My Journey

From mind to paper and back again.

Activity 8.6 P1

on December 17, 2008

Second Person Narrative

Homesick Student at Boarding School

When you live on the RAF stations, things are great. You might move about a lot because of your dad’s work, but have the run of the quarters and it doesn’t matter about all the moving of houses and schools because everyone else is in the same situation, plus you get used to making new friends. They at least have something going on, planes taking off and landing at all hours going to, or coming back from different exercises and even duties abroad. It is mostly the fast jets and big transports that go, the squadron staff wearing desert brown instead of khaki green. It’s the easiest way for you to tell when someone is going to the hot, sandy places where the real fighting takes place.

Now you’re getting older your mum and dad have told you that all that moving schools won’t do you any good and will lower your exam grades. Now it’s come to this for the sake of getting you a consistent education. The arguments won immediately before you even had a chance to respond you’ve spent your last few days on station sulking and not speaking to anyone other than to complain that no one else is going, that their parents are okay with them moving from school to school.

Sitting in your parents’ car, you’re on your way to a school you’ve only visited once before for a brief visit. This time though, your bags are packed and in the boot of the car coming with you. Your new uniform is sharing space with your pyjamas and casual clothes for the weekend and evenings. Your mum is sat in the front of the car talking at you about school amongst other things. None of it’s going in though because you’re so nervous about being left there on your own and having no one that you know with you. Having to share a bedroom crammed with bunk beds and work desks, the little wardrobes lining the walls and the small bathroom off to one side.

You don’t know any of the girls that you’ll be sharing the room with and the big wooden door of the school is approaching with menace. You won’t be going that way though, you’re not a visitor anymore. You’ll follow the gravel path around to the back where the living accommodation is. There’s a teacher waiting to meet you there, at the top of this endless stretch of gravel, the school speed limits mocking you, causing the journey to last even longer than it needs to making you feel more uncomfortable by the minute.

‘You can come home for the holidays love.’

Your dad’s talking now, after cutting your mothers speech short. His rule was law, not to be argued with. He wasn’t a Sergeant in the RAF for the sake of it, he’d earned it. You can feel your head nodding, it’s the right thing to do even though in your heart you want to kick and scream and cry until they take you home again and you can enrol in the local high school.

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