WH 1981 – 1984 (Boarder)
I couldn’t wait to get to Woodford House. My sister, Sarah, had loved her time there and, more importantly, I was just itching to get my hands on that maroon Adidas tracksuit. I had done a lot of gymnastics growing up and an Adidas track suit was never going to be a part of my wardrobe – until I went to Woodford House.
As my friendships grew and the status of the tracksuit settled, I became accustomed to boarding school life and everything associated: Sunday morning boiled eggs, prep, cheesecake with a base so hard that it made the dining room sound like a construction site, Thursday fruit order, midnight feasts, the anticipation of mail, the adored Newmans bus that took you home at the beginning of holidays, friends scattered across the island who you got to visit, cherished Sundays out, the dreaded Newmans bus that returned you at the end of holidays, the school play and swimming sports (where one year my father managed to jerry-rig a portable television to the car’s cigarette lighter in order to watch the cricket, significantly lowering the number of fathers who may have otherwise watched their daughters compete. My mother didn’t approve but my father was so pleased with himself).
Thirty years on, I adore these memories– as I do the very same friends who are associated with them. For that, I will always count myself so incredibly lucky and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Not even my love for that maroon tracksuit.