dancingthroughchaos

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. – Robert Frost

As chance would have it, I was sitting in my old Junior School hall this last week, and looking out the window much as I did fifty years ago.  I found myself mesmerised by the swaying branches of a silver birch tree, beautifully framed by the clear blue sky.  In a moment I found my thoughts return to another school hall, and another silver birch tree, similarly positioned.  This one was viewed from the main hall in my secondary school, framed in exactly the same way, and it always captured my attention during the dreaded exam season.

The usual round of public exams was completed in the UK last week.  The wonderful Brian Bilston wrote a very funny piece for all those who’d been cramming their last minute revision for the English language paper, while others were enjoying the sunshine.  You can find it here.

For me; blue skies and silver birch trees will always be a reminder of exam time.  The paralysing anticipation of turning over the paper when instructed, followed by either the collective release of held breath as an entire year group realised, with relief, that they did actually know the answers to at least some of the questions in front of them; or the terrible, hissing intake of breath as the whole hall faced the reality of a beast of a paper that would require us to either leave a load of blank spaces, or pray hard and hope we could magic something out of thin air to garner a few marks where we could, while the clock ticked on menacingly and hope trickled out slowly through our summer sandals.

When I was really stuck (I do remember a particularly excruciating geography O’level exam which made me wonder if I’d been attending the right class all year – fear not, dear reader, I scraped though and, amazingly, went on to take it at A’level), there was that calming view of the wafting tree, waving it’s lithe and leafy hands, just beyond the window.  I think that school halls must be deliberately designed with very high windows, like Victorian kitchens were, so that those inside have fewer distractions.  However, those faithful school trees had grown tall enough to allow a hundred and twenty anxious girls to lift their heads and see those comforting arms, and to remind us that life goes on beyond the confines of school with, or without, exams.

Clothed in young, fresh green, and combined with that azure sky, they served as a sign of hope too, that just around the corner lay the glorious weeks of summer holidays.  Beckoning to us through the glass, they encouraged us to dig in for another ninety minutes or so, and motivated us to navigate the current trial. 

In those days, six weeks spread out like an endless, fabulous canopy, full of tantalising treats, including a fortnight of holiday indulgence in Devon with my grandparents, which would consist of days at the sea and others spent with our farming friends, milking cows and helping with the harvest; days which would be recalled and savoured through the rest of the year.  I recently recollected these in the last piece of flash fiction I wrote for the final edition of Mom’s Favorite Reads. You can find it on page 56 here.

However, I’m not alone in remembering how, as soon as the summer term was over, sports days done, plays and concerts complete, desks cleared, wall displays dismantled, text books handed back etc, the heavens would all too frequently open, as the weather changed and our longed for days of bliss threatened to be a total washout.

Some years it felt like a conspiracy.  I’ve been pondering this as the last few weeks have brought temperatures and sunshine the like of which we are quite used to in South Africa.  I’m not sure what the months of July and August hold for those heading into the school holidays, but if it does decide to rain cats and dogs, I recommend a good book; preferably somewhere with a view of a fabulous silver birch tree; then, take heart and hang in there to see what next year brings.