It was a copy of The Guardian that did it.
Delivered one morning in place of our usual Telegraph, I'd idly skimmed through
part of the Educational section and spotted
an ad., to which, having first dug out a C.V. - I replied; more out of
curiosity than real expectancy. Despite my lack of a degree, or even 'A' Levels
(always pointless to be creative at such times, particularly as Americans are
renown for checking) following a lengthy interview, I was amazed (and dazed!)
some three weeks later to find myself on the staff of what was referred to as
'The London Programme' - a branch of America's Boston University - in charge of
'Student Affairs' (a title which fast became the butt of unlimited ribald
remarks). The 'Programme' offered one
'Semester' ('Term' to us) of study in London for between 250-380 students (some
already Graduates, some not) who, after their first five weeks of study were
placed for the remainder of their stay in a Company Internship appropriate to
their choice of future career.
Before accepting my new job, fearing any
repercussion, I'd sought G's opinion, prepared only to 'join up' if offered his
full approval. Remarkably sanguine, he'd - unpredictably - appeared totally in
favour, offering a thoughtful 'I think it will do you good.', more like his old self. These odd patches of reasonableness were
increasing but for
very brief periods, often
catching me out: particularly as he also seemed to have developed a talent for
acting. Confusing? Very - bringing to mind the words 'A--e and Elbow'. But
soon, a form of pattern emerged, with each 'difficult' period 'flattening-out'
to an easier, pre.- illness time: the phrase 'The same but different' somehow
summed it up. I understand that any form of brain-damage or disturbance -
whether the result of accident, injury,disease, tumour or stroke - may result
in strange and alarming symptoms - altering personalities in a second and producing dismay and disbelief in the
onlooker, especially when experienced for the first time. But, in reality, any
improvement had to be for the better.
And the children? What of their feelings
regarding 'the job'? Disapproval? Maybe: but whilst direct accusations were
never actually voiced, their silence, I felt, said it all. Feeling like a
deserter - praying that neither G. nor I would regret what had essentially been my choice, also full of guilt at my selfishness,
I immediately began to think of reasons to turn it down. Incredibly however,
B.U.(Boston University) and I were to remain together for almost six
years.
Based in Kensington, B.U. was an easy,
thirty-five minute journey from Stockwell, our nearest tube, and On Day 1. I
arrived in good time, having spent the entire trip wondering if I'd made the
right decision. At least G. was safely at work and as both sets of car keys
were stowed safely in my bag, there was no chance of his taking off again if he happened to be first home (in the
early days, he'd twice liberated a set and whizzed off for an evening paper: my
desperate 'You are not insured; please try to understand' on his return had
meant another frantic call to the hospital).
What's the phrase 'Separated by a common
language'? At times, certainly - but on the whole, working for B.U. made for a
fascinating, memorable time - with more than a few highlyamusing, as well as
tricky, moments. Almost on arrival I was met by Jill, my boss, who, before introducing the other members of
staff, pushed open the door to my office, revealing a light, good-sized room,
complete with sofa and tissues - plus
the largest safe I'd ever seen 'For student valuables, hard-to-get films for
the Media class and extra cash...And there's only one key and you have to keep
it'...Next, up on the first floor I was introduced to the other staff as they arrived, before
being left left with Doug, a startlingly bright and cheerful ex-Cornell University
Psychology Graduate, recently employed for a year as a 'General Assistant'. His
words of 'Right, I'll now go and get you
the Mac' left me puzzled, asking 'Er. What's a Mac?'(my knowledge of technology
beyond the simple electric typewriter amounted to nil). His face said at
all.'You know? The Mac? The computor'. Disbelieving, but finally aware that I
hadn't the faintest notion as to what he meant, his slow, baffled reply has to
this day remained etched firmly upon my memory 'You mean you don't
know what a computor is'?
This was only 1988, but quite obviously I had
immediately qualified as 'Queen of the Half -Witted' (even more so in '89 when
the students were requesting directions to the 'nearest Internet cafe).' Whilst
the first of a few surprises 'the Mac' was perhaps scariest of all, with part
of the job involving the creation of an informative, interesting and chatty
student newsletter - 20-24 pages, produced weekly on 'The Mac'.
Once again 'Fear concentrates the mind' as super-technocrat, Doug, put me
through my paces. The first edition, or
rather, my first edition, featured, among other riveting pieces, a 'mini-biog.
('You must include a one-page profile of yourself' ) the execution of which had
probably involved more energy, bad language and angst, than expended upon the
entire construction of the Empire State Building. But after actually getting
the thing together, it needed to be printed: one for each student and one for
each member of staff: (around 300 that first term). More technology. This time
'A very simple piece of equipment' - a photo-copier - presided over by Pauline,
a young Australian girl, from Sydney, whose dry sense of humour often saved the
day. Intimately acquainted with all office machinery, Pauline could scarcely
believe my effect on 'her' photo-copier (anyone familiar with the
Fonda-Parton film 'Nine-to-Five' will
know what I mean) and before long - 'St. Pauline' would often volunteer her services. But as a
complete change from the previous months, no set-up could have served its
purpose better.
from SINGING TO THE GOLDFISH
Get your copy HERE
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