I
was brought back from Bryanston to the local grammar school
in Penzance. I won the art prize and thought about going on
to art school but my mother said, 'You'll end up in a corner
screaming.' This was the 1960's. In the 30's she'd had to do
three years of drawing before they'd let her hold a brush. So
that was that. It would be twenty-five years before I got the
smell of paint again. I went on to university and joined the
meritocracy - the beginning of the great unwinding of the class
system. It was exciting. There was a political edge - we were
on the streets.
Half
a century later, I look back in wonder:
Upper class background, middle class education, university career
in free-fall - I should have been a class disaster. The one
saving grace in messing up is you get a new beginning. If you
can realise that and shoulder the weight of having taken goodwill
from others and shagged it you get a new beginning.
It
was a terrible trade off but I got so much from four years at
university starting with Geology and Psychology. In my last
year I read History of Science, Archaeology and Linguistics.
I was a burning fuse - changing courses and reading stuff that
wasn't part of the brief. I was after something.
Four
years in academia then a job on a tractor - working in the building
trade, becoming physical. The tragedy and sadness of my loss
was bearable. I trained as a carpenter and joiner. I handled
many diverse materials - renovating four houses, subcontracting
and working for other builders. I just learned so much.