Fairy Wings

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There is a book where my mind wanders
Deep in forests and high on mountain trails;
I can soar on a winged horse
And swim on a turtle’s back;
Adventures beckon and innocence reigns;
Free to wonder, free to live in dreams,
Where I can speak to animals
And fly with fairy wings.

 

I wrote this little poem to celebrate one of my earliest memories. I was about three and I’d begged my mother to make me a pair of fairy wings. We didn’t have those sparkly sheer mesh wings you can buy nowadays. She cut out the sides of a cereal box and I coloured in the shapes. When the elastic was fitted over my shoulders, I felt amazing and couldn’t wait to fly. I remember hopping up and down on our path by the line of red tulips. The wings flapped, but I didn’t lift off for more than a second. So I jumped higher. When I couldn’t even hover, I was inconsolable. I still believed in fairies for a little while, but they had lost their glitter.

 

Burgers, Chips and a Dog called Barney

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I’m honoured that renowned cartoonist, John Longstaff – Cluff in the Northern Echo – has drawn these wonderful scenes after reading a chapter of my children’s book, Burgers, Chips and a Dog called Barney. John has captured the character of the popular, new burger bar, and lonely Daisy standing outside her grandad’s traditional fish & chip shop.

The inspiration behind writing this book comes from my childhood. My great-grandfather was William Holland, who founded Holland & Barrett in 1870 with Alfred Barrett.  I remember the original shop in my home town of Bishop’s Stortford: it mainly sold groceries and some clothes, but there was a small raised delicatessen on one side. I used to like stepping up to this counter as it felt you were entering a special area. Little did I know how popular the shop would become. On 26th June 2017, The BBC News reported: “Holland & Barrett, the UK’s biggest health food retailer, is being bought by a Russian billionaire for £1.8bn.” There are more than 1,300 stores worldwide. What a shame it’s not still in our family! 

I’m sure my great-grandfather would be sad to see the decline of many of our High Streets today with boarded up shops and For Sale signs. High Streets used to be busy, vibrant places. I loved the annual carnival floats that the local shopkeepers used to decorate; it was a magical time for a child, watching the colourful procession roll past and hearing the joyful music.

I was recently invited to be part of a discussion about the High Street on BBC Radio Newcastle Alfie and Anna at Breakfast (04/12/18).  The programme researcher asked my views on the High Street and I mentioned that I’ve written a children’s book where the children try to save their local shops. When I joined the discussion on-air, I was asked for the title of my book and to explain what tactics the children use to save their High Street. Their quirky slogan wars gain media interest, then a question about chips goes viral. I’ll ask this chip question in a future blog! It was encouraging to hear Alfie Joey say that the book sounds great. Apologies to those who have tried to find Burgers, Chips and a Dog called Barney – it’s not yet published. The book is aimed at 8-12 year-olds. Here’s an extract where the shopkeepers are discussing whether their shops can survive…

Grandad lifts his chin and places one arm over his chest. “The florist’s and the ironmonger’s may have fallen, but the fish & chip shop and the cafe will stand firm. The High Street will face up to every challenge thrown at us!”

Everyone’s smiling and I have a vision of Grandad firing chips into the street. Old Annie’s face is glowing. “We will compete against the out-of-town retail parks.” 

Grandad punches the air. “We shall battle against the unfair business rates. We shall survive the rise of online shopping. We shall never surrender!”

 

 

 

Cuddly Toys

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When I was a child, I once threw my teddy out of my bedroom window in a fit of temper. We went on holiday the next day and I totally forgot that poor Teddy was lying in the garden. It rained a lot that summer. When I got back two weeks later and saw my soggy teddy looking so sad, I felt very guilty. My mum put him in the washing machine and this was almost worse, seeing him whirling around and around. This is my only surviving photo of my teddy when I was young.

I’m now feeling guilty again as I put Teddy in the loft years ago. A friend has just mentioned that her daughter left her cuddly toy outside and it’s reminded me; so I’ve been searching for my lost toy. I’ve found lots of my children’s old cuddly toys and puppets from my teaching days, but not Teddy, my constant companion when I was a toddler. Later on, he even came to uni with me: something to remind me of home. He had lost a lot of fur and was squished quite flat from being cuddled, but he was mine and I loved him.

