Temporal Exploring 101 - Cultural Immersion

II.26 Escape to Wales

As students and staff at St. Albert's kept talking about the Concerned Parents' Initiative and its possible ramifications, Natty was getting more and more thin-skinned and moody. She would explode in anger at the slightest provocation and was prone to pick fights and arguments even with her friends and with her favorite teachers.

"You know, this is so not helping your case," I tried to tell her, but she did not want to hear that.

"Don't you get it, Cathy?" she snapped. "They want to get rid of me, kick me out of this school. What I do or don't do does not make the slightest difference, they just want me out of here. Is that so hard to understand?"

She turned up the volume on her record player. Bob Dylan was singing "It's all over now, baby blue".

Natty had gotten into the habit of withdrawing to our room after classes and playing her rock and folk music records at a high volume. Students would knock on our door to complain, and Natty would argue with them, until finally they alerted a prefect who set us an ultimatum to turn down the volume, or else the record player would be confiscated.

It was, all in all, an awful time, both for Natty and for me. I felt totally helpless, unable to comfort her or to do anything at all to influence the vote on the upcoming School Council meeting.

I talked to Nancy about it, but she was feeling just as awful and helpless as I did.

"My dad is on the School Council, and he will vote against that stupid proposition," Nancy told me. "But, as Barnett pointed out, he carries only one vote."

Thus, our class excursion to Wales created a welcome diversion.

On a late Saturday afternoon, we boarded the small bus that our school had commissioned for this purpose. It was a long drive, taking more than eight hours. Though we took several breaks, all too soon we got bored. To our dismay, Ms Jefferson suggested that we pass the time singing.

Oddly, that turned out to be much more fun than expected. There is something very uplifting and exhilarating about fourteen teenage girls singing in chorus at the top of their lungs "Oh my darling Clementine" and "What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" or "Old McDonald had a farm". From there we progressed to the Beatles and finally, on Natty's suggestion, to Bob Dylan. We gave a very spirited rendition of "The times they are a-changing", if I say so myself.

The notion of us kids being 'beyond the command' of our fathers and mothers appealed to us, naturally. Not just Natty but all of our classmates strongly supported the American civil rights movement. They were expecting some unspecified kind of revolution, both cultural and political, in the near future. Even the four 'rich girls' in our class, Barnett, Lane, Bradford and Mellon, entertained similar opinions. When you are young, being consistent at all times is not very high on your agenda. Which is just as it should be, if you ask me.

It was getting dark already when we reached the outskirts of the Derwain Hills. From there, it was a slow and strenuous trip uphill, along winding, narrow roads, through forests and the occasional small village.

"This is almost like going home," Erin Morgan observed.

The Welsh girl was sitting with her nose pressed against the side window, beaming with happiness.

We were all in high spirits if a bit tired when we finally arrived at our destination, at what appeared to be three quaint little blockhouses scattered over a small clearing on top of a hill.
It was pitch-dark already. As it turned out, all fourteen girls were supposed to sleep in one of the blockhouses. There were only two rooms: a large dorm furnished with bunk beds, and an almost equally large bathroom.