Planes, Trains, Automobiles . . . and Water Taxis!

This week began with being invited to Sunday lunch at my head teacher, Sharon's house.  As is typical and traditional in England, Sunday dinner means roast and all the fixings.  Sharon's husband, Roger, cooks on Sundays.  As I sat at the table I remarked that I felt as if I were watching a movie and this was the part where the lovely, close knit English family is having lively dinner table conversation about such topics as university, wedding plans, rugby, and Christmas markets.

Later that afternoon I went with Eileen to a pub in Wolverhampton for an open mic night where the daughter of a friend of hers was singing.  There had been a rugby match that day so the pub was filled with rowdy gents (mostly) who provided some great "entertainment" of their own.  Fun Sunday!  A wonderful lunch with lovely people, and going to a pub . . . on a SCHOOL night (certainly out of character for Mrs. Montoya)!

The day before, I went for a long walk in the neighborhood.  As I headed up a steep hill I heard a familiar sound.  It was a man's voice piercing the morning quiet with the sing-songy, repetitive refrain of "OLD SCRAAAAP!  OLD SCRAAAAP!"  This was the man I had heard at school a while back who I learned was the scrap man!  (Well, probably not the same one.)  You remember, he drives through neighborhoods picking up used stuff people leave out for him. Anyway, I saw his truck slowly rounding a corner, and I hurried my pace to catch up with him.  He was stopped in front of a house and getting out of the truck, so I walked up to him and told him I was from America and we don't have people who do this where I'm from and could I take his picture?  (I was packin' a camera.)  He looked a little uncomfortable but slightly amused and said sure.  So I snapped his photo in front of a truck heaped with old televisions, metal chairs and other unwanted household items.  I'm sure my daughter is cringing as she reads this.  Seriously, mom!

School is super busy right now and will get busier as the Christmas season approaches (just like at Steele).  I continue to be fascinated by how different--and yet how very much the same--the children at both schools are.  Basically, kids are kids no matter where you find them, and therein lie the similarities.  But it's just so interesting to observe the little differences in speech and manor.  The little boy I mentioned in reception ("Er's American!") is of particular interest, not just to me, but to everyone at the school.  The other day, my friend Carol, who is very, very tall, was working in reception.  This precocious little boy looked her up and down and announced, "Yow'm a biggun ay ya?"  Translated from the broad Black Country accent as "You're a big one, aren't you?"  (Cute, but he better not ever say that to me!!)  Then there's recess time (called play time here) which just seems different from back home.  For one thing, the older kids in year six (fifth-grade) help watch over the younger ones.  When I'm working at my desk at lunch time, I hear the older playground monitors being very authoritarian with the little ones yet also very caring as they often lead them in games and songs.  And when they're not leading the songs, one of the dinner ladies who monitors lunch recess leads them in her strong Irish brogue. 


Lady Laura



Laura, the year 4 teacher, took her class on a field trip to Moseley Old Hall, in Wolverhampton.  They had been studying British history.  She and her students were decked out in Renaissance costumes (reminding me of my Shakespeare kids back home).  She explained to me that during the Reformation when the Catholics were persecuted as the Church of England became the government-mandated religion, Catholics had to hide their priests who were in danger of being imprisoned or put to death if discovered.  They often hid them in what were called "priest holes" which were holes in walls and floors of castles and country and manor  houses. Mosley Old Hall was just such an historic haven for priests.  (This made me have a connection to the Underground Railroad, the secret route through southern states to the north along which there were safe houses where escaped slaves took refuge, hiding under floorboards).  I will definitely have to check this place out.

Last night I went to a Wolverhampton pub with Eileen, Linda (another awesome staff member at school), and Linda's brother, Tom, who is an artist and university professor.  It was an old-fashioned English pub in an old house.  It was another open-mic night that was part of a contemporary arts festival.  The little room within the pub where the music was happening was crammed with music lovers of all ages and lots of local musicians.  There was comtemporary and folk music, but the best was an Irish folk singer at the end of the night.  Soon everyone was joining in the singing in the very intimate and congenial atmosphere.  Of course, I was the only one in the room who didn't know the words to the songs, plus I didn't get the joking references being made to certain places and things, but I sure enjoyed the laughter and joy and comradery that happens when music brings people together.  The music was pure magic, and I was in heaven in an English pub.  Plus, Tom surprised me with a festival tee shirt that he secretly had signed by all the musicians.  Very cool.  Tonight a bunch of us went to yet another pub for more music--this time a benefit for an orphanage in Africa that staff member Jane's daughter helped organize and at which she sang beautifully.  I learned a phrase tonight that is a Black Country retort for when someone makes you angry.  It goes like this:  Goo-on, tek a walk in the cut til yer at floats which means "Go and take a walk in the canal until your hat floats."  I just think that's hilarious!

Tomorrow's Saturday and I will be packing because on Sunday I leave for ITALY!!!  That is where the title of this posting comes in.  I will take a cab to the train station in Wolverhampton, then a train to Manchester where I will board a Jet 2 plane to Venice.  I can't wait!  Ciao!