Reminiscing on her heady days of adolescence, the legendary ceramicist shares her dispatches from Sixties girls-only Oxford
My parents lived in Cambridge after they married, and my father still lives there. But Mum moved to Oxford when they parted because she was keen to find good schools for all three of us: me, my brother and my sister Sophie who has learning difficulties. It was a perfect size of city to have a lot of freedom; it was and is a lovely city to grow up in. My mum’s best friend Felicity also lived there; they had both been debutantes together, and I have such joyful memories of an ancient farmhouse they rented from one of the colleges. It was a non-stop party place, Mum and Felicity were having a wonderful time: the Sixties were definitely happening in that house, and The Beatles’ White Album was the soundtrack we all went to bed to in the attic.
Most of my primary and all my secondary education was at the same school, from eight all the way through to 18: Oxford High School, which still powers on, with notoriously high academic standards to which we all bow down. We were largely taught by women, a lot of whom were lesbians in formidably dowdy clothes.
They were really the best teachers; they properly engaged with you. The first two junior school teachers I encountered were Miss Nibblet and Miss Palser, two marvellously redoubtable women, although quite frightening, being ticked off by them was really trembly and scary. But I think that was their modus operandi, they expected us to get to grips with our grammar and spelling and believed unless there was some intimidation, or even some form of violence, you wouldn’t learn to spell or punctuate. Those two fantastic teachers did their bit to drill into me a strong habit of being thorough and accurate, and knowing what they required suited me, perhaps because mum was so liberal.
I remember Mum coming to watch me play hockey, pushing her new children in a raggedy old pram with a dog tied to the handle with a bit of string – she really was extremely unselfconscious and not at all like the other mums – although much admired by all my friends. She couldn’t even identify me in my hockey gear, I could see her watching a game I was not in, so I had to run all the way up from the bottom pitch to the top where she was standing looking bored and fidgeting.
By the sixth form you were fairly liberated from discipline and a lot of trust was given – which in my case I abused quite roundly – but kind of got through it okay partly because of that tough early grounding. I think I was very lucky that while I was at prep school Mary Warnock was the headmistress, and she cast a very magic mantle over the school.
She wasn’t really interested in minor infractions – for instance there was a sort of acknowledgement they couldn’t stop us smoking, so they didn’t really try; and you were even allowed to buy cigarettes, although perversely we had to smoke in the kitchen of the sixth form block. Everything was to do with her hope and ambition for all of us to do our best, and I did completely subscribe to her values.
We were studying on our own a lot of the time, but I loved the library and learned to work independently there. Actually, I was very lost in books during that period, I read lots and lots and walked to school reading, bumping into lamp posts, and I continued that at home, partly to give me some space to get away from my handicapped sister.
Although I was very bad at handing in my work at the right time, I was under the spell of one teacher or another throughout my time there. It isn’t that you’re going to profit from every teacher, no matter how good they are: some of them just don’t speak to you so you don’t really understand what they are peddling; whereas others turn on the lights and illuminate a whole scene for you, and suddenly you somehow understand chemistry or maths and you become a believer.
: Heathcliff O'Malley
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