Lowewood Academy

Joe Three held court in our room, with final bottles of booze he’d kept after handing over the whole stash to Charlie Ballincrea. He’d invited mostly girls, but boyfriends tagged along, and it all turned into an impromptu cocktail party.

“Isn’t it bizarre,” said Claudia. “Next time we sit at a desk, it’ll be at Uni, as freshers.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Mary Blake. “I’m doing a summer course, otherwise Dad wouldn’t pay for a single bedroom in the halls.”

There were sympathetic moans.

“Do they have desks at Uni?” asked Merlin. “Or are they more like tables?”

Nobody knew for sure.

“I don’t know how some people will manage as freshers, having lorded it over us mere mortals,” said Faye Dennington-Glass, grinning at Alex.

“Watch it,” he growled uselessly, completely relaxed as Pippa was giving him a shoulder rub.

Lydia and I squeezed each other’s hands in silent conversation. “Let’s go,” she mouthed.

Read the rest of this entry »

Oh, to be at Lowewood
Now that summer’s there,
And whoever wakes in Lowewood
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the youngest girls, once green from home,
Have sprung up through the years; have grown,
And soon will from that nest have flown
From Lowewood - now!

I lay in the grass on the banks of the Lowe, racquet and bag discarded beside me, and thought back to Pippa’s words from English that morning.  With all due tribute and respect to Robert Browning, her composition had captured a lot of the feelings we were all sharing now, as we entered our final days here.  It had left me in an unusually contemplative mood.

Mr Croft’s last assignment for his upper sixth class had been to write something which summed up our time at Lowewood or captured our memories of school in some way.  I am nowhere near creative enough to do more than a straight recollection piece.  But Pippa’s verse, read out in her clear, evocative style, had touched a chord with many of us. 

Suddenly everything had become so final; everything was about to change – both good and bad.  After all these years, I was doing things this week which I would never do again.  My last chemistry lesson…German…maths… No more uniform inspections or medicals or Saturday detentions – either suffering or supervising them!  No more school assemblies or trips, roomshares or pranks.  I’d be able to drink or smoke whenever I wanted to!  I had taken part in my final sporting event representing Lowewood Academy – and thankfully won it.  These last few months, during which I’d had the privilege of being Deputy Games Captain, were almost over.

In a few days’ time, I would never again be subject to a regime involving corporal punishment.

Read the rest of this entry »

There is something particularly poignant about the realisation that you are doing something for the last time.  I felt almost reverential as I got my kit ready for the National Athletics Championships - threading new laces in my trainers, folding my freshly laundered trackies and hoodie and laying out my energy gels, Lucozade powder, sun cream, Lowewood headband and all the other paraphernalia associated with racing.  It was a routine that had to some extent dictated my life for the last couple of years as I’d got stronger and faster and the array of medals hanging off the bookshelf had steadily grown.  My running vest hung in front of the window, purple with purple and yellow trimmings with the Lowewood crest on the front and ‘FIRST TEAM’ emblazoned on the back in capital letters.  I couldn’t believe that it was two years since my first appearance in the firsts at this same race two years ago, though I could remember just how nervous I’d felt.  I’d finished fourth in the final and just missed out on a medal, which wasn’t bad for a fifteen year old.  Last year I’d won silver but this year I badly wanted the win, it was probably my last chance.

The problem with running is that it’s not inherently a team sport.  Unlike rowing or hockey where you all have to work together the responsibility for victory or defeat lies solely upon your own shoulders.  Winning comes at a price and it’s your decision whether or not to pay it.  The cost is taken in hours of training, breaking defeats, sweat, torn muscles, tears and early nights.  I’d done my best to measure up but wouldn’t know until I was out there on the track whether or not I’d done enough.  No one could say that I hadn’t tried; this year had been a chronicle of early morning runs, rushed lunchtime sprints and late night training sessions to fit in enough running around the pressures of hockey, rowing, music and school.  My average day saw me training twice, on a good day three times – I couldn’t have done any more, not that it made me feel much better.

Read the rest of this entry »