I Scream

I attended the United Nations of Students in my first academic year at Trent Polytechnic, Nottingham, England in 1981. It was the first time I had been away from home for more than a couple of weeks, in a strange location and not really knowing what was ahead of me. My parents dropped me off at an imposing detached house in a leafy suburb of the city not far from the Trent Bridge Cricket Ground. The landlady, Mrs Beacham met me at the door. I stared at the scar on her face for more than a polite or socially acceptable period of time. She stared at the mop haired, flush faced idiot on the doorstep for the duration. That silent introduction set the whole tone for the coming 10 months. The private house, later to be referred to as Maggies, was to be the home from home, in theory, for six strangers who, through a mutual hatred for Mrs Beacham, soon forged a bond of frienship that was to last for, well, 10 months before we all went our separate ways. Nick from Malvern and Rick from Bangor, Northern Ireland were already institutionalised after only a few hours. They sat quietly in the dining room and we nodded and mumbled greetings as we were introduced. My room mate soon arrived, Andy from Grimsby. We probably lived within 10 miles of each other as the crow flies but otherwise worlds apart divided by the River Humber and decades of mutual hatred between North and South Bank dwellers. We were understandably a bit wary of each other.The last arrivals were Elvis and Nasser. Both were overseas students.From Hong Kong, thank you very much, full name Elvis Wah Ho Yung.We hit it off immediately in spite of some initial language difficulties. He spoke perfect English. I didn't.  Nasser was from Syria. It took some time to overcome the tremendous amount of misinformation and ignorance that festered between our respective cultures but friendship and a strong mutual dislike of a common enemy, Maggie, soon won through. That first Sunday teatime was quite a formal gathering at the dining table. Cold meat and salad for the main course, Arctic Roll for dessert. For the first full week of our Bed, Breakfast and Evening Meal boarding we were quite impressed by Maggies efforts. Unfortunately the first week set the pattern for the next 10 months and the menu did not vary at all from a very bland seven day cycle commencing with cold meat, sald and arctic roll on a sunday. I have not touched an arctic roll since. Within a week what we had taken as included in our rent, an easy chair, a view of a TV, tea and coffee making facilities had all been withdrawn. We were not encouraged to stay and chat after our meals and had to retreat to our rooms for any rest or relaxation. There was also a virtual curfew of 10.30pm which severely restricted our ability to live up to expectations as students. I was sure that our rooms were searched during our absence at lectures by Maggie or her boyfriend sidekick for contraband such as biscuits, bread, marmite and crisps. The atmosphere in the house between boarders and Maggie became very unpleasant. We had to do something drastic. We didn't. We just got out of the house as much as we could. This was easy during the daytime with our respective academic courses being largely free but a bit more difficult, moneywise in the evenings and at weekends as this usually involved a local pub crawl and finale at a takeaway.Weekends were the worst particularly if our strength in numbers dwindled so that we were in the minority. Maggie did appear to soften a bit on a one to one approach and although I did not admit it to my peer group, I did spend a saturday afternoon and tea within the inner family sanctum being the only boarder, or guest at the time. I took this as Maggie just being hospitable but later realised that she was attempting to divide and conquer our group. Unhappy as we all were we stayed put through the first term to Christmas and then it was Easter and before long we were sitting our end of first year exams.I think that our resolve to revolt was beaten out of us by the meagre and predictable diet and being on constant edge of searches ,close interrogation and disapproving looks. At the end of our first year we were determined to go on our own for the second year. Our well laid plans for getting a shared house, meticulously plotted during our nights out in the local pubs, in the end came to nothing. Turns out Nick and Rick could not fight their Stockholm Syndrome and ended up in a similar B&B in the same suburb. Andy got a house with other students on his course unable to reconcile the Humber divide. Elvis left the building. Nasser disappeared completely. I managed to find an attic room in a shared house with another mixed group of students , amassed a fantastic stash of food contraband , ate and cooked when I wanted and throughly enjoyed my freedom. It was only this last summer, some 30 years on, that I felt mentally strong enough to drive past Maggies whilst picking up my eldest daughter at the end of her own second year at Trent. I pulled up outside the house. It was monday and bin collection day. As I drove away, disappointed at not glimpsing my nemesis , I ran over a small rectangular box bearing a Walls logo and with an unmistakable picture of an Arctic Roll.