Arrangements are now in place for my second little chat with the Art students at my old school on Friday, thanks to the magic of email.
It all came about when l joined Friend's Reunited, and was contacted by the man now in charge of communications at QEGS, [didn't have anything so fancy when l was there!]
From the school magazine they sent me, l saw that my old Art mistress was still there, long story but in short they asked me to go in and tell them about Art school and then working in fashion. l have never been a shy, or nervous person in my life. l was always the first to volenteer to read the lesson at school or church. lf l'd have been from the American deep South, l would have been part of a travelling Preacher Show. 'Come see the lil Garinda speak in tongues!' But faced with about 20 students, for a brief moment l did start to stutter, before l got into my stride, [another unfortunate side-effect of Parkinson's.] At the back of my mind was the thought, do they really want to be here, or were they dragged here? lt went really well, and turned into a 2-way question and answer session. Touchingly everyone of them lined up to shake my hand, and thank me for coming to talk to them. So l'm really looking forward to this second visit, providing l sleep the night before.
My parents didn't believe in private education, neither do l, but they were in the position to help me when l needed it, and acted as parents instead of socialists, [ bit of Blair thing going on l suppose, 'do as l do.....']
After going to a very modern 70's primary, l loved QEGS. It was all Elizabethan stained glass, Masters who looked like Quentin Crisp, wearing gowns, like l'd read about in childhood books. l was lucky and it brought out the best in me. Every child should have the same nurturing at whatever school, sadly l know this is not always the case.
l don't think my second visit will merit two consecutive stories/pictures in the Lancashire Evening Telegraph unlike my first trip. My friends thought this hilarious, and think nothing much must ever happen here. They think of Ossy as a rural hamlet. Little do they no!
It all came about when l joined Friend's Reunited, and was contacted by the man now in charge of communications at QEGS, [didn't have anything so fancy when l was there!]
From the school magazine they sent me, l saw that my old Art mistress was still there, long story but in short they asked me to go in and tell them about Art school and then working in fashion. l have never been a shy, or nervous person in my life. l was always the first to volenteer to read the lesson at school or church. lf l'd have been from the American deep South, l would have been part of a travelling Preacher Show. 'Come see the lil Garinda speak in tongues!' But faced with about 20 students, for a brief moment l did start to stutter, before l got into my stride, [another unfortunate side-effect of Parkinson's.] At the back of my mind was the thought, do they really want to be here, or were they dragged here? lt went really well, and turned into a 2-way question and answer session. Touchingly everyone of them lined up to shake my hand, and thank me for coming to talk to them. So l'm really looking forward to this second visit, providing l sleep the night before.
My parents didn't believe in private education, neither do l, but they were in the position to help me when l needed it, and acted as parents instead of socialists, [ bit of Blair thing going on l suppose, 'do as l do.....']
After going to a very modern 70's primary, l loved QEGS. It was all Elizabethan stained glass, Masters who looked like Quentin Crisp, wearing gowns, like l'd read about in childhood books. l was lucky and it brought out the best in me. Every child should have the same nurturing at whatever school, sadly l know this is not always the case.
l don't think my second visit will merit two consecutive stories/pictures in the Lancashire Evening Telegraph unlike my first trip. My friends thought this hilarious, and think nothing much must ever happen here. They think of Ossy as a rural hamlet. Little do they no!