Another Chapter

Time moves so quickly sometimes. It only seems yesterday that our daughter was born. She'll actually be 9 in two weeks time.

This morning heralded the momentous occasion of her very first time away from home: her class are off for a three day adventure trip and she's so excited she could almost burst. Saying goodbye was hard. She was fine but some of the other children and parents were very shaky. The shakiest was the little 'roughty toughty' boy of the class who clung onto his teddy and onto his Mum and who was desperate not to leave.The other quaking wreck was a very tough looking Dad who was in tears as his daughter got on the coach. We've watched all these children grow together since some of them were at nursery together so there was a real feeling of solidarity in the face of loss --and it was a kind of loss: the start of cutting the ties, the beginning of a loss of innocence, dependence. All good stuff but difficult --- as change often is.

This trip marks the next stage in our daughter's life: first time away from home; new school in September (we have a three tier system here). Gradually you can feel her slipping away and you know you have to let her go and encourage her to fly. I hope when the reality dawns that we aren't there tonight to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight that she copes with any yearning ache for her Mum and Dad.

All this reminds me of my first time away. I was not much older than she is now and our school invited children to go on an 'educational cruise' to Norway and Sweden for 10 days. No opportunity for Mum and Dad to come and retrieve you if it all went badly wrong and you couldn't cope. No mobiles in 1967 ---- just an old troop ship that had been converted into a sort of floating school, manned by cooks from Ceylon who spoke no English and made lemonade from yellow powder and jugs of water. Always there was a strange smell of oranges and boiling potatoes from the kitchen. In the 'ballroom' there was a beaten up old upright piano with some child hammering away at 'Chopsticks' or a boy with a withered arm whose party piece was 'Roses of Picardie' sung in a piercing nasal tone. Even now I can't hear that song without a longing for home.

The cruise was fine. I can still remember the boy who used to howl every night for his Mum, his 'sissa' and banana sandwiches; the two girls from another school who always came to the disco ( Monkees, Beatles, Procul Harem, Spencer Davis, Lulu) in identical outfits --- different every occasion; the Force 8 gale on the last day and on the way home. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time and the smell of oranges and potatoes mixed with the whiff of 100 children vomiting into the salty air. ('Have this glass of water and a Carr's biscuit,dear. You'll feel much better')

But I also remember the warm

welcome the people of Bergen and

Oslo gave us --these little 10 year olds invading their shops. Even then, 20 years after, they still mentioned the war and seemed to have soft spot for the English. I remember the amazing sculpture park in Oslo and the church in Bergen.

I hope my little girl copes with this important stage in her life and, 40 years on,remembers what fun she had.