Unbelievably (to me, at least) this is me. Aged 11. I can see nothing of myself in this photograph. Except the teeth, perhaps. But I remember this little girl very well. She felt scared and stupid. Overwhelmed and inadequate. How did she ever manage to turn my life into what it is today?
This picture was taken in her first year at Winchester County High School for Girls. She didn’t think she deserved a place at grammar school. Felt it must have been a fluke. Was convinced she’d be bottom of the class. And a lot of the time, she was. Because she so fervently believed in her lack of ability that it became a self-fulfilling prophesy.
She dreaded French. Was afraid of getting it wrong. Felt ridiculed about not being able to roll her rs . It was better, she decided, to keep schtum rather than look a fool. Be as inconspicuous as possible. Not an easy task when Mme. Leverton could spot a victim from a mile away. Especially one who sat as near to the back of the class as possible (“Rrrrrépète, Catrin!”…”Encore!”… “Encore, encore!”… “Plus fort”).
Maths was a nightmare. Even more of a foreign language than French. When she was put in stream 4 of 5, it was a relief. Surely you wouldn’t have to demonstrate too much genius there. She was wrong. And after having a vase (complete with flowers and water) thrown her way by an angry teacher waiting for an answer, her work deteriorated even further. Her aim was to be demoted to stream 5. There, rumour had it, mad old Colonel Roberts spent his time telling tampon jokes rather than enlightening his girls on algebra and trigonometry.
She had the teachers believing in her stupidity. And marking her accordingly. During her first year, she wrote an essay about Pride and Prejudice. She scribbled it off, to be honest. Thinking it was all pretty self-evident. But her English teacher thought it deserved an A plus. The teacher summoned Catherine one lunchtime and accused her of cheating. Did she have a sister in the sixth form? Had she got this mythical person to write the essay for her? Catherine denied it (she didn’t even have a sister). The teacher thought she was lying and gave her a C minus anyway.
Her reports were a disgrace. Full of “could do better” and “refuses to participate in class”. Or even more demoralising: “Catherine lacks talent in this subject”. They were always a big disappointment to her dad. Frequently he harangued her. Sometimes he blamed the teachers. And stormed up to the school in his lunch break to complain to the deputy head. More humiliation!
As time went on, she began to set her sights low, this schoolgirl. That way, she couldn’t disappoint herself or her dad. So instead of taking 3 A levels, she took 2. Instead of taking up her place at Cardiff University to study English, she went to Oxford Poly and did an HND in catering. And instead of having the guts to go for a career in something like journalism, she became a PA. Always staying safely well within the limits of her capabilities.
Later on, her love of English led her to do an Open University degree. To her surprise, when her first essay came back, the mark was 96%. Like her admittance to County High, she thought it a fluke. But essay after essay was returned with marks in the 90s. So she had to admit that perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps she had some intelligence – in English at least.
When she first set up her freelance writing business, she’d wait in dread for feedback on every piece of work. Always expecting a “could do better”. But they hardly ever came. In fact, most clients came back for more. She began to get job after job working on big brands like Johnnie Walker, Holiday Inn, PepsiCo and IKEA. Flukes? Well, she supposed, they couldn’t all be.
In 2018, when mum died, I found this photo and the school reports amongst her belongings. I put the school reports in an old saucepan, went out onto my balcony and set fire to them. But I kept the photo. She’s not made life easy for me with her fear and self-doubt, this little girl. But she must have had something about her. After all, she made my life what it is today. And actually, now that I look again, perhaps I do see something of myself in her. Energy, drive, positivity and warmth. For all her doubts, she was a lot more amazing than she ever imagined.