Today I am taking part
in a blog hop celebrating women. I have chosen to write about a very
special woman in my life – a teacher who was more than a teacher.
I have been blessed
with having a series of inspirational women educators in my life, but
the first and probably therefore the most important was Elizabeth
Webster. Without her I doubt I would be writing, without her I would
not have got in to Oxford University and without her I would not have
met my husband.
Elizabeth or EMW as she
was better known was a little red-head with a liking for brightly
coloured scarves, who commanded any room she was in. She stepped into
my life when I was eight and newly arrived at my junior school. She
was the creative English and music teacher and although I did not
shine at music, Elizabeth recognised the writer in me. On that first
lesson she asked us to write a poem. I wrote about Queen Boudica
dying of poison after her defeat by the Romans. Elizabeth loved the
poem. She praised and encouraged me, recognising the need to feed my
love of poetry and confidence in my abilities. She was no regarder of
age: she believed that children should be encouraged to read the
best, so I was soon sitting cross-legged under her grand piano
reading Under Milk Wood and Murder in the
Cathedral. The first Shakespeare play I saw was performed by ten
and eleven year olds directed by her at the end of the school year.
When ill-health forced
her to retire from school, she set up an arts centre for children and
I followed her. First in a church hall and then in an old bakery she
continued to encourage writing, acting and the visual arts for a
further twenty-five years. The Children’s Arts Centre Cheltenham
became the Young Arts Centre as we turned teenagers, but the motto
remained the same: “Everyone is Someone.” Saturday morning was
for the younger children, and Sunday afternoon for the older members
to rehearse the next play we would perform. I was soon to act
in Under Milk Wood as well as read it. But best of
all was Tuesday evening, when the EOS group met. In a side room,
seated on second-hand sofas and armchairs, we would shuffle the
papers in our hands mumbling “I’ve got a poem, but it’s not
very good.” before reading it to the rest of the group.
Encouragement followed (Everyone is Someone) and discussion. I was
for some time the youngest in the group, but there was no compromise
for my age. I learned to hold my own with the others on subjects such
as Milton’s interpretation of the devil. Not that I had
read Paradise Lost at that point, but that didn’t
stop me. Every year we would give at least one public reading of our
poems together with those of published poets and in so doing learned
not only how to read poetry but also how to speak in public.
Encouraged by
Elizabeth, I entered national poetry competitions and won. I was
published by the age of thirteen. At the same age I wrote a
full-length verse play, which of course was performed at the Arts
Centre. I had found what I was good at. How lucky is that? And that
luck had a name: Elizabeth Webster. But I was not the only one – a
number of my fellow Arts Centre members have gone on to enjoy
successful careers in the arts. Others found their lives enriched in
different ways by the experience: principles were established for
life, friendships were forged and relationships begun. What a
wonderful place to meet your first boyfriend (or in my case my last
as I met my husband there).
And what reward did
Elizabeth receive for this work? Nothing but the reward of knowing
that every child in the Arts Centre realised they were someone. It is
only now with writing this post, that I realise how the central
character of Girl in the Glass is a girl who, unlike
me, was told she was nothing. When at last she had to retire
Elizabeth started a new career: that of a novelist. She used her
books to give her predominantly female readers an insight into the
lives of young people. Even in that I seem to be following her.
