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» The Fossil
INTO THE LIGHT
The Frome Fossil
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Another grim day on the road. I stood at the garbage-strewn verge in the middle of nowhere, thumb out, while herds of camions thundered by, followed by yet more vans made of corrugated iron. The odd tractor and motorbike. Then nothing for forty minutes. The tarmac stretched desolately away in both directions. So did the heavy clouds. At last I saw a car approaching with a loud buzz and a slow drunken lurch. It was that Gallic icon of the 1960s, a Deux Chevaux. Out went the thumb again. The driver, wearing a beret and a supercilious smirk, swept past without looking at me.
This summed up my life at the time. My school career had nose-dived, with such dire A-level results that no university would look at me either. In desperation, I had set off to hitch hike – solo - across France and Italy with seventy pounds in my pocket. You’ve probably spotted the two howling flaws in my scheme, contained in the words “solo” and “France”. Solitude, I found, was much overrated, especially when you spend days by dual carriageways and nights in hedges or dreary hostels. And then there were the French – not exactly a warm and welcoming bunch, as far as I could see.
After a month I reached the Mediterranean. Yet even sunshine and azure seas couldn’t shake me out of my misery. Was it me, or France? The lifts dried up, and I took trains instead, using more of my fast-vanishing money. I moped through Marseilles and Nice and Frejus, wondering whether it was all a dreadful mistake. Should I just admit I was a complete idiot, and go home? But next day I shouldered my pack and boarded the 9.30 to Genoa anyway. The skies were as louring, the railway staff as surly, my prospects as bleak as ever. Gloomily, I watched the last of France slip away. Then we crossed the border and the train squealed to a halt. Immediately everything changed. The sun came out. The air lightened. Doors swung and banged as French officials got off and Italian ones got on. Now the train seethed with squat men in showy uniforms, shouting and gesticulating and rushing about. Joy seemed to flood out of them. I sat up. A policeman, armed like a brigand, examined my passport. An inspector flamboyantly checked my ticket. We were in Italy, and the world was vibrantly alive again.
ALL HALLOWS
Preparatory School- children aged 3 - 13
Set in a stunning location, just 15 minutes from Frome, All Hallows is a day and boarding prep school for children aged 3 to 13.
A creative and dynamic curriculum, with our pupils’ happiness and well-being at the heart of all decision-making, is producing outstanding results.
An independent school where children move on to their chosen senior school confident in who they are and ready to make the most of the opportunities that lie ahead.
www.allhallowsschool.co.uk
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