Mrs Williams and the funeral

Growing up we went to a small school called The British School of Gran Canaria. It was hardly very British, most of the children were a mix of nationalities. German mother, Nigerian father, Italian mother, Spanish father, many Indians and Koreans, the percentage of British was little. I started in Kindergarten age 4 and finished my schooling age 15.

Our classes were small, there were about 12 of us in a class. We grew up together, so by the end of our time at school we were like family. I can’t say I excelled academically, although socially I enjoyed every minute. My best friend growing up, Trina, was a straight A student. We were pretty much chalk and cheese, me struggling to understand concepts and battling to stay focused, Trina absorbing information and applying it with ease.

Mrs Eddy, our Geography teacher and the motley crew, Trina third from right, Michael my fellow guitar player, top right 4th along. Pratap gets a special mention, he is the first right sitting down, he used to have a very good knack of irritating me, not many people could do that

We had all grown up speaking Spanish, so we took our Spanish O Level at age 12 or 13. I remember the boys were particularly good at Maths. Pratap was exceptionally bright, academics came easily to him. Sin was Korean and I remember him drawing and designing at a very young age, Cristina was a natural linguist and spoke 4 languages with ease, Michelle was studious and consistently did well at school. So as you can see, I was amongst some pretty high achievers.

Teachers came and went at the British School, some better than others, some whom we gave the run around. Mrs Williams was a tall self assured lady with a commanding presence. Her dramatic disposition and passion for her subject kept me completely spellbound. She was our English teacher, drilling into us the importance of grammar and spelling. Spelling mistakes were ringed with red pen and a big S. Bad grammar underlined. We soon learnt not to make the same mistakes again.

Mrs Williams taught us English Literature, our chosen books were read in class, discussed, quotes learnt and used to back up our answers. By the time it came to our exam, we had analysed and covered all aspects of the book, we had written essay after essay until we knew our work backwards. It was no wonder I ended up achieving an A for English Literature O Level.

Mrs Williams and our tap dancing group

She introduced us to drama and tap dancing too. I volunteered to take the larger parts in plays, the incredible energy I felt being up on stage kept me hooked. Until one day we put on a play that hadn’t been rehearsed quite as well as the others. It was called The Funeral, or something to that effect. I played the role of the widow.

Children and teachers came to watch, squeezing into our small hall. My mother was a teacher at the school so she came too. For the opening act I was to come on and say a few words about my husband who had just passed away. Instead I stumbled on my words and said something completely different, the whole cast looking on aghast.

How do they follow on from that? Where were we in the play?

My hysteria set in. That nervous laughter set the rest of the cast off, what was supposed to be a solemn event became a mess of uncontrollable howling. We struggled to control ourselves, the lead lady had lost it. I can’t even remember the play finishing, my mother said it was most embarrassing. She has since read this and asked to change the wording from embarrassing to mortifying.

Oh dear.

I never once got back on the stage again.