Me and sis were in a school for young ladies now and everyone had money. This is great if you haven’t just moved from a high rise in Seacroft.
I remember that my reading aloud was considered animated and interesting enough to hold an audience and I was chosen to read in morning assembly. But I couldn’t talk posh. I came from Leeds and when I read about Jesus I said ‘luv’ and I cringed and wanted to die. I was 11 years old and was completely aware of the huge differences in social status.
It was a good school though and I have no bad recollections of it at all.
I remember my bright red, very high wedges for the school disco.
I remember Mrs Davis our music teacher being appalled at Bohemian Rhapsody
And I remember mum turning up half pissed in a long over the top pastel coloured gown for the school disco and walking down the corridor with the head and other teachers like she was something else.
It’s that catch twenty two shit that you understand years later. She just wanted to be there for us, but she couldn’t do it without being drunk. I knew as soon as I saw her. She though she was Bette Davis.
I cringe inside even now but with feelings of anger and pity and love at the same time. Pathos. That was my mum, bless her.