Parting is such sweet sorrow - so said Romeo, but what did he know?
And so the goodbyes begin.
It's a funny thing, uprooting yourself from a life that is well-established. After a childhood spent bouncing around countries and boarding schools, when I moved to Bristol in 2002 (to do my PGCE) I found the prospect of putting down roots both scary and at the same time boring. I stayed in Bristol partly because I liked it but mostly because I felt it was where God was calling me to be, for reasons that I didn't really get when I was champing at the bit to teach in New Zealand or America or wherever. 9 years down the line I realise what a blessing it has been to really bed down in a place, form deep and lasting relationships and actually belong to a community for once. Whilst I'm indescribably excited about my next move, the litany of goodbyes is taking its toll on my tear ducts. This was true of my formal 'farewell' at Hope Church, it was true of my various early leaving parties but it was especially true of my farewell to Henbury School.
I'm not much of a Dickens fan but looking back over my (nearly) 8 years of teaching at Henbury I find that the opener from A Tale of Two Cities sums it up well: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair..." My first year of teaching at Henbury was, without a doubt, the worst of my life but after two years in a crumbling old 50s comprehensive block, in 2005 we moved into a shiny new building and I never looked back. The photo above shows my classroom for 6 years and in this room I have: taught many wonderful (and some 'character-building') students; giggled and moaned with some brilliant colleagues and fantastic professionals; shouted a lot, argued a lot and laughed a lot; eaten breakfast in tutor time or lesson 1, to the great irritation of all my students; and, finally, earned several nick-names (Brunzilla being my particular favourite) and a reputation as being a bit of a hard case. It was my first proper job out of university and I've never really known any other workplace. I held it together for most of the last day of term until I got back to my classroom, on my own, looked around it, cast my mind back down memory lane and burst into tears.
Saying goodbye to the school where in so many ways I grew up as a teacher (still a lot of growing to do of course, that's the beauty of education) was not easy. I shall miss the students, who are a peculiar, delightful, infuriating and very special bunch of kids. I shall miss my colleagues or comrades-in-arms rather, as teaching in the inner city is bloody difficult and you need a bit of Blitz spirit to get you through. I haven't started the goodbyes with my family and friends yet, though with just under 4 weeks to go I am about to set off on what I'm rather grandiosely calling my 'farewell tour'.
Thinking about it though, the good thing is that once you put down roots, both with places and with people, you can move your body but there's still a bit of you connected.
It's a funny thing, uprooting yourself from a life that is well-established. After a childhood spent bouncing around countries and boarding schools, when I moved to Bristol in 2002 (to do my PGCE) I found the prospect of putting down roots both scary and at the same time boring. I stayed in Bristol partly because I liked it but mostly because I felt it was where God was calling me to be, for reasons that I didn't really get when I was champing at the bit to teach in New Zealand or America or wherever. 9 years down the line I realise what a blessing it has been to really bed down in a place, form deep and lasting relationships and actually belong to a community for once. Whilst I'm indescribably excited about my next move, the litany of goodbyes is taking its toll on my tear ducts. This was true of my formal 'farewell' at Hope Church, it was true of my various early leaving parties but it was especially true of my farewell to Henbury School.
G22 - Brunskill's classroom
Henbury in the snow, 2009
Green corridor - my windows are (were?) the third set from the right
Green corridor - my windows are (were?) the third set from the right
Saying goodbye to the school where in so many ways I grew up as a teacher (still a lot of growing to do of course, that's the beauty of education) was not easy. I shall miss the students, who are a peculiar, delightful, infuriating and very special bunch of kids. I shall miss my colleagues or comrades-in-arms rather, as teaching in the inner city is bloody difficult and you need a bit of Blitz spirit to get you through. I haven't started the goodbyes with my family and friends yet, though with just under 4 weeks to go I am about to set off on what I'm rather grandiosely calling my 'farewell tour'.
Thinking about it though, the good thing is that once you put down roots, both with places and with people, you can move your body but there's still a bit of you connected.
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