Teacher’s Pet - Part One

Story contd

I felt so euphoric driving away for my week of freedom I was tempted to waltz the car from side to side as Yves Montand did in ‘The Wages of Fear’ just before he drove his truck over the cliff. Common sense prevailed and I reached the town where the college was situated. It was very busy. The traffic crawled and I saw an elderly man motionless on the pavement. From his colour I think he was dead. There were people standing around him and I wondered if I had been there if I would have had the courage to do mouth to mouth.

At the college I was given a schedule for the week and shown to a block which housed single rooms, a kitchen and showers. I was early and the only one there. I had brought a pile of books in case I didn’t find anyone to talk to but I was too excited to read. The first person to arrive was a middle aged woman with a delightful Irish brogue. I made us some tea and made my first friend.

Gradually more students drifted in and by supper time I had met lots of them and began to relax. We were divided into two factions; those like me who were doing a production course and the acting group. You could tell from the look of the two main lecturers who was doing what – Hugh the acting lecturer with floppy hair an aesthetic face and dressed in a beautiful shirt, sweater and cords whilst Gary the producer’s lecturer, wore old jeans and a faded blue aertex shirt which I noticed matched his eyes. He had an old ARP * canvas bag which looked as if it had been through two world wars.

During supper I learned that some were old hands and had brought with them all the requirements for a bar which they ran, very efficiently, each night throughout the week. Beside the Irish lady I had got friendly with a white American male, a black American male and a young Malaysian boy. I began to feel at home and at ease. We could see from the schedules that we were going to be busy and were working towards a production of Lady Windermere’s Fan at the end of the week.

The first evening after supper we all met up in the library to introduce ourselves and get to know each other. Gary came and stood next to me saying that he had been cramped against a book-case. I pointed out that there was lots more room at the other end and he wandered off. I don’t know why I behaved like such a klutz unless it was an innate instinct for self preservation. He told me afterwards he felt intimidated by me. Great!

Thankfully next day I was more relaxed and started to enjoy the classes. The cast of the play was chosen and the production side were divided into lighting, wardrobe, makeup, set design and stage management. We would all have time with each but had just one responsibility for the play. I was going to be in the lighting box with Gary. The casting was interesting. Charles, the black American was to play Lord Windermere – he was both thrilled and terrified.

Gary was a great teacher, sitting casually on a meccano- like structure on stage, immensely practical – the ARP bag contained bits of wire and screws and various implements which he used to adjust lights, scenery or anything that required it. He radiated amiability and everyone liked him. He had recovered from our initial brush and went out of his way to make me feel I had something valuable to contribute. There were two Cambridge graduates in our group and their knowledge of literature in general was bottomless and they could quote reams of Christopher Fry at the drop of a hat. Gary convinced me that all the knowledge in the world didn’t amount to a can of beans if one didn’t have a sense of theatre. He said I had this and wanted to see me put it in action. Men! You know what Shirley Valentine said about them?

The fellowship and camaraderie was such I was reminded of my training days in hospital. One day William and the boys called in to see me en route to Wallace and Fleur's. William said he had never seen me so relaxed and I should try to stay like that when I came home. It was lovely to see the boys and gave me a reality check; like most of the female students I was getting rather fond of Gary. At one session a group of us were sitting on a broad shelf and Gary took off his tie, before demonstrating something and draped it over my ankle. It felt such an intimate thing to do; I could feel my cheeks aflame.

There were a couple of trips to the theatre and we saw a magnificent production of ‘The Royal Hunt of the Sun’. Sheila, the Irish girl, knew the star Colin Blakely and took me back stage after the show. We met the wonderful Robert Stephens and then Colin, who arranged to meet us for a drink before the evening show. It was all very exciting and all the time the pressure was building as we prepared for the performance of the play. I was thankful to be working back stage and didn’t have to worry about learning lines.

Bed-time got later and later as we stayed on talking and putting the world to rights as students have done since time immemorial. One beautiful moonlit night a gang of us drove to the beach and lit a fire. We sat round it and all took turns to sing or tell a story. I sang an operatic aria in faux Italian. It was actually gibberish but I had been doing it for years with family and friends so many of them – including ‘Gary were fooled. I think the darkness and the firelight gave me courage.

A couple of the group decided to go swimming although the tide was way out. As it got later and later we decided, reluctantly it was time to return to the college and found, to our dismay the two swimmers had not returned. Suddenly the beautiful evening turned into a nightmare. We split up into search parties and combed the enormous beach. We were all silent – apart from calling the names of the two missing students and I think we were all feeling the same emotion – dread. I was walking with two others along the coast parallel to the sea and at last we found two bedraggled figures huddled in the dunes. They had had a long walk out to the sea, had swum for a while and when they came out they were completely disorientated and could see no sign of us. The current must have swept them up the coast. We hugged them and wrapped them in towels and rugs and made our way back to the college; many of us sending silent prayers of thanks that disaster had been averted

*A.R.P. Air raid precautions.