This time, thirty years ago, a group of teachers and students from Castle Hill HS had already embarked on a six week tour of the UK and Europe. They were a performing arts group comprising senior students and staff, who had been working for almost two years at both fundraising for the trip and developing and rehearsing material to perform. It was a fairly unique undertaking in scope and daring but it was very successful. The performances (a mixture of performance art, mime, short sketches and story-telling) were adaptable for a range of age groups - the same show could be tweaked and performed in the same space before an adult, high school or primary school audience - and also left room for improvisation if needed.

I raise these ancient facts because the other day I stumbled upon my diary from the trip, which set me to thinking. Where were all the students now? I'll wager that most of them went on to successful lives, these six weeks having given them a chance to grow from children into young adults. I wondered too what had become of the others who were so important on this trip. I had lost touch with my two colleagues (both remarkable educators in their own distinct way) when I moved schools at the end of 1991. That is just what happens. My thoughts also flew to another gentleman who was significant during this time, the coach driver, Barry.

Barry had been flown in from the UK when our original driver was found to be unfit to continue. I am pretty sure that he gave up his Christmas to take command of the coach and steer us from Switzerland to Austria to Germany to The Netherlands. And then, around the UK. In the course of doing so, he became a companion. We had dinner and drinks together, shared a room on one occasion and talked often. I tended to sit at the very front of the bus in that seat that is adjacent the driver, the one that gives a spectacular view out the large front windscreen. So, we came to be the front-end boys, so to speak. I was sad when his duties came to an end and I think he was too.

But, whilst searching FB yesterday, I found the same Barry, alive and well in Stoke-on-Trent. I sent a message and I hope that this might be a happy reunion for us, after thirty years. Who knows?

Barry at the helm



My younger self at the Firth of Forth Bridge.