annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary

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Voodoo Child

In my therapy, for my box of soothing stuff, I've been invited to write out some happy memories and then by sheer happenstance, I was given lots of spooky song titles in my writing group including Voodoo Child. This is the memory I wrote about:

1990s. My classroom, last lesson of the day, late November. Heavy grey sky, rain beating down against the window. Lights on. A Year 10 class, set 2, a group I like. We bonded at the beginning when I read their introductory letters to me and discovered that out of 33 of us, only 2 were still living with both their biological parents (and my kids weren’t either). So I got them writing about families, anything they liked and we published a booklet. Today they’re due to be finishing up neat final (handwritten) versions of a coursework piece. There’s 32 of them, 2 to a table, 4 rows of 4, coats and bags piled up on the floor in between. Full house. Steamy windows, the smell of fags wafting over from Jodie and Leanne, as ever.
Last lesson we’d talked about Jimi Hendrix for reasons I now can’t imagine and some, most perhaps, had never heard of him. Appalled, I made a cassette. Today, if they got their work out and started to settle down, we could have Jimi on in the background while they worked – they couldn’t do silence – it scared a lot of them. OK, all good. I press play. A bit of scratch then that guitar – wah wah wawawa waaaa wah wah – ooh goosebumps every time. Some of the boys were electrified – oh miss, play that bit again but LOUDER, please miss, we’ll be good. So I do, loving their enthusiasm, loving being able to bring this magic to them. I quickly tell the story of how I slept through most of Hendrix’s set at the Isle of Wight in 1970, then it’s time to settle down.
I go to my desk at the back of the room and open some marking. Jimi plays softly, Y10 write their coursework up like little angels, the rain lashes down, and the wind cries Mary.

And here it is: Voodoo Child

11:35 p.m. - 07.07.21

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