amazon to find the image… I’ve just re-ordered the book.
Over time, my reading tastes expanded from fluffy bunny rabbits, child-pickpockets and Neanderthal dump-dwellers to man-eating sharks, feral, voracious rodents and child-hosts for demons.
At school, I’d always got a book to read. I stole them from my father’s pile of ‘to be read’ books in the cupboard at the side of his bed.
Did I scare myself stupid by reading Jaws, The Rats, The Exorcist et al when I was ‘too young’ to be reading that kind of thing?
Oh you betcha!
I even wrote my own version of a vicious rat infestation in our village for one of my English Exams.
A rat, as big as a small terrier leaped into a pram and stole the baby even as the mother looked on in horror, too shocked to move.
The only thing I’m surprised about in my writing career is how long it took me to get started.
But maybe I’m not that surprised…
In my third year, I encountered teachers who really should never have been in charge of children’s education – they shouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near children!
One teacher was obsessed with ‘Three-hundred-and-fifty word essays on concentration’ – I managed to acquire one of those EVERY week.
Another teacher was always one to watch too… the advice from older kids was: “If you miss the bus home, go to the Office (reception) and ask if one of the teachers can give you a lift. If Mr (Dodgy Teacher) offers a lift, sit in the back seat of his car. If you sit in the front, he’ll grope your leg!”
Fact or speculation? I never found out. On the one time I missed the bus, Mr Dalgleish took me home and he was an awesome bloke.
Source
Not the actual school I went to, but it sure looks like I remember it
Then there were our English teachers.
Mr Buxton (for the first two years) who taught me the right and wrong ways to use an apostrophe –
Possessive – YES! Mr Buxton’s lessons were great!
Plural – NO! Mr Buxtons lesson’s were great!
And now you know.
Mrs Dyson (for the last two years) – she was ok… Lord of the Flies was my best memory… closely followed by the ghost story I wrote – inspired by another one I’d read…
I don’t remember what we were taught or what we learned in those classes (apart from the apostrophe lesson of course).
Then, in my third year, I got another English teacher.
He took an instant dislike to me and I remember only ONE word of praise from him – I used the phrase ‘impending doom’ and he liked that.
The third year prepared us for our ‘Options’ for our final two years. What exams we wanted to take, what qualifications we needed (if we had a career in mind).
I wanted to take the higher exam in English Literature and Language – two of my best subjects. The teacher mentioned above, wouldn’t let me.
I’ve always blamed him for not allowing me to take ‘O’ Level English – well… him - and my mother who wouldn’t go up to school to insist I be allowed to take the higher exam. She could only bring herself to phone and allowed herself to be fobbed off, despite my insisting that she goes up and meets them face-to-face.
Still… that was one more lesson to put in my compendium for when I became a parent. ALWAYS meet teachers face-to-face, even if it’s to show your kid that you really ARE bothered about them.
So, I kinda got the writing bug knocked out of me a bit. That was a bad year for me.
I got badly beaten by a group of kids from my year and the case went to court. The case divided the year because some took the ring-leader’s side and others took mine. Most believed I was making a fuss over nothing – even though it was the decision of the police to take it to court.
I went through a lot of peer-pressure in that year, added to that the decision of the teacher to keep me from taking the exams I wanted to take (not just English, Maths too). I kinda gave up.
Source
I’m not proud of myself that I gave up, but I am proud of myself that I shook it off and moved on!
It’s never too late to start again.
I responded by shrugging my shoulders and giving it the ‘Yeah, ok… whatever,’ response and allowing myself to fall into I suppose, if not ‘depression’ then at least a bit of a funk.
“You can’t do that!” was met with – “Yeah, ok…”
Now, with support and backing and actually someone who believes in me, the negative, “You can’t do that!” is met by a far more positive: “No? You just watch me!”
My kids have the benefit of everything I’ve learned.
No, I didn’t do everything right, but the things that were done wrong with me, I’ve not repeated.
Well, I haven’t written anywhere near what I was going to write about in this post… so I suppose it’s just going to have to wait until next time. I don’t want to bore you.