Where is he now? It reminds me of Toy Story when poor Woody is discarded in favour of Buzz Lightyear; or when Mr Bean is looking for his teddy, then he is so overjoyed when he finds him, that he gives Teddy a new eye! 

When I taught Personal, Social, Health and Citizenship Education (PSHCE), I’d often lead a discussion about what three items pupils would save in a disaster, if they had time. A lot of pupils mentioned technical gadgets, but others realised that these could be replaced.

I remember one lesson when a teenage boy bravely mentioned that he would save his cuddly toy. There were a few giggles from other kids which I quietened down. Then he explained that he was given the teddy by his grandma who had passed away. No-one teased him after that. Many of the boys and girls also admitted that they loved their cuddly toys and they were treasured possessions, as they had been through so much together. You can tell your hopes and dreams to a cuddly toy, you can share your fears and worries and disappointments, and they still smile.

 

Indian Ocean Tsunami

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I’ve taken a long while to write this post. It was a shock and a very humbling experience to meet a student whose family had been caught up in the Indian Ocean tsunami. When I heard that the teenager’s family came from Banda Aceh, scenes of devastation filled my mind. I remembered the TV coverage after the tsunami had hit the shoreline: whole villages annihilated. All you could see from the horrific aerial photos was thick debris.

Fearing the worst, I asked if any of her family had died in the tsunami. I was told that her grandparents, her uncle and cousins, and all her mother’s village had died.

“I’m pleased that you wrote Kiss of the Tsunami, because I don’t want people to forget,” said Sascha. “My family and so many other people were killed; and although it was over thirteen years ago, some people are still coming to terms with what happened.”

Then Sascha opened the file she was carrying and showed me a heart-breaking painting about the loss of her family in the 2004 tsunami. I felt very honoured when she said that I could use it. The following poem was written by Sascha during the workshop after I had read extracts from my novel. It is especially poignant now that I know her background.

The sea roared and crashed and wailed,
In its midst a small child flailed;
But this beast is unrelenting, it has no mercy to spare,
And at last the child takes his last breath of air.

This dark, angry beast was hungry and tall,
Even the strongest opponents did fall;
Man, building and animals alike,
A huge ominous wave their final sight.

Homes, villages and towns torn apart,
Families split breaking the heart.
This one huge event caused so many to cry;
This one huge event caused so many to die.  

On the left of Sascha’s picture is a song which she grew up listening to. The lyrics of this part of the song are translated below.

Tak Bisakah – Peterpan                                           

Could you please wait for me
Still waiting until then
Could you please guide me
Be with me in my life
I walk through the times
Hoping I can find the remains of your heart
Understand I want you to be like that
Understand you are inside my heart

Reach for the stars

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It was a real pleasure to speak to students at Hertfordshire and Essex High School where I spent seven happy years. After telling students amusing stories of what I was like at school, I encouraged them to keep working hard to achieve their dreams.

It was great to see the following article in Bishop’s Stortford Independent.

You can read the article here… bishopsstortford-herts-and-essex-newspaper.pdf

I was also honoured to be invited to speak at Bishop’s Stortford College and to read extracts from Kiss of the Tsunami.  Janet Oldfield, House Mistress of Tee House, said, “Rachel shared her life story with us, encouraging us to always think positively and look at our disappointments as opportunities.”

This school photo is the only one I could find for the newspaper, probably because I hated the hairgrips I had to wear. There were floorboards in my bedroom, with a little knot hole just under my bed. Perfect for posting those horrid grips! Every night, I posted another grip, but the next morning, there was always a fresh supply of the dreaded things. There must be hundreds of brown hairgrips under those floorboards!

The article also says: “As a pupil at Herts & Essex, Rachel was known as creative but definitely not technical.” Very true: I failed every Maths exam apart from my O level! I’ve had a laugh looking through my old school reports. There seems to have been a theme running though my first year at Herts & Essex. My English report said: “Rachel’s work is lively and shows interest, but lacks concentration.” My entire year of Geography was summed up as: “Rachel must concentrate more!” I appear to have been a bit talkative in class and I often saw the funny side of a situation.

Maybe it would be interesting to write a ‘school report’ on each year of our life, like a mini diary entry. If we condensed a whole year into a few lines, what would we say? Some entries might be full of anticipation, excitement and achievement, but others might include pain and sadness. As the saying goes, life is a journey. I am glad that I kept my old school badge, as its positive message has always stuck with me: Reach for the stars!

