I always felt that I was a disappointment to my parents. I just didn't come up to expectations as far as school was concerned, and I was a thin, gangling and weedy specimen who was no good at games either. I didn't know then, and i am sure that they didn't either, that a child's progress through school is a team effort and that what goes on at home is as important as what goes on in school. I know that I should have tried harder to overcome the obstacles but, my attitude to home was deeply ingrained and hard to change.
My parents would fight almost daily. Shouting and raving at one another, usually about us kids, often about me, and all too often I'd fall asleep with my head under the pillow, attempting to block out the sounds of father shouting and mother crying.
Such conflicts are distressing to third parties, but eventually I think that I habituated to it. To this day, the tears of a woman have the effect of pushing me into a protective shell, and I just block them out.
After a major row, some of which developed into physically violent confrontations, there would be a long lull. My father had a wonderful habit of not speaking to anyone for days. I always though that it was a pathetic way of going about things but welcomed it nevertheless. It meant that he'd not eat with us, and would spend hours out of the house or just listening to his record collection at very high volume. I vowed that I'd never turn out like him, though I hold my hand up to one thing - I also retreat into loud music and when upset I can lie on the floor with Led Zepplin or Pink Floyd at high volume. It's like being washed by the sea and is one of my methods of isolation. He had a wonderful collection of records, mostly Classical and Jazz, but I enjoyed listening - mainly at a distance. He had no toleration though of pop music. We were not allowed to listen to pop on the radio or even play our records on HIS equipment. We'd buy records sometimes, and would play them when he was at work. making sure that we never left traces of our activities.
Anyway, back to school, a place where I could be a different person to the one at home. The areas of the curriculum that grasped me best were Maths and Sciences, though I did enjoy English and RE lessons, largely because of the teachers, who both encouraged discussion and debate. Students like to feel that their opinions count for something and that they are participant in the learning process.
My Chemistry teacher, throughout the first five years of my time at Prince Henry's was Mr Chalkley. His name was Ron, and we'd call him that behind his back. In those days, all teachers would have a nickname that was passed down from generation to generation. His was a respectful one, as he was a thoroughly respected master. I recall to this day my first Chemistry lesson in the ancient chemistry lab. It smelt wonderfully, of mysterious chemicals mixed with wax polish and the encrustation of age and the traces of a hundred years of students. Mr Chalkley began by introducing himself and telling us that "Today we are going to weigh the world." Immediately my attention was grasped and he became my hero. In reality of course he was showing us how to use the chemical balance, and to be able to weigh things with an unprecedented degree of accuracy. He took a small piece of paper and showed us step by step, how to weigh it in grams and centigrams and milligrams. Then he wrote "The world" on the scrap of paper, using his shiny fountain pen. This was reweighed and the difference calculated by simple subtraction. We'd been shown that even his words carried weight. We didn't call it mass in those days. We'd then be shown how to record what we had done in our note books. Aim, equipment, method, results and conclusions.
Ron was a wonderful teacher, not just because his lessons were interesting, but because his discipline was iron. No-one spoke out of turn in Ron's lessons. We learned very early on that a step out of line was rewarded by a whack. He would wander around the classroom while we were making our notes and should anyone ever dare to whisper while he was in range, a clout around the back of th head was delivered with precision and care. It never hurt, it was never meant to. WE all loved Ron and I still rate him as one of my best teachers ever. I still love Chemistry and in my own teaching career often thought that Ron might have been surprised and even proud of me, something that my father never was.
I often think that if Ron had stayed as my chemistry teacher in later years that I would have done so much better than I did. Life is so full of things that we should regret. I only regret the things that I didn't do. Working hard at school is just one of those things.
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