Ghosts of Autumns Past
Tomorrow is the first day of Autumn, probably my favourite season. The world becomes alive with colours as the leaves change from green to a rainbow of yellows, oranges, reds and browns. It gives you a range of smells and sights you only get as this time of year. These sights and smells evoke memories of the season in previous years, ghosts of Autumns past...
September 2000, 8AM
"Dad, I need something to take in for the harvest assembly!" I chirp. I'm dressed in the bright blue jumper that signifies I go to the local junior school rather than the dark green of the rival school on the other side of town.
"Why have you left it to now?" my Dad grumbles and heads into the kitchen to fish around in the tin cupboard. I think most kitchens have a similar cupboard where inexplicably purchased tinned goods are stored until the time someone finally sorts through them or an event such as a harvest assembly calls upon the services of the cupboard. Eventually Dad pulls out a tin that no-one can recall buying and I shove it in my school bag.
Later that day, I find myself sat on the wooden floor of the school hall (having not been promoted to the benches at the back yet). At the front is an array of random food items that parents across the town have sourced, the quality largely dependent on the amount of notice the child has given them. It bears a suspicious similarity to the reduced items section in the local supermarket.
Though our school is supposed to be Christian, the closest we usually get to anything religious is singing The Beatles' 'Let It Be' in assemblies. Today though someone has remembered our ethos and we are made to sing songs about how thankful we are to God for vegetables. I never quite understood why we were thanking a deity for the hard work of farmers. Once we've finally squeaked our way through 'We Plough the Fields and Scatter' we can finally escape for the weekend.
October 2002
Whilst future pop star Ann Marie saw the woods as a place to dance on an old Mustang (see her song '2002'), I saw them as a place to head to with a strong plastic bag. My obsession for many years was to collect conkers, the hard fruit of horse chestnut trees. I'd pick up literally hundreds and they'd remain in the plastic bag for the next month or so before they became caked in a fluffy white mould and had to be thrown away.
Of course, conkers are famously used for a game. Two players stick a piece of string through the middle of a conker and take it in turns to flick the conker at their opponent's. The winner is the one who inflicts the most damage on their opponent- it's like a low-tec Robot Wars. I can distinctly remember the horror of my first conker match. I was told by my Dad to choose a conker to play with, which is a challenging task for a child with a bag full of them. Fortunately I always had one or two special conkers which didn't reside in the bag so one of these was selected. Inevitably, my conker ended up smashed to pieces and I was devastated to see my most prized possession ruthlessly destroyed by my own father.
These days conker fights are rarely allowed in schools, certainly without safety goggles, but conker matches then were the highlight of the day. We'd spend our evenings looking for good conkers or trying to come up with ways to make our conkers somehow better in battle, with a soaking in vinegar being the conker equivalent of doping. We'd head to the conker corner of the playground and vicious matches would ensue. I'd barely tap the conker's of my best friends but swing them hard at my enemies' knuckles. Sometimes a rare conker would come along that no-one could beat and then virtually everyone in the school would have a go until someone managed to steal it and throw it on the roof.
September 2003
My first day at secondary school, an overwhelming experience. Somehow I find myself in the hall next to my two best friends but most my peers are from strange, rival primary schools. One by one the tutor groups are read out and great alarm is caused when it turns out that someone has exactly the same name as me bar one letter. Still, I eventually find my way to the right place and am issued with my timetable for the year. This is the most independent I've ever had to be and it doesn't bode well.
Sure enough, two lessons in and I'm in trouble. English has finished but my timetable has vanished. I place my enormous PE bag down on a bench outside the English block and look through my blazer pockets and my bag but there's no sign of it. I wonder if I've left it in the English classroom and return but it's not there either.
A teacher spots me looking lost and I explain the situation. I can remember I have French so she escorts me to the French classroom. Along the way we conveniently pass the bench where my PE kit still rests, which I scoop up pretending I wasn't in a flap and that's exactly where I'd meant to leave it. There are thirteen classrooms in the languages corridor and I stand at the door of the classroom as the helpful teacher asks if I'm supposed to be in there as my new peers all glance out at the loser. Sure enough my classroom is number 13 and finally I'm in the right place. I sit down and get out my pencil case to find my timetable tucked neatly inside. 'Welcome to big school' I think to myself.
September 2010
My parents have been gone for four hours but I'm still alone in my new university halls. The staggered arrival means I'm the only one moving in to the twelve room building that day. I can't get internet access until the next day, I have no TV and only have phone signal at the top of the stairs. University isn't turning out to be as fun as I imagined.
Eventually I contact one of the people I'd found online who was on the same course as me telling her of my situation. Within minutes she's at my door and I find myself taken to her house where most of her housemates have already arrived. Along with my own housemates, these remain the people I'm friends with throughout my time at university and beyond.
Next thing I know we're at the student union. I can't recall a great deal of the evening other than a member of bar staff asking my opinion of Matt Smith's Doctor Who thanks to my dalek T-shirt and informing some students in the toilet I was a fresher when overhearing them saying they hadn't seen many.
In the early hours only a few of us are still around but we end up lying on the grass in our student village looking up at the stars. It's a clear night and our student village is on the edge of the city so we have a great view. Suddenly a shooting star zooms by- it's the Perseid Meteor Shower. I'd had a great night despite the initial loneliness and made some good friends. The shooting star was the final signal which told me that I would cope at university after all.