 

 

 

The Brown Bags

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If you were going to talk in your old school, what story would you tell as an ice-breaker? It was great to be invited back to give an author talk last week. I could have told the students about the time when the headmistress had stared at us in assembly and said, “Someone has let down all the tyres in the bicycle shed!” When her gaze rested on me, I went bright red. It grew worse the more I thought that she suspected I was the one. But I wasn’t – I just used to blush easily.

Then there was the story of The Brown Bags… The hall was full with new uniforms to try on and I was a shy ten year old. I was holding a blazer, skirt and blouse when this officious looking lady advanced waving a vile pair of knickers. No, you couldn’t call them knickers, they were Brown Bags! Massive thick brown material with even thicker elastic around the waist. Move over Bridget Jones, these were the real deal! I looked at the lady in disbelief, but she only said, “Room for growth, dear, room for growth!”

My mum made me wear The Brown Bags every day for school and I was so jealous of my best friend, as her mum had seen sense and let her wear normal knickers. This went on for two years until the episode in The British Museum. When the elastic broke. The material was about to spray out like a parachute! I clutched it against my skirt and waddled to the toilet, where I tied the elastic in a tight knot. After that embarrassing episode, that was the end of The Brown Bags.

Until many years later… I was with my children at Granny’s house and looking for a duster. You know what’s coming, don’t you? Yes, there it was: half a Brown Bag! I held it at arm’s length between thumb and forefinger and advanced towards my mum. “What did you keep this for, it’s gross!”

“The material is lovely and thick: perfect for dusters!”

 

Life is a Domino Run

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Great to be given the opportunity to contribute to the discussion about exam stress on BBC Radio Newcastle Breakfast Show. 10/05/2018.

The most important advice is “Don’t worry! Just try your best.” I often tell students that I failed every Maths exam in my life apart from the last one. In today’s terms, I failed Y7, Y8, Y9, Y10 and Y11 Mock, but I kept trying to understand the concepts (apart from the dreaded Bases) and I passed the really important one, my O level. Later on, I needed that Maths qualification to become a teacher.

Imagine your life is a domino run. You’re on a journey of discovery but sometimes you hit a roadblock. The dominoes jam up and the line stalls, or there is too wide a gap between the bricks so they can’t flow. Perhaps you don’t do as well as you had hoped in an exam, or you have a mind blank and can’t remember anything you’ve learned in the entire year.

So what do you do? Keep going! Pick up and reposition the dominoes, then set the line of bricks flowing again. In the end, it’s the journey that’s important, not the individual achievements, whether they are A, C or E grades. It’s a learning curve: you may be on a different path, but you’re still moving. 

“I’ve never made a mistake. I’ve only learned from experience,” said prolific inventor Thomas Edison. Great advice! You can learn as much from so-called failure and disappointment as you can from success. You can gain strength through overcoming difficult situations. Keep going, for you don’t always know where your future path will lead. You may find that following a new route brings exciting opportunities and fulfilment.

I confess that I don’t like predicted grades and target grades. They may have their uses, but too much emphasis on targets can prove an unnecessary pressure for some students who are bombarded by academic core subjects and memory based exams. Is the current system creating a melting pot where stressed out pupils find it difficult to relax and worried parents are concerned about their children’s well-being? Does the government really think it is necessary to pile more pressure on students with an increasingly academic exam based curriculum?

What I’ve learned from teaching and also having my own children, is that each child learns in a different way. Whilst one may thrive on making logical spreadsheets to aid learning and another may design pretty revision cards, a third may be laid back and revise in a more haphazard way. Others may need additional learning and emotional support.

Most parents I have met are very supportive of their children. However, at one Parents’ Evening many years ago, a man leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and eyeballed me. “Why isn’t my son getting A grades instead of only C’s? I want him to go to Eton. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m proud of your son’s achievements! He’s working hard and making good progress – he was getting D grades last year.” The man didn’t appear satisfied with my answer. Surely we should encourage, celebrate achievement and build self-esteem? Our children are already having to cope with the added pressure of finding their own identity in a world of social media.

Everyone should be allowed to play to their strengths. The over-emphasis on academic subjects in the curriculum and the amount of memory testing may well lead to creativity being squashed. Perhaps if William Shakespeare were around today, he might be saying:  

“To cut The Arts or not to cut them – that is the question: Whether it is wiser for schools to kill off music, drama and art in the curriculum, Or to give resources to encourage creativity, And by forward-thinking, inspire a generation?”

