The Teachers We Remember
Plus a Free PDF Offer
As a writer, I’ve always enjoyed participating in, and running writing workshops. They're a great excuse to meet people who share my passion, and to talk writing for several hours at a stretch. Invariably I come away with the spark of a new idea or, at the very least, a renewed enthusiasm for my work. So, as you might imagine, I’m very much looking forward to next Wednesday, October 11th, when I’ll be at the Literary Institute in Ireshopeburn, from 11 till 1 pm, running a Begin Writing workshop. The workshop is part of the Weardale Wordfest, a community festival which aims to give regional writers a voice and provide a forum to celebrate the great wealth of local talent. The festival runs from 27th October to October 29th and there are some real treats including an evening with author, Caro Giles, as well as workshops - Words and Images with poet Jane Burn, Crime Writing with OMJ Ryan - all events are free and you can register for them HERE
If you are in the locality and would like to join me for Begin Writing, the tickets are free and you can register your interest here.
Teaching or facilitating, in whatever form it comes–the more informal workshopping, or the formal setting of the classroom in school and in prison–is something I think I was born or perhaps raised to do.
I always swore I would never be a teacher, especially in my teenage years when I began to rail against school and the control it represented. For a time, this was my only rebellion in a world where I was always the good child. When people told me I should enjoy school, that school days were the best days of my life, my first thought was always NO, NEVER. My second was, if they are, then God help me
I didn’t want to be told what tights to wear, or knickers for that matter, how long my cardigan or skirt should be, or that I mustn’t under any circumstances talk to the boys in the adjoining school (this proved to be fertile ground for another of my rebellions).
Weston-Super-Mare Grammar School for Girls, which I attended in the late sixties, was pretty strict, but looking back on it now, I know I had the benefit of a great education delivered by some memorable teachers: Miss Ramsden, the Hughes sisters, Mrs Berkeley, Miss Palethorpe, Gypsy Jones, the headmistress Dr Beale who tolerated my rebellion, and others whose names escape me, but whose faces and figures in their black flowing gowns–most of the teachers floated about the quadrangle in their gowns– do not. Some were more interesting than others, better teachers. But they were all dedicated and there were those in particular who showed concern for you as an individual and for your wellbeing. In my case, it was Miss Ramsden.
Miss Ramsden fostered my love of poetry and of Thomas Hardy. I can still hear her gentle, soft voice, barely above a whisper, reading Chaucer's Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, in Middle English. A wow moment, at school, if ever there was one for me. But more than this, she quietly championed me and once at a parents evening expressed her concern for my fragility to my mother. My mother, in her own inimitable style, told me about it afterwards, laughed, and dismissed it as nonsense.
We remember the people who were on our side, the people who saw us. We don’t forget the best teachers nor sadly the worst who are capable of having a truly detrimental effect on our learning and on our self-confidence. I've said many times that our best people should be our teachers. After all we are placing our future and the future of our children and our grandchildren in their hands. Sadly, society here in the UK doesn't always seem to agree. In my opinion we treat teachers badly, we berate them, we take them for granted, we don't reward them.
It is not so in all cultures. Travelling in India, many moons ago, with my three companions, I landed by bus in the small town of Somnathpur, famous for its intricately carved 13th century temple. In those days tourists were few, and there was only one place to stay which was the local government hostel/bungalow. We checked in and the director of the hostel invited us to take tea with him. We sat together in a small circle, politely sipping our tea as he asked each of us in turn what our occupations were. (This was a common question put to us as we traveled through India, along with - What is the total expenditure for your trip? And, Is it true you have free love in your country?)
My companions answered the director: social worker, community worker, doctor, he nodded approvingly at each. When it came to me, I said, ‘teacher.’ He put his hands together as if in prayer, and bowed, ‘Ah guru!’ he said. At that time in India, the teacher was more prized than the doctor. I somehow doubt it would be the same now, although I’d like to think it was.
I am, of course, no guru in the sense of the word as we know it, but I have done important transformative things as a teacher and teaching people to read was among the best of these.
