Forged with Flames by Ann Fogarty, Anne Crawford Page B

were from towns around Burnley and mostly travelled to college by bus as I did. On our first day we were separated into two groups of twelve. One group was to attend college and learn theory, while the other group went to a nursery school for practical experience for a week, then we’d swap. We all stood around, eager to start the year, excited at the newness of it all, glancing around to check out the girls we’d spend the next two years with. The classes were mainly about child care though we did have an outside teacher who taught us drama and another one who taught us cookery. I was delighted that my best friend from school, Brenda, got into the college too, only to be dismayed when she was allocated to the other group. I met another girl called Julia, though, and we teamed up as chums pretty quickly. Julia was extremely outgoing. She had a mop of short, thick curly black hair and sparkling blue eyes, an infectious smile and a puckish sense of humour. She was heavier set than me, had an accent straight out of Yorkshire and always wore slip-on Dr Scholl sandals, popular as a comfortable alternative to conventionalshoes at the time. She stood out, too, because she had a little motorbike that she rode to college—a pretty daring form of transport then for a girl. One afternoon after college, she came home with me and I had the thrill of riding on the back of her bike, a wonderfully scary and liberating experience.
    If I thought I was going to leave my problems behind when I went to college, though, I was sadly mistaken. With such a small number of us, there was even less chance of ‘hiding’ than there had been at school. I kept hoping that everything would change, that one day I’d just walk in and mingle normally with the others, but it just kept getting harder. Lunchtime was particularly trying because we’d all have to sit down together to a prepared main meal, as we had done at school. Our teachers ate with us and I would invariably lose the power of speech if one of them happened to be on our table. The dining-room was small, with only one means of escape—a little annex where there was one table for the overflow, just enough room to sit quietly with a couple of friends. My stress levels would start to climb if we came in and I’d see that another group of friends had claimed it.
    Most of the other students had boyfriends which sidelined me from the discussion at the dinner table. This suited me fine; I could just sit and listen without needing to make conversation myself. One of the older students who used to catch the same bus confided that she was in love with an African man which was not considered acceptable then by many families. Her parents had forbidden her to see the man, worrying about what the rest of the family and the neighbours would think.
    Life at home was pretty much the same as it had been during my final years at school. My parents bought a caravan andI’d sometimes spend a weekend away with them. Of course, being in a confined space with Dad meant we all had to be sensible and well-behaved at all times as he didn’t tolerate any messing around. The caravan was kept in a caravan park near Grassington, a gorgeous little village with a cobbled main street, in the Yorkshire Dales. Mum, Jill and I would often walk into Grassington, letting off steam and being silly. On rainy days, the whole family played cards games together, which Dad nearly always won. Despite my competitive streak, I didn’t mind because I was so pleased that he actually played with us.
    During this first year of college, I kept fit by joining a local badminton team, competing at nights and on Saturdays, while finding time to still enjoy my solitary wanders with Tammy. My childhood friend, Glenys, asked me to be one of her bridesmaids when she became engaged, even though we’d moved in different directions and didn’t see as much of each other as we used to. I spent a number of