Tag Archives: nostalgia

Class of ’82

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School_Reunion

In a fit of document management on my laptop, I have just come across the post below, which I wrote about 5 years ago and never published! Having re-read it I decided that it was still relevant (if we ignore the current Covid situation!) and good enough to share, so here you go…enjoy.

My past is coming back to haunt me. Much as I try to be a “live for today” and  “looking forward to the future” kind of gal, there are times in a life when it is impossible to avoid being retrospective, and recently I have been reflecting upon my youth and pondering how I came to be where I am today. Where that is, incidentally, is hunched over a keyboard, squinting through my new varifocals and fighting off the mild panic that usually accompanies the realisation that another 12 months has passed without my achieving even a quarter of my goals for the year. Did I say “goals”? Sorry, a slip of the digital tongue, I meant “vague and loosely formed ambitions” (which is probably why they are unfulfilled). I digress (as ever). Getting to the point…the catalyst for this particular pre-occupation with times gone by, was receiving an invitation to a school reunion, and seeing photos of reunion guests as they were then and as they are now.

When an old school friend first alerted me to the reunion I was intrigued and excited. I hoped to be able to find some of those other friends who had been so important to me in my youth, but with whom I had lost touch in the pre- email/mobile telephone/social networking days of the 1980’s.  I have inordinately fond memories of my social circle at that time, when my friends were of considerably more importance to me than my family.  Learning how to build relationships outside of my immediate family and beginning to understand that different people had different ways of doing things, of looking at the world and of interacting with each other, was a revelation. 

Sadly, very few of my close circle of friends from that time seemed to have been located and invited. Perhaps this tells me something about the sort of people I liked even then, the ones who were too busy getting on with life to worry about social networking and the ones who wanted to escape the claustrophobia of small town Lincolnshire. The balance of attendees I knew, liked and cared about versus those I didn’t, seemed to be very much tilted towards the latter, so the fact that I was unable to attend the reunion itself was not too disappointing.

Some of the names and faces on the old photographs on the reunion website inspired big grins and clichéd outbursts in the vein of “OMG!” whilst others left me with a slightly worrying blankness… I recognised names but not faces, and vice versa. Most worryingly there were some I simply failed to recognise and had no memory of at all.  How could I not remember two of the three peers who went to Oxbridge? I had always thought (mistakenly obviously) that I had hung around with the smartest, brightest kids at school, but I drew a complete blank on the faces before me. 

If looking at old photos was baffling then trying to identify people from their more recent pictures was alarming as everyone looked so damned middle-aged. Who’d have thought it?! I asked my husband if I looked as old as the people on the screen and he resolutely denied it, assuring me that I had aged very well and still looked beautiful. Not that I believed him for a minute. He is unerringly kind, tactful and diplomatic (reason number 5 of 500 why I married him). And he hasn’t noticed my lost youth and vitality because he has grown old with me over the past 38 years, bless him.

Even so, there were some rather well-worn and even downright scary looking faces amongst my peers on the reunion website. I suspect that many of these were people who had never left the local area and whose lives accelerated through marriage, parenthood, grandparenthood and divorce and actual hard graft, because there was so little else to do in our small Lincolnshire town. I am not ashamed of where I come from but I am glad that I left and have no desire to ever return to live there.

On the plus side, I was very grateful for the opportunity to catch up with at least some of the people I had always liked, but lost touch with and wondered about over the years.  Corresponding with someone who actually was in my inner circle of close friends during my formative teenage years, recognising his voice and sense of humour from the words in his email transported me back to my youth in an instant. It was delightful to hear from him and remind myself why we had been part of the same clique.

I also received messages from two of my very favourite teachers from that time and have enjoyed exchanging updates and catching up with them. I am thrilled that I have had the opportunity to let them both know how fondly I remember them and how much I enjoyed their lessons. I studied with each of them for the four year period covering my O and A levels and, like my close friends from that time, they were a big influence on my development. I have my English teacher, Mr Allen P, to thank not only for my lifelong love of literature, but for teaching me to try to see the world from a different perspective, to understand that beauty is a subjective concept and to question and challenge everything. Whereas my German teacher, Mr Brian P, taught me that teachers are human and have a sense of humour too (it’s true!) I distinctly remember our (very small) A level class trying to divert him off topic from classical German literature (possibly “Immensee” by Theodore Storm) and onto anecdotes of his student days. I have never known anyone laugh so much and so freely. I chose to continue German rather than French at A level, purely because Mr Peatty made the subject much more interesting and fun, than my other teacher had with French. Although I confess I remember nothing of “Immensee”, except for a scene involving a lake with water lillies, but then again that might have been in “Die Leiden Des Jungen Werthe” which I had to read at Uni for my German subsidiary.

So there you go – the reasons for my recent period of reflection and nostalgia. I will sign off with a quote from one of my favourite films, which seems quite apt. A round of applause to those who can name it…

Marcella:
You know, when you started getting invited to your ten year high school reunion, time is catching up.

Martin:
Are you talking about a sense of my own mortality or a fear of death?

Marcella:
Well, I never really thought about it quite like that.

Martin:
Did you go to yours?

Marcella:
Yes, I did. It was just as if everyone had swelled.

Living in the Past

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rose-tinted-specsNostalgia is a bittersweet thing. Sharing happy memories  and sighing wistfully about simple pleasures which we seem to have lost over the years, is undoubtedly a pleasant and entertaining activity, particularly when undertaken socially with friends or family.  We all enjoy looking back fondly at our childhood or youth when things seemed simpler, free-er and less stressful.  Being able to play outside unsupervised by adults,  until the street lights came on; eating sweets and fizzy drinks without an accompanying sense of guilt; never even thinking about wearing sunscreen or worrying about  paedophiles. And later as students with all of the carefree optimism, energy and idealism of youth, skipping lectures to spend the afternoon in the pub, or in bed with a lover. Staying up to the wee small hours talking, drinking, listening to music and still being able to get up and go to tutorials the next morning with only the teensiest hangover. Ok, so I lied about the last bit… I meant the next afternoon.  But you get the picture and it is one best viewed through spectacles of the rose tinted variety. This is the fun side of nostalgia.

