Blog post #31 - Kate goes to Trinity (Part 1)

youtu.be/oWz-Hfw4fnk?si=xEBNPCKRYrHpnXNe
I was very young to be heading off to London as a 16yo country girl, but my parents thought nothing of it. After all, they had lived in London during the war, joining the workforce there as 14 year olds, traveling all over the city to their employment, both of them! You know, like grown ups!
So routinely sending us all up there was a snack as far as they were concerned.
As a high school student I never amounted to much academically. These days of course, questions would be asked as to why a seemingly bright young thing, routinely lied declaring that “the dog ate my homework.”  (Oops……we didn’t even have a dog!!!)
Layers of stories about not really fitting in, being set-up and bullied; friendless (except for my beloved Sarah, who was never in my class and had already been spirited away to her boarding school by the time I was in 4th form) and sadly, it was the case that I was bored by all things scholastic except, Music, Art and English. (None of which required me to actually study!)

Towards the end of 5th form with “O Levels” looming, I found myself bizarrely in the canteen of a lunchtime, next to the Headmaster who quizzed me about my 6th form subjects.
“Music, Art and English of course,” I replied, “and I’d like to pick up History since the timetable deprived me of it at O Level.”
He told me that I would HAVE to do a Science subject AND Maths! Laughable really!
No way José!
By this time I had actually applied to Trinity College of Music to study Singing and when this conversation took place, I was awaiting what I thought was a certain negative response.
To my surprise I got in!
(Up yours Mr D!)

Understand, that whilst it was not uncommon to leave school after 5th form (Year 10) in those days, it wasn’t usual to be accepted into academia until the completion of school two years later, with a slew of fine “A Levels” in hand.

I remember my audition well. I think my mum had a feeling there was trouble brewing for her troublesome teen, so she found a singing teacher of sorts and organized for me to do Grade 5 so I had something at least, albeit well below the level expected.
I walked into Trinity and sang Michael Head’s, “The Singer” and then accompanied myself on the guitar with “Greensleeves.” Flunked all the scales and  aural tests and of course delivered a laughable free-form interpretation of the sight reading.
The panel nodded warily, and then tried to persuade me that should I be offered a place, I must consider piano for my second study, rather than guitar as I had stated on my form.
Recalling the miserable days at the keyboard with my very genteel, stiff and intellectual piano teacher, (read, spinster of this parish!) so ready with a sniff of disapproval whenever I touched her precious ivories, (I mean, I was just an average grubby hippy, so no, never good mates, Dr. P and I) I said, “no thanks!”
“I won’t come if you make me do piano!” I declared to the astonished audition panel.
An audition laced with audacity!!!

I did tell them that at the turn of the century, my Grandmother had studied piano at Trinity in their Saturday morning music school. Maybe that was what swung it?

Suffice to say my future was very uncertain in the tender days of May 1972 when that cosy lunchtime chat with Headmaster, Mr D occurred.
Certainly, I believed it was an act of God when I got that acceptance letter from Trinity to start in September!

My folks came with me up to London and installed me in my hostel in Margaret St, just behind Oxford St and an easy stroll to Trinity College. We walked there together and somewhere there is murky footage my dad took of me, walking up Mandeville Place and into the lovely parqueted and paneled foyer of the grand old place.
On the Sunday afternoon we all went to my Granny’s for tea. She lived out west and so, my parents, heading further westward to get back to Glastonbury, dropped me off at Hangar Lane to catch the Tube for my journey into London alone.

Platformed and mini-skirted, I got off at Oxford Circus and headed up the grinding wooden escalators to street level. If you’ve ever played around in London, you will realize that there are multiple exits to most of the Tube stations in the city centre; no less than 8 opportunities to pick from at Oxford Circus!
When I surfaced the Autumn evening light was waning. Then I started walking round and round Oxford Circus wondering which street would take me in the direction of Margaret St. After a couple of teddy bears, (round and round the garden….!) I did figure that Margaret St was within two blocks of Oxford Circus, so if I walked that far and hadn’t come across it, I could simply go back to Oxford Circus and try the next one.
Beginners luck! I was right first time!

So, home I was, and though alone at this point I wasn’t at all flummoxed by it I have to say. Just excited by this new London life opening up before me.

​As is my wont -  here’s a little something dear to my heart. I like the idea of the country girl Lovely Joan and the probably more worldly city dweller of Greensleeves, (versions of me perhaps?) sitting side by side in Raph’s simple evocation of England.
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