Eveening Stroll to a Life

A damp clinging shroud of grey hang over the evening like heavy blanket. I made off up the road to the forest gate and a cinder track beckoned, a slither of brightness leading on into the shadows of beech and oak. At a pounding pace my boots cracked and crunched the ground. Through the dingly dell, all dark and myterious into a forest meadow, bright. The forest ridge rose before me as the light began to falter. A tiny shadow hopped across my path. My eyes shot side to side for the pond from wwhence it might have come. The screech of owls some distance through the tangled groundcover and dark canopy. There is a clopping in my head now as the day grew dimmer. I stop. Was that a galloping horse coming round the bend? No perhaps the sound of my own heart. I tromp onward and upward ever more loudly. A snuffle or a whinny to my right. That horse, for sure? Or perhaps there are deer? A large toad hops away. It is really quite dark now and only the snaking shimmer pathway and the sliced opneing in the tree cover along this way allows me to progress. Sweat trickles down my brow as I reach the top. In the distance I hear the traffic of the main road. Is it far? Ort a long way off? Does thisd path go toward it? Where will it cross the road. Now it is pitch? Do I go back along the trusted route? Or back along the road? Right and right agian? Or left and left? Decsions need to be made as I reach the trunk route. Bright headlamps scream intermittently from each direction. A string of threee. Then four from the other way. A single. My eyes sting at the brightness and then we are cast into deepest black. In moments there is enough light from a distant car, or enough dark to see a narrow rough pathway. I go left. This is dangerous. Its dark. There is no paving and barely enough light to see a rough intermittent track. 15 minutes of troubled staltering dodging of traffic and the bright yellow of the roundabout can be see. Drps of rain start to fall. Forst one or two. the a brief pitter patter as splashes hit my tee shirt and face, still sweat dampened from the climb.
At last back to human life. the rain starts heaviliy now. Well a pint wouldn't be too harmful. A cold beer on a warm evening. In any case I can stop in the light and find my raincoat in my bag. The beer slides down very well as I sit outside in the evening storm under the shelter of the eaves.

Lightening dashes acroiss in front as I make my way down the hill back to the car park. I never did take that rain coat out. Perhaps I was enjoying becoming wetter. I kept a check on how wet. The rain was not heavy. Perhaps being damp means that you dont notice rain so much. Leaving the light once again meant it didn't matter, much. Bright flashes now more regular lit the way in intermittent bursts. I was glad to fins the car. Glad to be alive.

Such a Perfect Day

The end of a perfect day, yesterday was surprising. Parking the car in the inner city street in the shadow of the gleaming new football stadium surrounded by the debris of last night I did not have to hear of the deprivation statistics to know something about the kind of place this was. The poorest ward in the whole of London, I was told. Multiple deprivation of every kind. A difficult place an difficult people I wrongly assumed. The sun was shining on a muggy September afternoon as I kicked away the shattered "Newcastle brown" bottle from under the back tyres. "No wonder I found a parking space so easily I mused.

The tone being cast by the broken glass, I barely noticed the nearby peaceful islands of tree lined grassy spaces and corners where one could sit and ponder on a bench, or invest in a moments spiritually growth, away from the turmoil of the manic city streets. I entered the school and waited for my appointment.

A note caught my eye about the success of the school. "66% GCSE. The best ever". My mood of despondency began to change. "At least there is some success round here, and its being celebrated, I thought to myself". The school bell rang the end of day. A calm procession began. First a few eager pupils carrying the back packs meandered through the foyer. "Good night, miss". "See you tomorrow". The echoes of pleasantries at the end of the day repeated themeslves in those moments. I noticed the smiles and happiness as they skipped away home. Some parents had gathered meeting their children at the gate with fondness. By now the school was able to slowly release its group of special needs children for the buses which had congregated outside. A number of disabled chidlren staggered with their walking frames, or eased themselves in wheelchairs. A few able bodeies children mingled. A few helped. The joy and freindliness of the place heartened my bleak soul. "Good night miss. See you tomorrow". Some staff exhausted after a days toil but postive and friendly assisted the departure" How these people enjoy this place. Not every day perhaps and perhaps they don't always see it. But this place is special and I can seee it today. I can see it now in the faces of the chidren and the way they say goodnight. the way they are keen to return. I can see it in the way the staff warm to their charges.

Eating out

Of course lunch out is a different affair. Moule Frite's is an excellent
lunchtime fare eaten at a street cafe overlooking a beach in the shade of
a huge canvas parasol. Sitting on the keyside at Collioure perhaps. A
seafood salad. Salads are huge and filling but often missed. Tuna, prawns,
and mussels and the very salty anchovy provide a rich topping to the crisp
lettuce, sweet tomato, and green leaves of other salad crops.

Alternatively a huge side of beef, barbecued on a charcoal fire at the top
of a mountain at some winter sports restaurant. Sitting in that warm sun
but chilly feel terrace. Bright, hot but cool mountain air, crisp blue
skies, looking at the mountains. taking time at lunch to sit and stare at
the scenery. Away from the bustle of life.

Dr Ian Terrell
MIDWHEB: A Partnership for the Professional Development of Teachers.
www.midwheb.org.uk

Mobile: 07812162105
Work: 020 8411 2458

Lunch

Lunch

Lunch is Department 66 is invariably the picnic. “Jambon Blanc”, cheese, pate. Large red sweet tomatoes. Tomatoes that actually taste of….tomatoe. Onion and salad. Tabele, and grated carrot all washed down by a cold beer.

The picnic is ubiquitous in Department 66. Even without a watch you can tell its is lunch time since the road empties of traffic and every piece of shade and spare ground is turned into an ad hoc picnic place. Blankets are spread; each car boot delivers several chairs and the odd table. The family gathers and interrupts it’s squabbling for a social meal.

Lunchtime in the village is as quite as the early morning. At about 1200 the few shops, the Petit Casino, the boulangeries, the charculaterie, shut up shop for the afternoon. The offices of the insurance, bank and estate agents, which appear to be shut most of the time, become imperceptibly quiet. Lunchtime at home is a picnic indoors really.

You have to remember to take lunch slowly. To enjoy the crustiness of the bread, the chunkiness of the pate. I just love rilliard. I don’t know why perhaps it’s just the name which slides off the tongue so smoothly, indeed almost an onomatopoeic foodstuff.

To sip slowly at the cold beer is a lunchtime delight. Delicious but very cold. If you sup some wine only take a little. After years of red wine I have recently discovered the delights of Rose. Taken chilled it is light and clean when at its best. Cold red is equally as pleasant. Be cautious though because many an afternoon has been lost to a chilled wine, in my experience.

The wise, and the French in particular are notable here I notice take plenty of cold water. I prefer the fizziness of ice-cold sparkling water. Perrier offers the cache of its name and its deep green bottles that somehow add to the cold refreshment. It is often more expensive. We buy the salty sulphurous waters because our children who hate them use them less quickly. Like beer you can learn to like them. As when I was first introduced to the earthy refreshment of Carrot juice there is something inherently healthy about these waters. A warm healthy feeling grows from the pit of your stomach as you quaff the liquid and tolerate the sulphur smell and salty taste.