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MARIAN NAIDOO
Beginning To Learn
Where, when or what is a beginning? (Edward Said)
To start at the beginning first of all means identifying a point in time where my learning began. Is this possible? Or indeed a useful or valid thing to attempt to do? Is the way I learnt as an infant or a small child affecting the way I embrace learning / knowledge as an adult? Are there significant or critical events that have defined the way in which I approach learning, both for me and the way in which I relate to others?
In attempting to address these questions I have reflected on the development of my learning and my own search for knowledge. `When I reflect on significant or critical moments what I recall is an emotional image. This emotional image is either one of great elation or despair and humiliation.
The moments I have decided to include here are what I will refer to as significant events. This is because I feel they are moments in the development of my learning that have had a significant affect on how my learning progressed from that moment onwards
(These vignettes may become performed pieces, but Im not sure yet)
Vignette 1 Starting School Excitement and Humiliation
I have been reliably informed that I was both a bright and intelligent child with parents who were passionate about the education of their children. My father, a very kind and gentle man, had himself been unable to take up an offer of a place in higher education in order to support his parents and siblings financially by going to work. He was then called up to serve in the 2nd world war. He was serving in Montezuma where his battalion were missing, presumed dead. This experience profoundly affected him it was also an experience that he was never able to talk about.
Although he managed to provide well for his wife and 4 children he felt unchallenged intellectually, a feeling that stayed with him until his premature death at the age of 54 in 1977.
My parents decided that our local primary school was not going to stimulate me in the way they thought I needed and so I was enrolled in a catholic convent prep school in Liverpool City centre, a short bus ride away from my home. I was more than ready for school and very excited, particularly about my school uniform, which included a brown overcoat with a secret pocket. I felt like Jane Bond -expert in international espionage, with my very own top-secret pocket! I remember the first bus journey to school very clearly and also the feeling of power that having a secret, even if it was only a secret pocket, gave me. I was torn between shouting this secret all over the bus or simply enjoying the power that this unshared knowledge gave me. The nuns who taught at the school also wore brown, but when I try to remember them I can only picture them from their waists down to the ground. Around their waists they wore a leather belt and from one side of their belts hung a long crucifix and from the other side a large bunch of keys which jangled loudly as they approached. What I can never see are their faces.
I do however remember 1 day very clearly indeed. We had just returned from morning break and I had forgotten to go to the toilet. I asked sister if I could be excused, she reminded me that I had had my opportunity to go to the toilet. As a punishment she lifted me onto the top of a very high bookcase where I had to sit until the next break. Here I was asked to reflect on my sins, much to the amusement of the other children in the class. My face still burns at the memory of sitting on view and unable to get down myself.
My time at the Demonstration School, however, was very short-lived as a serious illness resulted in a lengthy stay in Alder Hey Childrens Hospital.
This story embraces both extremes of my emotional memory. Firstly the sheer excitement and exuberance of a 4 year old wanting to learn and ready to take on the whole world. The other extreme which is probably familiar to many is that feeling of utter powerlessness and the humiliation of a public punishment for a crime you dont fully understand
Vignette 2 - Alder Hey - rheumatic (dramatic!) fever
On the 12th October I was wrapped in a large red blanket and bundled into an ambulance. A small crowd of concerned neighbours had gathered around the door and they clucked and tutted as I was carried past them. Although I now know that I was seriously ill I can still recall feelings of great importance and I was also able to enjoy being the centre of attention. This feeling was very short lived and vanished when my mother told me she had to go home and I would be staying in the childrens ward, where I remained for 3 months. I was 5 years old. Throughout my entire stay in hospital I spoke only to my visitors and refused to talk to anyone associated with the Hospital. The next morning I was told by a very excited nurse that my mother would be unable to visit me for a little while as we had a new baby to look after, my sister, born on the 13th October. As a consequence I have always been reminded of my stay in Alder Hey when celebrating her birthday. This event however was to have a profound effect on my 5 year old brain, it all made sense now, I had had a baby, of course, you had to go to hospital to have a baby, but where was she, this baby of mine.
When my dad came to visit me he explained that she was my sister, not my daughter. This for me was even more sinister, the reality dawned, they had replaced me. I was probably here forever!
My time as a patient in Alder Hey was my first introduction to the NHS. Unusually for the time my consultant was a woman, in fact the entire environment was female. The ward was staffed with a variety of nurses, all female of course and there were also the others, the play leaders who wanted me to play, which was a little difficult when you were not allowed to sit up and a large cage over my legs meant I couldnt see anything. The person who impressed me most however, was sister, sister ruled with a rod of iron. I decided that that was for me, I wanted to be sister.
