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