My old school

As often happens, something balanced out the misery I felt at being reminded of my schooldays. The letter in the Guardian last week brought back many negative memories and feelings about convent education. Coincidentally a friend who lives in Bakewell asked me if I had ever heard of a local artist called Bert Broomhead, as a retrospective exhibition of his work is being planned in Sheffield by his daughter. It was strange to have any teacher on maternity leave in a convent school, and even stranger that her artist husband should take over her classes. He looked like a classic St Ives idea of an artist - extremely tall and slim, with greying hair and beard,and bright blue eyes. He always wore a long rib-knit jumper and baggy cords with sandals. He was a wonderful teacher, treating us with patience and respect, something we weren't used to in our school lives. His wife was also the English teacher, and she was a huge influence on me. I chose to study English at University because of her, and what she taught me for A level carried me through the literature side of my degree. She introduced us to a wealth of different influences, and whilst I was very grateful that she was my teacher, I knew she was worthy of better schools. When I moved back to Bakewell I tried to get in touch with her, only to find she had recently moved away. We did reconnect, and a neighbour sent her round to see me one day when she was visiting Bakewell. Sadly she died suddenly a few years ago. Their daughter - the reason for the maternity leave - is now planning the exhibition and has set up a lovely website. I was lucky enough to buy one of his paintings at a sale at the local community centre some years ago, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of his work on display. I nearly bought their old house with my ex - wish I had, but glad I didn't in the circumstances.
And talking of exhibitions, my friend Keith who has the Low Horizons blog, is in Finland as I write for his exhibition opening!

Woodstock

Well it wasn't really Woodstock, but it was inspired by that festival - in fact Joni Mitchell never made Woodstock either even though she wrote the song. We did get our own back on the nuns, in that in 1970 my friend and I managed to get permission to go to the Bath Festival, held at Shepton Mallett, in pursuit of our Duke of Edinburgh award scheme. I still don't know how we did it - it was unheard of to get a weekend off in term time, and to be allowed to go to a music festival was surreal. The line up was amazing - Pink Floyd, Country Joe, Jefferson Airplane and the Byrds to name a few. We had no tent, no sleeping bags, no-one knew what to expect - we stayed up for the duration so I know we must have seen everyone on the bill. Magic times.
And the Duke of Edinburgh connection was that our special interest was folk music.......

The Magdalene Laundries

Yesterday's Guardian included a short letter in response to recent news items regarding Catholic priests and abuse of children in their care. The correspondent made the point that nuns at her school were equally culpable but that no-one would believe her. I too went to convent schools. The first two schools I went to were run by nuns from an order based in Manchester, but founded in France. They were worldly wise enough to provide a good education at school and teacher training levels. One elderly nun did have the habit of throwing her scissors across the room to make a point ( too many puns), and once threw my needlework out of the window and into the River Irwell, but we knew she was passionate about her subject and I forgave her. My parents then went to live and work in SE Asia and my sisters and I were sent to convent boarding school, in the next town to where I live now. I never imagined I could live so close to the scene of my teenage misery. This school was rooted in 1950s Ireland, even though this was the late 60s.It was academically challenged - my mother still regrets the fact that none of us became doctors, ignoring the fact that the school didn't offer science A levels - we no longer have the heart to remind her. The nuns generally had a cruel and sadistic approach to dealing with hormonal teenaged homesick girls, trying to find their way in the early days of women's lib and the swinging sixties. Personal hygiene and laundry and communication with friends and family were all areas of power and discipline for them. Baths and hair washing was restricted ( and this was enforced), letters were intercepted though we found ways of sneaking them out with the help of the day girls. Tampax and drying underwear were confiscated ( honestly!)
I was 13 when I went and left when I was 17. My best friend had been at the junior part of the school - ironically now a residential care home. There the nuns used an iron bar across the legs as a punishment, and put naughty children to sleep in a room they believed was haunted. Whether they ever really did this is debatable, but the fact that it was used a threat for the pupils says it all. No internet, no mobile phones, censored Sunday letters - it took 2 weeks for letters to reach my parents and the last thing they wanted to hear was how desperately unhappy we were. And this was a supposedly priviledged education.
The song 'The Magdalene Laundries' describes a particular type of convent life that I feel has a lot in common with my experiences.
Ironically I now find myself leading a secular but nun-like life- with duties and responsibilities for others, working for a charity, spiritually seeking, trying to lead a 'right' life, toying with the idea of living within a community in the next ten years as work and family responsibilities change.No love life since the terrible betrayals of two years ago.
A representative of the Catholic church was on the radio this morning commenting on the furore over the emails a junior civil servant at the Foreign Office had written about the Pope's forthcoming visit. Jokes abound about nuns and convent schoolgirls too - humour can dissipate horror! He made the point that it is part of the Catholic culture to forgive and move on. And no wonder.......