The not so fun side of nostalgia is that invariably when discussing the past with other people, the conversation moves from  how great things used to be to “what is the world coming to” and tut-tut-ing about “the youth of today”.  The whole sentimental yearning for times that have long gone tends to focus the mind on what has been lost rather than what has been gained and a lot of people seem incapable of looking back without complaining about the present.  I am as guilty as the next person of mourning the loss of certain aspects of my past but I refuse to succumb to the “whatever happened to the good old days/the world is going to pot today” philosophy.

For every moan and groan about the state of the world today I can think of a dozen more reasons to be grateful.  I feel sorry for those people who are so obsessed with the things that we can no longer do (or at least feel that we can no longer do – and there is a very real difference) that they are blind to the many things that have improved.  As a small example, had I been born a hundred or even fifty years earlier than I was, into similar circumstances in a small northern town, I would not have had the opportunity to continue my education beyond 15 and social mobility would have been nigh impossible. I would probably have died from the appendicitis that I experienced aged 37.  My Dad would not have recovered from his heart attack and my sister would also have died as a consequence of the difficult birth of her daughter.  Even if, by some miracle I had managed to escape a life of working class drudgery, I would not have had the same career opportunities and would have been paid less for doing the same job as my male colleagues.  Within living memory prejudice and sexism were far more overt and widespread than they are today.  Three things I remember from my late teens:

  • Whilst shopping in the local market with my Mum, just before I left home to become a student, the stall holder tutted and told us what a waste of time and money it was letting girls go to university because they only got married and pregnant anyway (!)
  • I was advised never to use “Ms” as my title on job application forms because it implied I would be a bolshie feminist trouble-maker and that it would go against me (!!)
  • A friend of a friend was discouraged from going to university by her family because they said that not only would she be left on the shelf and be too old to marry by the time she graduated but that men didn’t like intelligent girls anyway (!!!)

The fact that we no longer have to put up with shit like that is reason enough to not be too nostalgic for the past and to be more grateful for the present.  I would not want to turn the clock back. My son may not have some of the freedoms that we had as children but he is growing up in a world which is more open, diverse, tolerant and where he is likely to live a longer, healthier life.  He is not being forced up a chimney or to work in a mill for 12 hours every day for a start.

Of course we have a long way to go before everyone feels these benefits globally but I truly believe that the world is a better place today than it was a hundred, fifty, even twenty years ago. By all means reminisce about your happy, carefree past but wear those rose-tinted spectacles with caution and remember…

“The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that they always see the past better than it was, the present worse than it is, and the future less resolved than it will be”  Marcel Pagnol.

Musical escapism

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field of dreamsEveryone has songs or pieces of music which they associate strongly with certain times and places in their past and which automatically spark memories or emotions long forgotten. For me there is one piece in particular which awakens all of my senses, instantly transporting me to a grassy field, miles from anywhere, on a perfect spring day…

I lie on my back gazing up at a blue, blue sky watching occasional feathers of white cirrus drifting slowly by. My fingers brush the cool, soft grass and the scent of fresh “green” is intoxicating. Overhead, the sun is warm, while a cool breeze brings both a pleasing tactile sensation on my naked arms and a delicious smell of meadow flowers and May blossom. My eye is distracted from the clouds by a sudden speck in the blue, rising ever higher. I tune in to the song of the lark, complex, beautiful and joyful. My heart fills with the perfection of the moment and I am moved, almost to tears as I am swept away by the achingly beautiful and emotional music of  “The Lark Ascending”.

This Vaughn Williams’ piece affects me the same way every time I listen to it, even in a windowless office, plugged into my iPod and pondering some tricky conundrum of information management. It has an actual physiological effect on me whenever I listen to it. My heart rate lowers, my shoulders relax and my breathing slows because this sublime piece of music has the power to take me to a very personal and private place in my head where nothing, nothing matters apart from The Moment. And how precious these moments are. No fretting about the past, no worrying about the future, no distractions from the bustling, noisy, insistent “look-at-me-listen-to-me!” world around me. The demands of work, friends and family are forgotten as I close my eyes to lie on the grass in my field, absorbed in the gentle, sensory pleasures of being alone outdoors in a field in May, utterly relaxed and at peace with the world.

In absolute honesty my reverie is not rooted from a single, specific memory but rather a nostalgia for a time in my life when I lived in rural Lincolnshire and was lucky enough to enjoy many an idyllic afternoon lying in a field, reading or walking across open country and listening to the glorious song of the skylark. The moment I first heard Lark Ascending I was taken back twenty (plus!) years, to that period in my life which was filled with big open skies, fresh country air, and birdsong. Of course it is easy to view the past wearing spectacles of the rose-tinted variety, and in reality there are many things that I don’t miss about my few brief years living the rural lifestyle. For a start our unheated and distinctly chilly farmhouse suffered a regular influx of spiders, which, judging by their size, could only have been the offspring of some unholy union between Shelob and Aragog. There are stories there for another time… In the interim I’m going to hit rewind, listen again to Vaughn Williams and enjoy fourteen minutes of sheer bliss.

The farmhouse we lived in in North East Lincolnshire in the mid 1980's

The farmhouse we lived in in North East Lincolnshire in the mid 1980’s