Some years ago, when I was still working at the prison, I went to do my supermarket shop. I loaded the groceries from the trolley onto the conveyor belt, then came to stand in front of the checkout girl. She smiled at me and said, ‘You don’t remember me Miss, do you?’ I hesitated. Her face seemed familiar but I didn’t remember her name. I knew at once I must have taught her while she was in prison and I knew at once this wasn’t something I could mention. I hesitated. She smiled and saved me by saying, ‘It doesn’t matter Miss, but you were the one who taught me to read, and look at me now!’
She said it proudly sitting on her checkout seat. ‘That’s brilliant.’ I said. Because it was brilliant, because it’s a long, long way from prison to a job at the checkout in your local supermarket.
I like to think when I’m running workshops especially for beginning writers that I’m able to convey my passion and enthusiasm for writing just as I shared my love of words and reading in my classrooms, that I can share what I’ve learned along the way and that this may light a spark in someone else. Perhaps make them feel that they like me could be a writer, especially if they come from a place in a culture, as I did, where people did not grow up to be writers. They may lack confidence. They may be frightened of putting the first word on the page and I will have the happy task of helping them to just begin, begin writing, one word at a time, Bird by Bird as Ann Lamott famously tells us ( a great book on writing and life). I hope to offer the same help and encouragement I was given by my friend and mentor, Wendy Robertson, who I met in a prison and who wrote last week about those prison days that we shared.
Next week I will report back on my Begin Writing workshop, and I’ll share with you some of the exercises I use for beginning writing but also for ways to reignite your love of writing and to generate new ideas.
With this in mind, this week for readers here I have a special offer
If you buy one of my books from the Linen Press bookshop, I will send you a free PDF of my book, From Writing, With Love ~ (Don’t tell Amazon!)
From my back cover - In 2011, I came dangerously close to falling out of love with the one thing that had changed my life. Writing had brought me a deep and lasting sense of satisfaction and pleasure. It was the only thing I really wanted to do, so if I wasn’t prepared to lose it all, I had to think again. In, From Writing With Love, I share with you how I stayed in love with writing, what still inspires me, what helps me cope with success and disappointment in my writing life and everything I’ve learned about the craft of writing along the way.
The book is divided into 7 parts.
Part 1 becoming a writer, and having the confidence to begin.
Part 2 - developing your voice.
Part 3 - writing short stories.
Part 4 -the novel (things I wish I’d known at the start)
Part 5 -ways to succeed
Part 6 - the writing life
Part 7 - on winning, the Costa and a copy of my winning short story, Millie and Bird
It has 17 five star reviews on Amazon, not many in the grand scheme of things but I treasure every one - Review - 3 February 2014
‘A friend once told me that my cakes would improve if I baked them with love. Hard to achieve when you just aren't feeling it with that wooden spoon, yet I certainly felt all the love in Avril Joy's cream cake of a book. It's not just her own passion for her craft that makes it such a treat, but also her empathy and respect for all fellow writers. She is open and unguarded throughout, a feature that draws you in, and like any good mentor she's right by your side. The quotes from other writers are a delight, but best of all was discovering 'The Problem of Perfect'. Perfectionism does not explain my reluctance in the kitchen (that's more about disinterest) but it does explain why I mess about so much as a writer. Thank you Avril for telling it with love. May you long stay by my side.’
If you would like your free PDF, then simply purchase one of my books from Linen Press Bookshop - see the links below. Then email me at - amjoy@hotmail.co.uk - telling me which book you purchased and I will send you your free PDF
Finally, returning to the power of the good teacher - this You Tube never fails to make me cry. I love Ian Wright! He’s so open and unafraid to show his feelings.
Was there a special teacher in your life? If so I’d love to hear about them. Please celebrate them (or perhaps berate them ) in the comments below.
- thanks for reading Avril x
I too had a similar resistance to teaching - despite coming around to it now. I wanted to DO something with my life, not just TEACH others to DO. Aspiring to teach, felt like aspiring to live through someone else. But as I get a little older I realise what joy it is to help others on their path and to share what I have learned from my own wrestling with life.