The circle game

Everything seems to be coming round again - astrologers would say it's my second Saturn return, when life is reassessed, in preparation for the next 28 years! On the 8th Day, where I used to work in Manchester, is celebrating its 40 th birthday this year. My time there was an enormous influence on my attitude to life, work and friendships, and I'm really looking forward to being involved in the preparations for the celebrations. Last weekend I visited a friend I have known since those days at her new home in Bath. It was wonderful to see her and her husband ( and cats) in their lovely new home in such a beautiful city. Old bonds.Lots of past but plenty of present too in our relationship. This week I went to Radio Derby to record some more stories - anecdotes about things that have happened to me, and again I was reliving some special times in the telling. The interviewer's response made me appreciate that I have had an interesting and eventful life, and that while I sometimes get frustrated with the limitations of my days here in the Peak District, it still presents opportunities. Great bus journey home from Derby - the frustration of the bus not turning up, the classic scenario of two Transpeak buses turning up at once, but the most surreal explanation for lateness from the driver - the air filter on the bus was full of volcanic ash and had to be changed. There wasn't the hint of a smile....

Here comes the sun

I spent Penny Day in Lathkilldale - not quite what it sounds! - the Thursday after Easter Sunday is designated Penny Day in the Dale. To maintain the footpath's concessionary status , visitors are charged one penny to walk through. Natural England manage the dale, but the Melbourne estate owns the shooting rights and this means they can continue to use it in the pheasant shooting season. It's a slightly odd combination of interests - nature conservation and shooting, but not uncommon in this part of the world. I used to work for English Nature, who morphed into Natural England. When I left, I wanted to stay involved, so became a White Peak volunteer guide. I help with guided walks and events, and Penny Day is one of my favourites, mainly because of the people you meet and their reactions to it.
It was a glorious day on Thursday - the first real hint of the summer to come. the butterflies were flying, the water was flowing crystal clear and the woodpeckers were pecking. In surroundings like that you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
In complete contrast, I spent Friday in London - equally enjoyable in a completely different way. A two hour queue outside the Royal Academy for the Van Gogh exhibition - sunshine and people watching whilst catching up with my younger sister, and random good company on the train journey home.

Easter

It's Easter weekend - the first time I haven't been working through Easter for some years. I wrote very little of anything and nothing on this blog through March, and I really thought I had come to the end of the music links, but I just realised Patti Smith made an album called Easter, and seeing Patti Smith was one of the outstanding events of last month for me. She came to Sheffield to tie in with Robert Mapplethorpe's touring exhibition at the Graves Gallery. An evening performance was planned and sold out very quickly, but she also gave a lunchtime interview. I managed to get a ticket for it, swapped my day off at work and headed for Sheffield. The bus broke down on the way - luckily at a bus stop. She was about three quarters of an hour late - as the organiser said, 'it's rock n roll'.I was aware that some of the people there must be on their lunch break, the person sitting next to me had another afternoon arrangement, and had to leave early. John Robb interviewed her. She was impressed with the fact that he had obviously read her book about her life with Robert "Just Kids", and she commented on how handsome he is! She looked fantastic, her attitude to the audience was wonderful, and the way she expresses herself is a joy to listen to. I had domestic responsibilities and wondered whether to leave before she had finished, but decided to stay and am so glad I did. She spoke so eloquently about her life and work. She is one of the most refined people I have ever encountered, and yet she's a true punk spirit. There's an amazing contradiction in what she does and how she does it -both a rebel and a charming conversationalist - you can see the angel/devil tension in Robert Mapplethorpe's work and it's there in her too. I found it a life changing experience. She has made me reconsider my approach to my life,family and creativity, in a positive way. And at the end she sang us two songs, and we all got to sing 'Because the Night' with her.
When my friend Larry Jenkin first introduced me to Patti Smith's work back in Todmorden in the early 70s I never imagined that one day I'd sing with her in the Library Theatre in Sheffield, feeling such a deep connection to her attitude to life.
March brought two other examples of my past and present connecting in totally unexpected ways. The first was the Chatsworth staff party for the Dowager Duchess' 90th birthday - done in amazing Chatsworth style - a real sense of witnessing a celebration of Deborah Mitford. My first visit to Chatsworth at the age of 9, bus journey from Manchester, boiling hot day, paddling in the cascade with my best friend and her older sister, is still very close to the surface of my memories, especially when I take that age group round on a guided tour. I could never have dreamt I'd be there for Debo Mitford's 90th. Finally I spent last weekend with friends in North Wales, again revisiting places from my childhood. When I do the ghost walks in Bakewell, I talk about people leaving impressions behind, that then get picked up as apparitions, sensations, whatever. To me these sensations - finally seeing Patti Smith, witnessing that 90th birthday party, revisiting North Wales, are like experiencing the living ghost of my previous self. Strange, but good.