Bloganuary

Day 1

What advice would you give to your teenage self?

It’s a long time since I was a teenager, but I can still remember a lot about that time. One thing I do remember – I kept being given lots of advice, none of it very helpful.

My grandmother advised me to join BOAC (as it was then) as an air stewardess. My older cousin had already joined and she thought he looked so handsome in his uniform. I have to admit, yes he was very handsome. But we had already flown out to Canada and back by then; and for all their very smart uniforms, I noticed the air crew worked unceasingly, waiting on the passengers to keep them happy and contented for what was then a 12 hour flight, with a stop at Gander Airport to refuel. Even then it seemed too much like hard work.

My teacher of Russian advised me to apply for Oxford University – six months after the University application process had closed.

My then boyfriend’s mother couldn’t understand why I wanted to go to university. After all I would only get married at the first opportunity; and if I married her son I could help him as he set up his first butcher’s shop. Even then I couldn’t bear the feel of raw meat so far from making me feel this was a match made in heaven, I quickly realised that relationship was doomed. It didn’t last my first year at university.

My parents emigrated to Canada, and were happy to leave me in the UK only if I went to university. They figured I would join them when I had graduated. My mother thought I should study Russian as The Young Communists group in her area had given her such amazing support when she was a teenager during World War 2.

What did I want? No one actually ever asked me, but I knew. I wanted to be an artist. I had no idea what being an artist meant, and at that time, in 1968, art was not an academic subject; nor was it a subject for females to study. In fact women were very firmly discouraged from doing art. And I knew I would never be allowed to stay in the UK if I declared my intention of becoming an artist.

So I studied Russian and German, became a teacher, firstly of English then of Special Needs and married and raised a family, and never moved to Canada. And never lost my desire to be an artist.

Twenty years after graduating in Russian, a serious illness curtailed my teaching career and a few years later as I regained my health I finally began to study art firstly at degree level, and then Masters level. My parents’ comment was they were surprised it had taken me that long. They had known about my ambition all along, but had actively discouraged me.

So my advice to my teenage self, and indeed to any teenager – hang on to your dreams, even if life and other people get in the way. Your dreams can have a way of asserting themselves.