Well, that was a trip down memory lane. I'll be back again soon...
September 2000, 8AM
"Dad, I need something to take in for the harvest assembly!" I chirp. I'm dressed in the bright blue jumper that signifies I go to the local junior school rather than the dark green of the rival school on the other side of town.
"Why have you left it to now?" my Dad grumbles and heads into the kitchen to fish around in the tin cupboard. I think most kitchens have a similar cupboard where inexplicably purchased tinned goods are stored until the time someone finally sorts through them or an event such as a harvest assembly calls upon the services of the cupboard. Eventually Dad pulls out a tin that no-one can recall buying and I shove it in my school bag.
Later that day, I find myself sat on the wooden floor of the school hall (having not been promoted to the benches at the back yet). At the front is an array of random food items that parents across the town have sourced, the quality largely dependent on the amount of notice the child has given them. It bears a suspicious similarity to the reduced items section in the local supermarket.
Though our school is supposed to be Christian, the closest we usually get to anything religious is singing The Beatles' 'Let It Be' in assemblies. Today though someone has remembered our ethos and we are made to sing songs about how thankful we are to God for vegetables. I never quite understood why we were thanking a deity for the hard work of farmers. Once we've finally squeaked our way through 'We Plough the Fields and Scatter' we can finally escape for the weekend.
October 2002
Whilst future pop star Ann Marie saw the woods as a place to dance on an old Mustang (see her song '2002'), I saw them as a place to head to with a strong plastic bag. My obsession for many years was to collect conkers, the hard fruit of horse chestnut trees. I'd pick up literally hundreds and they'd remain in the plastic bag for the next month or so before they became caked in a fluffy white mould and had to be thrown away.
Of course, conkers are famously used for a game. Two players stick a piece of string through the middle of a conker and take it in turns to flick the conker at their opponent's. The winner is the one who inflicts the most damage on their opponent- it's like a low-tec Robot Wars. I can distinctly remember the horror of my first conker match. I was told by my Dad to choose a conker to play with, which is a challenging task for a child with a bag full of them. Fortunately I always had one or two special conkers which didn't reside in the bag so one of these was selected. Inevitably, my conker ended up smashed to pieces and I was devastated to see my most prized possession ruthlessly destroyed by my own father.
These days conker fights are rarely allowed in schools, certainly without safety goggles, but conker matches then were the highlight of the day. We'd spend our evenings looking for good conkers or trying to come up with ways to make our conkers somehow better in battle, with a soaking in vinegar being the conker equivalent of doping. We'd head to the conker corner of the playground and vicious matches would ensue. I'd barely tap the conker's of my best friends but swing them hard at my enemies' knuckles. Sometimes a rare conker would come along that no-one could beat and then virtually everyone in the school would have a go until someone managed to steal it and throw it on the roof.
September 2003
My first day at secondary school, an overwhelming experience. Somehow I find myself in the hall next to my two best friends but most my peers are from strange, rival primary schools. One by one the tutor groups are read out and great alarm is caused when it turns out that someone has exactly the same name as me bar one letter. Still, I eventually find my way to the right place and am issued with my timetable for the year. This is the most independent I've ever had to be and it doesn't bode well.
Sure enough, two lessons in and I'm in trouble. English has finished but my timetable has vanished. I place my enormous PE bag down on a bench outside the English block and look through my blazer pockets and my bag but there's no sign of it. I wonder if I've left it in the English classroom and return but it's not there either.
A teacher spots me looking lost and I explain the situation. I can remember I have French so she escorts me to the French classroom. Along the way we conveniently pass the bench where my PE kit still rests, which I scoop up pretending I wasn't in a flap and that's exactly where I'd meant to leave it. There are thirteen classrooms in the languages corridor and I stand at the door of the classroom as the helpful teacher asks if I'm supposed to be in there as my new peers all glance out at the loser. Sure enough my classroom is number 13 and finally I'm in the right place. I sit down and get out my pencil case to find my timetable tucked neatly inside. 'Welcome to big school' I think to myself.
September 2010
My parents have been gone for four hours but I'm still alone in my new university halls. The staggered arrival means I'm the only one moving in to the twelve room building that day. I can't get internet access until the next day, I have no TV and only have phone signal at the top of the stairs. University isn't turning out to be as fun as I imagined.
Eventually I contact one of the people I'd found online who was on the same course as me telling her of my situation. Within minutes she's at my door and I find myself taken to her house where most of her housemates have already arrived. Along with my own housemates, these remain the people I'm friends with throughout my time at university and beyond.
Next thing I know we're at the student union. I can't recall a great deal of the evening other than a member of bar staff asking my opinion of Matt Smith's Doctor Who thanks to my dalek T-shirt and informing some students in the toilet I was a fresher when overhearing them saying they hadn't seen many.
In the early hours only a few of us are still around but we end up lying on the grass in our student village looking up at the stars. It's a clear night and our student village is on the edge of the city so we have a great view. Suddenly a shooting star zooms by- it's the Perseid Meteor Shower. I'd had a great night despite the initial loneliness and made some good friends. The shooting star was the final signal which told me that I would cope at university after all.
Well, that was a trip down memory lane. I'll be back again soon...
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