Great Expectations: a brief case history
A chance encounter with a briefcase in Llanelli prompts Oli Usher to recall her west London schooldays
Someone once said that schooldays are ‘the best days of our lives.’ Whether or not this is true, there is no doubt that they leave an indelible trace along each of our pathways through life. Usually, I wouldn’t give this a second thought, but a recent encounter brought memories flooding back. Â
For the past nine years I have been part of the community in Llanelli, although I have lived in Wales since 1987. The activities I have chosen to participate in since retirement have been centred on the old Zion chapel near the Theatr Ffwrnes. The People Speak Up (PSU) charity runs an Over 50s and art club that I frequent, plus I am a member of the PSU choir. I have also taken part in various workshops.Â
I first visited Wales as a teenager, when as part of the O-Level Geography course I was required to pay a field trip visit to Snowdonia. There I saw the U-shaped and hanging valleys of the textbook in all their breathtaking glory. Betws-y-Coed and the beautiful waterfalls at Fairy Glen stayed with me until revisited as an adult. Little did I know then that Wales would become home to me and my own little family from the late 1980s until present day. Â
Now in my sixties, I am married to a Welshman and look back on having raised my own children in Wales, mostly in rural Ceredigion. Although my grown-up children now live in Scotland and in England, both completed their schooling up to the age of eighteen in Wales. Â
By way of contrast, I was raised in city life. My mother and father, from Cyprus and Eire respectively, came to London in the late 1950s – mainly for work. I think uppermost in their minds was giving myself and my younger sibling a better start in life than they had experienced themselves. Â
And that was how, in the late spring of 1970, I sat the 11+ exam, and by the summer of that same year my parents received a letter confirming that I had been accepted at the local west London all girls’ grammar school. My parents were incredibly pleased with this outcome but as a child sadly lacking in self-confidence, for me this announcement was a dual-edged sword. I felt excited but very apprehensive at the same time. My parents undoubtedly had high hopes for me. Â
But however momentous it might have been in determining my path in life, I had never given that particular life event a second thought until one cold but sunny January morning when I joined a group visiting a local chapel in Llanelli town centre.Â
 Although I have lived in Llanelli for some years now and have become aware of the various chapels in and around town, I had no knowledge of the one we were to visit that morning in Inkerman Street. Â
Wandering around the Ebenezer chapel, stacked to the rafters with unwanted (although not necessarily unloved) items, I came across a dusty briefcase exactly like the one I was given as a child starting grammar school. Having achieved the reward of being offered a place, my parents now had to provide the very expensive trappings of this learning facility. Knowing my parents were not wealthy, I had hoped I would not stand out from the other pupils and was pleased when all the required elements of the uniform were laid out on my bed one afternoon. Â
I recall that these items could only be purchased in one shop, a bus trip away from my home. Aside from the basic uniform – navy-blue blazer and skirt, pale blue striped shirt, tie and tie pin – also required were a lab coat and PE Kit. Not required was the briefcase, which my parents bought from an expensive leather goods shop on Shepherds Bush Green. It came emblazoned with my initials, set in gold against the deep brown leather. I didn’t have just two initials, but four in total – all of which graced this elaborate item which spoke volumes about my parents’ pride.    Â
I remember the start of that first day at school as clearly as if it were yesterday. On arrival at the classroom, I stood blinking in the hushed sunlit doorway looking at the sea of faces of already seated pupils. Only the hum of the traffic outside intruded as I stood there. I spotted the last desk and chair to be filled, which of course was mine. Â
I do not remember a good deal of the remainder of the day, but at morning break along with the briefcase I went hunting for the one other pupil (in the 500 strong throng) I knew who had gone up with me from primary school – unfortunately she had been placed in a different class. Â
She had a new satchel and as I watched the other children passing by, I discovered to my horror that I appeared to be the only girl in my year to be Iugging around a briefcase. When I think of it now I laugh, but at the time I was truly mortified by this situation. I must have been such an ungrateful gal back in the day! To this day I cannot recall exactly what happened to the briefcase, but I can only imagine that it came to a horrible end. Â
When I was in my teens, I met my partner – who was born in Wales but whose parents had also come to London in search of work in the early 1960s. We married in 1978 and when our children were aged seven and four, we gave up our life in the city for the beauty and slower pace of life in rural Wales.Â
When taking part in the visit to that chapel in Inkerman Street and on seeing that briefcase the powerful memories aligned with my first day at grammar school were exposed once again. This time I was able to cast a lighthearted eye over that day as a mature and somewhat mellow adult.Â
In the early nineties I resumed studies at the University of Wales as a nursing student. On this occasion it’s worth mentioning that there was not a briefcase in sight!