I alluded, in a previous blog, to passing up Oxford University. So for those who've expressed an interest here's the story behind that decision.
First off to put it in its historical context. My parents were born in 1919 and 1923 respectively and grew up through the great depression of the 1930's before the creation of the British Welfare State. So were no strangers to poverty and hardship. My mother was extremely gifted as a child and won a scholarship to an exclusive High School. However, due in no small part to the bullying and discrimination she encountered, suffered a breakdown and was unable to complete it.
By the time I came along they'd survived the Second World War (my farther served in the Eight Army from 1939-1945) and brought three daughters into the world, one of whom had learning difficulties. I was born a year after their fourth child, who would have been my brother, had he not died a few days after he was born.
I was one of the last pupils in the UK to sit the 11-plus exam. An exam that decided if you went to grammar school or a secondary modern to become factory fodder. I failed miserably, but was rescued by the introduction of the comprehensive system and some amazing teachers.
By this time we were living on what today is known as an inner-city sink estate in one of the most deprived constituencies in England and Wales. Both my parents had been forced to give up work due to ill-health and were living on income support. So in the language of today's politicians they were 'benefit scroungers'. Not that, that stigma is anything new. I can remember vividly going with my parents to get my school uniform with uniform vouchers and the shop assistants looking down their noses at us. Pushing us to the back of the queue to fawn over the parents paying with real money.
Please note I'm not looking for or expecting sympathy in describing any of this. My experiences were by no means unique. If anything it was a character building experience. Judging by my school reunion last week we've all done incredibly well whatever our circumstances back then.
While my exam results weren't exceptional I decided to stay on and take my A levels, taking a Saturday job in the local newsagents and an evening job cleaning offices to pay my way. Having successfully become the first pupil from my school to get three A levels I decided I was going to be a graphic designer. This meant giving up the evening job to do a full-time arts foundation course for which no grants were available. Still I'd saved up enough from my jobs to pay for everything I needed.
After about three days I decided I'd had enough and left converting the Saturday job into a full-time one. I've always paid my way and it wasn't fair on my parents financially. Apart from which I had very little in common with the other students who came from well-to-do backgrounds.
However, in one of those totally random events that can have a massive impact on your life, I met a Buddhist monk at a Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) meeting. The next short-story scheduled to appear on my Blog 'enlightenment' is in no small part inspired by him. The upshot of this meeting was I became the first person in my family to go to university spending three years at Bradford doing a BA. This was back in the day when the state paid your tuition fees and a means tested maintenance grant was available.
I wouldn't say it was easy, despite being Bradford being one of the new red brick Universities. Its a strange experience going from an inner-city sink estate to rubbing shoulders with people from places like Guildford in Surrey, whose parents had well paid jobs.
Sadly my father died a few months before I graduated, while I was writing my thesis. So my joy at graduating was tinged with sadness.
Looking at my options and where to go from here I was directed to a post-graduate scheme the Probation Service was running at the time. Whereby they would fund your Masters degree in return for you committing to work for them for a minimum of twelve months after completing it.
I was on the cusp of going to Oxford to do this. Where I could have been rubbing shoulders with the likes of Boris Johnson (Mayor of London) and David Cameron (British Prime Minister). Instead I decided I'd had enough of the academic life and went back into full-time employment.
Looking back I guess a whole host of factors came into play when reaching this decision. My mother's experience of her scholarship. My own childhood experiences. In fact I'd go as far as to say all my life experiences leading up to this point came into play. I was also concerned about leaving my mother alone so soon after my father had died. Not that I needed to worry, she was made of far sterner stuff than I gave her credit for. Above all else I didn't want to be the token poor person held up as an example of how inclusive elitist institutions like Oxford are.
Maybe if the Buddhist monk had still been around I'd have made a different decision? After all an Oxbridge degree would have opened a lot of doors. Who knows where it would have taken me?
Still I have no regrets about making that decision. Life is way too short for those. I believe that whatever decisions you make in life, at the time you make them, they are the right decisions for you. That whatever the outcome you emerge a stronger and better person for it. After all you can't travel back in time and change them can you? The world would be full of time travellers if we could.
Anyway if you subscribe to the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics somewhere out there, there is a guy called Richard who did an MA at Oxford and is doing very nicely for himself. And do you know what? I'm really happy for him, because I've had a good life thus far too and long may it continue, for both of us.
I'll be back with a shorter, lighter, blog next week. In the meantime here's a photo that tells you all you need to know about the dog and our new cats first week together...