In what way did this period affect and/or change my approach to learning? I believe it had a profound affect on my confidence and the way in which I present myself to the outside world. I had felt special and excited starting school for the first time and although I quickly realised that school was very different to what I had expected I was not anxious about going there. My treatment in hospital involved large doses of steroids and I had left there looking and feeling like the Incredible Hulk. I had doubled in size and I can clearly remember my mothers distress as she tried to squeeze me into my clothes that were now several sizes too small. I felt so awful for her, I was letting her down, I was a nuisance, she was ashamed of the way I looked. In some way this feeling of not quite being what people expected, not to be a nuisance, not quite able to make the grade despite so many achievements stays with me.
Eventually I returned to school, but not back to the Demonstration school as it was agreed that I would not manage the journey, so at 6 years of age I attended our local Primary school. My stay in hospital and time off recovering had meant plenty of time for reading, which was my favourite pastime. This made it quite difficult for the infant school to manage me and I spent a lot of time with the Head Teacher in her office reading and talking about what I had read. I think that this period in my learning set a definite pattern in the way I approached learning. I could argue that this was a very student centred and self-directed approach and that I was benefiting from this. Unfortunately our secondary school system, particularly at this time was not able to provide the same individual approach.
Vignette 3 Woolton Hall insignificant in grey
Grey lady walking the halls after dark searching for a happier time.
Grey girls walk and talk and search for knowledge and a future for themselves.
Some are greyer than others.
Some are overwhelmed by their grey matter.
I melt into the greyness but manage to sustain the red I hide within.
You light the blue touch paper and I run.
And indeed I did run I ran as far away as I possibly could. The secondary school I attended was reputedly the best in Liverpool. I had excelled in the 11 plus and was able to choose the school I had dreamt of attending. Woolton Hall was a very traditional girls convent with many of the pupils still fee paying. In our first assembly Sister Anne told us how we were the crme de la crme and that the world was our oyster. The reality was of course was that I didnt feel that confident and those who were fee paying looked down on the scholarship girls. There were many opportunities to be had in this environment for those willing to seize them. Reflecting on this environment is quite interesting particularly in relation to secondary education today and the different levels of achievement from boys and girls. I cannot ever remember being prepared for a female occupation. The nuns never indicated that some career paths were better for boys, we could do whatever we wanted, well some could!
For me I had made my mind up at 5, I was going to be sister. This however was not good enough for my parents, particularly my father. He felt it was an underachievement and didnt want me to feel as he had done, under stretched. He was of the opinion that I should do medicine as nursing was a second rate profession, that I would be no more than a servant to the doctors.
In my heart though there was another voice, one that wouldnt go away, but I couldnt listen to this voice yet, so I ran, briefly, to France.
I spent several months working as a nursing assistant in an old peoples home in Reims in Northern France
Vignette 4 Ma Maison Time to reflect
I had been doing some voluntary work in Liverpool in an old peoples home and thought I knew the ropes but was totally unprepared for my time at Ma Maison. I think the name of the home is very appropriate, my house, and very much the philosophy behind the day-to-day running of the home. It was run by nuns, but they took a behind the scenes role. They were there to provide nursing care to the very ill and they ran the kitchen but the rest was very much the responsibility of the residents, their families and anyone else like me who had the privilege to be there. Ma Maison was the complete opposite to the very often sterile environments we provide for our elderly infirm. Life at Ma Maison was pretty good, being on the outskirts of Reims meant it was very close to the champagne producers who were very generous and every evening meal included wine, with champagne for Sundays. The residents were able to keep pets; one gentleman even had a pet monkey! The home also had an orchard and a small farm where the residents worked if they wanted to and were able to. There was a great community spirit about the place and even those who were suffering from quite advanced Alzheimers disease were able to contribute to the day-to-day activities, with a lot of help from each other. What they all had though was a sense of purpose and achievement even if the most you contribute was a big lap from your wheel chair in which to catch the fruit that was shaken from the trees.
Jean was in his late 70s when I met him at Ma Maison. Despite his years he was still a very fit man and was very proud of his strength. Jean had been a farmer for all of his working life, but when his Heart died he did not have the will to continue with the farm and he had eventually sold up and come to live at the home. Jeans Heart was his wife, his childhood sweetheart who he had known all his life and had married in their teens. Jean took care of the pigs at Ma Maison with love and care. Jeans only regret was that despite his 70 odd years he had never seen the sea and it was his greatest wish to visit the coast before he died. I had the great privilege to accompany Jean and several other residents on a trip to the coast. I can honestly say that sharing Jeans first sight of the sea with him was one of the most moving experiences I have known.
Working at the home in France allowed me the space I needed to make decisions about what I wanted to do. On reflection this environment was very different to the one I would experience as a student nurse. In this environment respect and dignity were almost taken for granted. The well-being and happiness of the residents was as important as their medical conditions. Their opinions and ideas were always sought and acted upon in a way that recognised their life experience and wisdom of age. My decision to return to England and take up my place as a student nurse had been influenced by this attitude and my expectations were founded on this experience.
(Jack I have decided not to include the rest of this document yet as I would like to talk to you about what is included up to this point and get some feed back before I share any more.)
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