School Visits
During my secondary school days, in the 1980s, we had two celebrity visitors.
The first was Margaret Thatcher. I remember the buzz of excitement in the school in the days leading up to her visit. The Prime Minister was coming to our school! In little old Newbury. My mother and father thought Maggie was wonderful – I thought her terrifying. I saw her as this stern, authoritarian woman with hair that refused to move even in a stiff wind.
I have no idea why she was coming to the school. All I knew was that the whole school had to be present, which meant we would have to stand outside in the ‘quad’, because we couldn’t all be squashed into the assembly hall. I hated standing in the quad. It was usually freezing cold, pouring with rain or blisteringly hot. There was never a happy medium. Though, I seem to remember the weather behaving for Maggie. It didn’t dare do otherwise.
After all the furore of her impending visit, the time she spent with us was fleeting. I can recall all of us jostling from side to side, eager for a glimpse of the Iron Lady. I can’t remember a word of what she said, but I did see her – well, the top of that formidable hair anyway.
The second celebrity was Bruce Parker. My parents were always BBC rather ITV, so I grew up watching Bruce anchor South Today, a BBC regional news programme. He was also the first ever host of Antiques Roadshow (another of my parents’ staples), together with antiques expert, Arthur Negus.
There’s a familiar pattern emerging here because I don’t know why Bruce came to the school. It must have been for a news story relating to St. Bart’s, as it’s affectionately known, but the electric vibe that filled the air when Maggie came was exactly the same. I don’t think it mattered who the celebrity was; in those days, the closest we came to anyone famous was watching them on TV or seeing them in newspapers and magazines. It was a huge event for us.
But, unlike Maggie Thatcher, Bruce Parker spoke to me.
I always had a packed lunch for dinner but, on that particular day, I decided to have school dinners. Perhaps in my excitement, I’d forgotten to pack my lunch. I was a fussy eater as a child and so all I ended up with was a plate of chips and Ketchup.
I can recall looking for somewhere to sit. Most of the tables were taken. Then one became free and my friend and I made a quick beeline for it. We sat down and there was a hush, followed by a few giggles, as Bruce Parker walked into the canteen with the headmaster. Everyone in the room watched as he chose his lunch. I can’t remember what he had exactly, but I’m sure he chose something healthy. We all looked away and pretended we hadn’t been gawping at him, when he swung round, looking for somewhere to sit. My heart started to thud – he was headed our way.
“Is it all right if I sit here?” he asked, sliding his tray onto the table.
I wasn’t able to speak, so I just nodded. I hope my jaw wasn’t dangling open, but I think it might have been.
“I wish I’d chosen chips,” he said, “they look really nice.”
I regained enough control of my voice to squeak, “They are.” I may even have managed a smile.
The headmaster then joined him and they were soon engrossed in conversation. When I finished my chips and stood up to leave, I wondered if he’d turn my way and smile. I felt foolish for expecting him to, but he did. A true gent.
I can’t say Maggie Thatcher or Bruce Parker visiting my school made a big difference to my life. But, after her visit, I did go out and buy a stronger hairspray with the aim of securing my hair in place like Maggie’s. And I’m still rather partial to a plate of chips and Ketchup.
Esther Chilton 
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