While I was in England I thought I would take advantage of being in the same country as the boarding school I went to and attend a reunion.
There were so few of us at school, 125 aged 5-18, that each year invitations are sent out to everyone for the garden party, well, bring your own picnic lunch and the nuns provided the sherry at noon and tea at 4pm.
It wasn’t until I lived in America that I encountered the re-unions in ten year multiples. Hubs and I attended his 30th and everyone dressed up to belie their age even though they knew how old everyone there was…they graduated in the same year for goodness sake. The re-union spans a weekend too, casual, formal, informal or something like that.
Quite recently at my school, which has expanded considerably since I was there, the old girl association has re-organised the reunions taking a leaf out of the American handbook and although anyone can still show up each year they announced that with the new system those who graduated in a year ending in “2” were encouraged to “be there” in 2012.
I was excited because I graduated in a year ending in “2” so it seemed the timing was perfect!
That is until I was told by one of my old friends that the “2” ending was for Vth formers because the leaving age at the time was 16 and most of my 17 strong class left at 16. Only 6 of us remained on the University track to graduate two years later which would mean that those returning en masse in 2012 would be two years younger than me. My official graduating class ended in a “0”. The reunion for me and my friends had been and gone…in 2010!
There are two possible times when students can graduate in England, when they are sixteen and when they are eighteen, so I suppose there couldn’t be two separate graduation dates per class could there? Some of us would be bouncing back twice in two years.
I decided to call key members of my graduation class of 6 to find out if any of them were going to be there at the school. This sparked a series of emails resulting in a private get together, not at the convent, for those of us who could make it, which ended up being 4. Not bad, 2/3 of my graduating class, although I would have loved to have seen a few more of the original 17.
We met a several weeks prior to my departure back to America at Victoria in a restaurant called Browns near the station. Here’s Trisha, me and Alex.
We had lunch and went for a Costa coffee next door where Clare got in the photo instead of always taking it,
Alex and I got a picture in outside the restaurant,
then snagged a passerby to take a photo of all four of us,
before grabbing a quick drink at The Albert, the pretty pub greedily sitting on three streets.
We spent eight hours together in all thoroughly enjoying each other’s company.
But how does one catch up on 30 plus years of news?
The three besides me had met up before and kept in touch but I had kept a low profile and so knew none of the history. We were able to meet each other where we were and of course, it was as if it was just yesterday that we were sitting in classrooms passing notes and giggling.
They were all fundamentally the same. Which meant I probably was too! That was quite a revelation to me because I thought of myself as having changed, become more assertive, much more outspoken and confident. But from all accounts I had always been a maverick, once I had set my mind to do something come hell or high water I would not be deterred. I hadn’t changed either!
Their lives suited the young girls they had been, Trisha was a stay at home Mum, Clare was a self employed single and Alex was a career divorcee with one son. I am sure mine also suited the thirteen year old that I had been.
An extraordinary thing emerged as we reminisced. We all had unique memories that hardly overlapped. We remembered the same rooms, hallways, cabins for piano practice, dining room and gym. But I remembered teachers that no-one else did and events they’d never heard of. We all must have been caught up in our individual micro-circles; or my immediate crowd of friends must have left at 16. I was one of a few who kept escaping the school to sneak into the nearby town and meet boys. I had friends who owned a small restaurant and bar and they would drive me back to school in time for Saturday afternoon ballet with a few drinks inside me…my ‘just the same’ friends nodded…they knew but they had been spectators of my daring-doo!
I was not part of the academic crowd even though I stayed for A levels and went on to University.
One of them did have a story in common with me though, our first encounter as thirteen years old.
I had been dropped off at school, at the door. I made my way alone to my dormitory in The Tower following vague verbal directions from the nun at the front door. I unpacked and retraced my solitary steps to where I’d last seen my mother.
The same nun asked me to show a newly arrived girl to her dormitory, also in The Tower, I knew the way, there and back, so was able to accompany her and her mother to her dorm, a different one to mine. They unpacked together while I waited to help them retrace their steps. After saying a hearty goodbye to Mums the girl turned to me and asked,
“How long have you been here?”
“About an hour.” I said dismally.
“Oh, I thought you’d been here years,” she said treating me to her infectious laugh! Hello Alex!
That night after the reunion I didn’t sleep well.
All the memories of being abandoned came back to me and I lost my breath.
I wrote to my friends who said there were others who felt the same way.
They hoped that I would be able to visit them again and not bury myself deep in the heart of Texas.
I hoped so too.
These friends have nothing but happy memories of Thornton so how can they be expected to know the loneliness and loss my years there represent to me?
Let’s just say had my parents not sent me to Thornton or anywhere for that matter, I would probably not have homeschooled my children and then where would we all be?
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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