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Someone I used to know, and liked.
Sep. 12th, 2004 11:35 pmAnyone who's been reading this journal from the beginning might remember my writing on occasion about the last year of history I took, back in 2002. I like history, both as a subject and as material for my own reading, and I was genuinely sorry not to take it at A-level (Politics won out, in the end), giving it up after my GCSEs. The point of this is, my History teacher at that time was Mrs Miller. Not Miller as in ColvinandMiller who teach Chemistry, but another one. I liked her; I've scrolled back and I think it did come through in what I wrote then. I thought she was not much like any teacher I'd had before, and plus it was the smallest class I'd ever been in (there were eleven of us) but I was quite sure I liked her.
A month ago now, Patrick called to pass on a message from his mother (school librarian, Mrs Barry). Put quite simply, Mrs Miller is dead. She had a massive brain haemorrage and died more or less instantly. I was really shocked - she was young, much too young for something like this to happen - and I liked her, I really did. Miss Brandreth, the new headmistress, delivered a speech regarding the "tragic event" on our first day back - wonderfully insincere, because of course she'd never even met Mrs Miller.
Well, I had. I'm one of the few people left whom she actually taught. And I've been asked to "write a few words." I'm flattered. I am. It's nice to think people trust me to do it. But I've sat there for two hours now, staring at the page, tearing it off the pad, screwing it up, throwing it at the wall and starting again. Now of all times I have nothing to say, except I liked her and I'll miss her and that's only seven words.
She was lovely - quiet, never confrontational, she didn't turn a hair when people told her the most significant cause of the Second World War was the Big Bang. She seemed genuinely disappointed that I dropped history, and she used to stop me in the corridor and ask how I was getting on, had Mr Evans killed me yet, and did I mention I liked her?
Well, it's now midnight, almost, and I have written nothing. I'm having a very bad day, I've had a very bad week, and I feel much too out of it to write this. It can go on the pile with my personal statement, my Oxford application essays and my English coursework under the category Things Raven Has Not Done.
This is stupid. Or, possibly, I'm stupid and am going to fail everything because I can't do anything. Can't even write something about someone I liked. Can't write, full stop. Can't do anything.
A month ago now, Patrick called to pass on a message from his mother (school librarian, Mrs Barry). Put quite simply, Mrs Miller is dead. She had a massive brain haemorrage and died more or less instantly. I was really shocked - she was young, much too young for something like this to happen - and I liked her, I really did. Miss Brandreth, the new headmistress, delivered a speech regarding the "tragic event" on our first day back - wonderfully insincere, because of course she'd never even met Mrs Miller.
Well, I had. I'm one of the few people left whom she actually taught. And I've been asked to "write a few words." I'm flattered. I am. It's nice to think people trust me to do it. But I've sat there for two hours now, staring at the page, tearing it off the pad, screwing it up, throwing it at the wall and starting again. Now of all times I have nothing to say, except I liked her and I'll miss her and that's only seven words.
She was lovely - quiet, never confrontational, she didn't turn a hair when people told her the most significant cause of the Second World War was the Big Bang. She seemed genuinely disappointed that I dropped history, and she used to stop me in the corridor and ask how I was getting on, had Mr Evans killed me yet, and did I mention I liked her?
Well, it's now midnight, almost, and I have written nothing. I'm having a very bad day, I've had a very bad week, and I feel much too out of it to write this. It can go on the pile with my personal statement, my Oxford application essays and my English coursework under the category Things Raven Has Not Done.
This is stupid. Or, possibly, I'm stupid and am going to fail everything because I can't do anything. Can't even write something about someone I liked. Can't write, full stop. Can't do anything.