Ok, so that was going off on a tangent a little as I’m passionate about The Arts, but when I was teaching, I often used to let my pupils steer a discussion in a different direction if it was interesting, informative or just plain fun! People always remember things more clearly when they are involved, interested and they find the learning process entertaining. Perhaps the exam boards should adopt this philosophy when they are considering changes to the curriculum!

Family Traditions: Our Bluebell Book

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I have dragged my children around the bluebell woods every year since they were born and today was no exception, albeit with a smaller party plus dog. Our golden retriever loves the annual pilgrimage, but unfortunately while I was gazing at the wonder of the woodland, she discovered a bog and changed colour. This was quite embarrassing as the entire dog walking community seemed to be out with their perfect little pooches that clearly didn’t like rolling in black stinky mud.

A while ago, I asked for a Bluebell Book for my birthday – one of those photo books where you choose which photos to use, then add background and text. Then I scrolled through my photo albums. It took several hours. Sitting in bluebells, standing in front of a bank of bluebells, posing on a bench with a backdrop of bluebells… the list goes on. My children used to get fed up with posing for photos. “Not again… we went last year… and the year before… they’re always the same!”

That may be true, but it’s such a joy to see the carpet of intense blue – or is it purple, I’m never sure.  At what point does one colour merge into another, so it’s called a different name? Spring unfolds fragile leaves like bright green tissue paper, soft to touch. It is a magical place under the canopy. The first bluebell is always my favourite: it reminds me of the first glimpse of the sea on childhood holidays. The promise of sandcastles, ice cream cones and beautiful views. 

As the years rolled by, the Bluebell Book became more than a photo album, it documented new height and new haircuts, new styles and new self-confidence: it told a story of growing up.

Do you have any family traditions? I’d love to hear about them!

Computers and Me

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I once vowed never to touch a computer! When I was a teenager, our Headmistress proudly announced the school had bought our first computer. Hands shot up, my classmates desperate to be the first to use the massive plastic and metal machine. I also put up my hand. “Do I have to touch it?” My teacher raised her eyebrows in disbelief, but I knew that computers and I had nothing in common. They felt alien. I wasn’t technical or mathematical and had no interest in learning how to use one… so I didn’t touch it during the rest of my school career!

You wouldn’t get away with that nowadays of course as IT has taken over the world. My friends couldn’t understand my avoidance tactics, my teachers couldn’t understand, even my mum couldn’t understand. As a young Wren during the latter stages of World War Two, she had worked at Bletchley Park, part of the team helping to decode the Enigma Machine. For years, she would never talk about it, just quote the Official Secrets Act and look over her shoulder, as if she was being spied upon. Later, she told me, “I was just a cog in the wheel,” but I know that every person made a difference, so in my eyes, my mum was vital to the war effort!

I was still wary of computers, but slowly and stealthily, they crept into my life and the school where I taught. “A handwritten report is so much nicer, more personal,” I declared, but the new regime was in place and school reports were formatted on computer. Then interactive whiteboards were invented. Give me an old fashioned blackboard or normal whiteboard any day. I entertained the pupils with my inability: trying to wipe a word off the board with my finger, then forgetting to press the pen icon to change the feature! Thankfully, there was always some eager child who would volunteer to help Miss, and to show that they knew that I knew that they knew more. But as it’s part of the learning process to let pupils demonstrate their strengths and achievements, that was fine by me.

Then came the dreaded School Inspection… how could I avoid an interactive whiteboard disaster? Play to your strengths came to mind so I planned a creative activity: the children acted in one of my plays, then made up their own fun sketches. The strategy worked and the lead inspector even forwarded my plays to a publisher friend, but unfortunately he didn’t have space in his list. The main objective had been achieved however: the pupils had been excellent and I had survived without using the interactive whiteboard!

My journey has taken twists and turns and no-one could be more surprised than I, that now, as a writer, I’m using the computer every day. I’m convinced it remembers my antipathy towards its ancestors, because it suddenly refuses to work and keeps me waiting while that little half circle tries to hypnotise me as it slowly goes around…and around…and around. But nothing is ever wasted; experiences can inspire new characters and plots and feelings can be captured on paper. Or, dare I say it: ‘computer!’