college years
stepping into darkness…
Sheffield Polytechnic was my saving grace. With one A-level in physics I was eagerly accepted onto a 3-year sandwich course. Two years academic study; one year in industry. None of the students on the course - myself included - was particularly gifted. We were Joe Average. Don't get me wrong, we were nice enough but not the brightest stars in the galaxy. Perhaps we were too eagerly accepted.
The course suited me. Lots of practical work. Six months in the electronics industry. Six months in the Medical Physics Department at Weston Park Hospital. If the search for meaning brought me to question the very stuff of matter, reduce the fabric of space and time to equations, then meaning somehow escaped me. The universe I was learning about was dry and brittle. It fractured at every turn into dust.
I turned my back on medical physics. Taking the lead from my sister I decided that my next course of action should be to become a teacher. This was the first conscious decision I can remember taking. I was 21.
stepping into the light…
There it was. The prospectus. I mean, not just any prospectus, but the prospectus. Bretton Hall College of Education. I just had to go there.
I arrived the summer of 1973. I was on the shortened 3 year teacher training course. Shortened to two years on account of my HND in Applied Physics. Bretton Hall. Not just any college. The college.
And so began the walk into fresh air. The arts, music, dance, drama, life. I could take part in plays, make music, sing in Gilbert and Sullivan, go for walks barefoot through the grounds, go ice skating on the lakes in winter. Once again I could breathe and enjoy the open spaces, read poetry, read philosophy, debate the meaning of everything…
This was Castalia. It is the place where I met my future partner Ian. It was once again summer.
