Memories Of My Time At Boarding School

I’m kneeling on the wooden floor of The Schoolroom, next to my silver packing trunk.

“Fire, there’s a fire” I shout as I sit bolt upright in bed. The loudest fire alarm I have ever heard is ringing and ringing and ringing.

Webb & Dodds, that’s what we call the two Matrons. They remind me of Chaplin’s Stan and Laurel, except that they are not remotely funny.

Breakfast, it turns out, is definitely my favourite meal of the day. Plentiful and mostly edible.

There is a peculiar post-breakfast ritual at Oakdene; walking the dogs with Havard and Ruddock.

At the end of the school day, I say goodbye to the day girls. They go home to their families and we pile into the dining room for prep.

There are so many rules. They govern every aspect of my day and night. Some are prohibition rules and some are imperatives or orders.

On Sunday afternoons it's letter writing time. We sit at individual wooden desks in the schoolroom writing home to our parents.

The music rooms are my little sanctuary. Six or seven small rooms, each with an upright piano and just enough space for the piano stool.

I love going into town. I can’t wait for that moment when we leave the school gates behind and we are free.

One night, after lights out, Caz makes a pronouncement. We should raid the larder and take some tuck and have a midnight feast.

I absolutely hate PE. PE stands for Physical Education. It should be banned. It is torture.