Postcard from my bike #2
St Mary's Church | sentimental roundabout | celebrity wedding
I cycle down Chipstead Lane twice a week, and always slow down to steal a glimpse of the mint-green steeple of St Mary’s Church over the rooftops.
My year 4 teacher, Miss Smallwood, got married in this church in 1989 and invited all 36 children in our class.
These were the days when class sizes were closer to 40 than 30, and there were no Teaching Assistants. Unthinkable working conditions. And yet she invited us to her wedding.
I remember being very fond of Miss Smallwood, and I dug out my 1989 diary to piece my memories together.
Firstly: she was kind. She came to cheer for me in a race on a Saturday. I was not a natural athlete, hence the gravity and pride I attach to… not coming last.
She was also - and here’s a 1980s playground phrase I haven’t thought of for a while - frequently ‘eggy’ with us.
But fair play to her - Wouldn’t we all be prone to the occasional eggy outburst, with close to 40 children under our sole command.
It all makes me want to step back in time, put a kind hand on her shoulder and make her a hot cup of tea.
She was also often absent:
Miss Smallwood was ill again today.
Miss Smallwood was at the doctor today.
What a year. Planning a wedding, with 36 children making you ill with how eggy they make you.
But, kind-hearted woman that she was, she wanted to see us on her wedding day, so we put on our best clothes and here we are.
Even now it feels like I’m looking at a double page spread in Hello magazine, such was the celebrity wedding vibe at the time. I wore 1989 S/S Clothkits, with bangles (model’s own).
Every time I cycle round the roundabout at the foot of St Mary’s church I think about Miss Smallwood. She wrote a note for me on my last day of year 4. It has since dropped out of my diary and is lost forever, leaving only the Pritt Stick trail behind it, but I remember what it said word for word, chiefly because in it she revealed the most prized and protected information about your primary school teacher: her first name.
She wrote:
Annabel, may all your dreams come true.
and then she signed it,
Theresa Smallwood
I remember being stunned that she’d broken this wall between teacher and pupil. In my diary I refer to my friends’ parents as: Mrs Caddick. Mr Freestone. Rhian’s Mum. This kind of informality was unheard of in 1989. What a trailblazer.
Last week, that roundabout connected me to another teacher: my A Level history teacher, who emailed me - unaware that I was a former pupil - to ask if I could make him some rye bread. He had seen me whizzing around the roundabout on my bike and went home and googled the bakery.
This teacher was an absolute legend at school. To convey what it feels to receive an email from him out of the blue, imagine that Stephen Fry decided to sit down and get in touch with you to express interest in what you do for a living. Like at that wedding at St Mary’s Church, I was starstruck.
My daughter is now 9 - and at the same primary school as Miss Smallwood and me. I think a lot about the parallels between our childhoods, and the differences. One similarity is that she too keeps a diary.
Also, she has a brilliant teacher who, I’m sure, hopes all her dreams come true. Aren’t we lucky.
If you enjoyed this sentimental roundabout, please consider showing your support by subscribing!
It’s free, and you’ll receive a weekly Friday letter, plus the occasional postcard, all written next to a warm oven after a cold bike ride.