February 7, 2007

Good morning,

When J and I came to England to sort out a home and

schools, we didn't realize that you need to have a

permanent address to secure places in the good state

schools here.  Without one, we really had no choice

but to send the children to private schools.  And

while we knew these were fussy schools we were looking

at (I'm sure I've mentioned each school had a four

hour interview? Just a bit daunting...), we still

didn't quite understand the nature of British prep

schools.  We're still learning. Thankfully, J's

company pays the hellishly expensive tuition in

exchange for asking us to cope with the National

Health Service.  Or something like that.

 

I have written before of the shock of starting at

Cheltenham College Junior School.  Now M and

S are easing their way into the senior school,

or "college", which has all the surreal qualities of

living in a film.

 

Here is a dialog we had at the kitchen table the other

night when S's friend, Ella, was visiting M was 

dismayed that a kid on his rugby team

couldn't run faster.  "Don't you think Senior Congo (I

swear that is his FIRST name) should be able to run

faster?" M asked off handedly. 

"Why should he be able to run faster?" I asked.

"Because he's African." I nearly spit tea over the

kitchen table.

"Why do you think an African boy should run fast,

M?  I'm guessing he isn't like those Olympian

athletes you hear of in Africa who  feed their goats

and then run 10 miles to school and back each day.

He's at a boarding school.  It's not like he's got

much ground to cover in the morning."

"He's loaded,"  Ella pipes in.

"And how do you know he's 'loaded', Ella?"  I ask.

"Because he has really expensive shoes."

"Well, lots of people have really nice shoes and that

doesn't make them loaded." I say.

"I mean, REALLY expensive." (Mind you, Ella's father

drives a Bentley).

"And he has a really expensive mobile phone."  S adds. 

I can feel one of those teachable moments coming on.

I sit up straight, smooth out my dress like Carol Brady.

"You shouldn't be so quick to judge," I say smugly.

"You cannot judge people based on their nationality.

We are Americans and we don't sue people, right?  Just

because Senior Congo (don't you just love that name?)

is African doesn't make him a quick runner and just

because people have nice shoes and mobile phones

doesn't make them loaded and besides, it shouldn't

matter how much money his family has."

"Mom."  M says, completely bored by his dim

mother,  "His dad is the king of some African country

and he is one of 59 kids."

"Oh," was all I cough out meekly.

M continues with an air of worldliness that only

a fourteen year old boy can pull off, "And that must

be ONE. HORNY. DAD".

This is not the only royal family at Cheltenham

College.  M and S share classes with a

Saudi Arabian prince.  This boy once asked S,

"You're American?! Why would you ever leave America?

I've been to America.  I love America.  Have you ever

heard of a place called Beverly Hills?  I love Beverly

Hills..."  (S's answer to Jim when he STRONGLY

suggested that S date this prince-poor J will

do anything, including marry his young daughter off in

a loveless marriage to a wealthy prince if it meant he

could retire before the age of 90 which is our current

financial plan-was that she didn't like this boy's

hair and, therefore, couldn't date him.  She obviously

has a strong value system. God bless her.)

Even R is accustomed to this.  While J and I were

in London last week, we saw a beautiful sports car

with Saudi plates at a hotel with lots of security

next to ours.  R loves cars and when we mentioned

this to him, he didn't even look up from his homework

to say, "Yeah.  VJ told me his mom was in

town."

 

Cheltenham College has a lovely campus with, as you

would imagine, lots of old buildings, ivy and a

surprising number of palm trees.  At fourteen, they

are experiencing what Americans experience when they

go off to college at eighteen years of age.  They are

completely independent.  They must get themselves back

and forth to classes and around campus.  They must

master time management.  They have "houses", alot like

our fraternity or sorority houses, where they go when

they are not in class to study, hang out (and consume

large quantities of tea and toast) and change into

their gym uniforms (called their "games kit").  Their

days are long-until 6pm or later every evening- and

then they have hours of homework.  Saturdays, the

earliest they are allowed to come home is 4pm.  Often

it is much later (especially if you have Saturday

night detention until 10:30pm, with which, I am sorry

to say, we have had some experience.  I won't single

out which twin collects demerits like some people

collect sea shells, but in defense, every late

assignment, illegible assignment, every tardy earns a

demerit.  They add up quickly.  Five demerits=Saturday

night detention.  Time management/tidiness/basic self

awareness isn't this particular twin's strong suit).

Pressure abounds at this school in both academics and

sports. You pretty much have to declare what your

major at university will be by the time you are 16/17.

 They have staff checking that each girl takes enough

food at lunch because anorexia is a problem. (I'm

happy to report the teachers take one look at

S's heaving plate of food and move on).

Everyone is gorgeous.  Everyone, except that one

prince, has indescribably beautiful hair to the point

that even out of uniform you can spot Cheltenham

College students around town. 

 

The Cheltenham College handbook is a small guide book

with all the rules and regulations.  At the Junior

School, it is in an A to Z format.  I particularly

like the letter "H" as in:  Head Lice:  These are a

harmless but obviously unpleasant problem.  Anyone who

has them, please sit next to one of the P

children and rub heads. But my favorite, just under

Head Lice, is Helicopter:  Often we have requests for

picking up children from school in helicopters.

Please give 24 hours notice." 

 

The college's parents' handbook reads like a good

British humor novel.  I don't intend to ever throw it

away.  It is filled with lots of one liner, British

humor.  I am particularly fond of the section entitled

"The town".  The rules for going into town, are very

specific year by year.  By the time they are in Upper

6th form (seniors) they are allowed into approved

pubs, however there is a strict policy of beer and/or

cider only.  It states:  All 6th formers returning to

their houses in the evening do so by the front door of

the private side in anticipation of a VERTICAL

conversation with their housemaster or mistress.  I

love that line.  The lackadaisical attitude about

children drinking in this country is worthy of another

email one day.

With love from England,

T-Ann