I felt rather out of place with this group, as only one of them was born when Margaret Thatcher came to power, whereas I had already voted in the 1970 General Election before that dark day in 1979 when she became Prime Minister. NB: I didn’t vote for her! My expectation and fear was that this film would sanitise her historical role and leave us feeling sorry for her in her confused state of Alzheimer’s disease. I had read reviews that  she had been portrayed very sympathetically in those autumn years of her life so I steeled myself not to feel any undue compassion.

The film alternates between the present day and flashback throughout and it is the skilful make-up worn by Meryl Streep thet helps the viewer get the chronology correct. From the very start, in her role as the grocer’s daughter, you saw the determination, ambition and sheer bloodymindedness of Margaret Roberts, later Thatcher, in her determination to achieve her political goals.

The portrayal of Margaret Thatcher through her period as Education Secretary and then as Prime Minister was very much as I remembered it –obstinate, insensitive, arrogant and even cruel. It put me very much in mind of a sketch in the vicious satire Spitting Image where she is treating her cabinet to a meal in a restaurant

Waitress: Would you like to order, sir?
Thatcher: Yes. I will have the steak.
Waitress: How would you like it?
Thatcher: Oh, raw, please.
Waitress: And what about the Vegetables?
Thatcher: Oh, they’ll [The Cabinet] have the same as me!

The only thing that caught me out was the scene that portrayed the killing of Airey Neave by a car bomb in the Palace of Westminster. Although the INLA (an Irish terrorist group) claimed responsibility, a Wikipedia article suggests the security services or even the Americans were responsible. I always wondered how the INLA could get into the underground car park at the Housees of Parliament. I remember the incident well and how affected I was at the time, emotions I relived while watching. The film then showed Mrs Thatcher running up the car-park exit ramp seconds later, having just said goodbye to Neave. I suspect that was just poetic licence!

I felt again that same surge of anger that I felt at the time of the events when the film covered probably her most controversial policies during the Miners Strike (1984-85) and the Poll Tax Riots (1990) Seeing again the newsreel scenes of appalling police violence reaffirmed my long-held views of anger and incomprehension of her coldness and brutality.

Ironically, I had always promised myself that if I were ever to meet Margaret Thatcher I would tell her exactly what I thought of her. In fact, I met her on two occasions but both times “on duty” where I was representing another organisation and had a prior obligation directing my conduct. I would not have been discourteous, I would simply have asked her if she was aware of the hurt, damage, pain, distress, hardship, and loss of hope that she had caused to the poorest and most vulnerable people in society. This is probably the closest I’ll ever get to having asked that question.

The portrayal that I struggled with the most in the film was that of Denis Thatcher. He came across as an affable, slightly dotty, harmless old man. The reality is that he was a sharp businessman and from all I have ever heard of him, not a particularly pleasant person to know. There is no doubt that Margaret and Denis had a remarkably close relationship and the film betrayed that well. Meryl Streep’s acting was breathtakingly good and one of the few good things that I can take away from the film that stirred up powerful negative emotions in me.

Answer: About two weeks, but about the same period to bounce back!

In Freshers’ Week I recall being given so much information that I couldn’t recall anything reliably. Subsequently, I learned to survive by becoming part of a group of seven friends, mostly mature students living in towns and villages between Penygroes and Mold. The whole semester I managed to have one of the group to follow to the appropriate seminar room or lecture theatre as I could never remember which room to go to.

I wrestled with complex mathematical calculations of how on earth you could do 200 hours reading for each module, plus lectures, seminars, essays and exams. I was either going to have to give up eating (good idea in my case) or sleep. The next complication is the area-based student nightmare of finding a parking space convenient for the University. You either develop your parking skills for small spaces or settle for a space on Anglesey and walk.

Many things puzzled me in that first semester. Why are lecture theatres either like saunas or cold-stores? How do you get books out of the library for your essays before every title on your list has been taken? Where is a book with the catchy location RC178.A1 C63 2002 to be found and is The Stack some Bangor University pop group?

As the semester wore on those dreaded deadline essays take over your life. We’d all been terrified by the stories of summary executions for the culprits of the heinous crime of plagiarism and of floggings for those who use Wikipedia. In this terrifying atmosphere our word processors agonisingly slowly racked up the word-count to those magical 2000 words. Then suddenly, you’ve somehow reached 2400 and are cutting frantically.

The University email system intrigues me. The bizarrely named Horde turned out to be nothing to do with nomadic Mongol tribes but an email client about as friendly as Simon Cowell at a Jedward tribute dinner. It’s no wonder that students prefer to use their Hotmail accounts. Blackboard, the Uni’s central facility for PowerPoints, manuals and other module information, however, is a really helpful and easy to use resource. Sadly, not all the lecturers think so, with the sad result several don’t use it. In that context, I can’t believe how often I’m asked for my user name and password in the Uni’s computer system. You’d think that once you are in a secure area, once would do. But it won’t. I’ve put in mine hundreds and hundreds of times. Also, should I worry that every time I log in on my laptop to the Bangor web site, my computer screams at me that the Uni has an invalid security certificate?

I got to about week six before I realised that I had to set my pace and my tasks. I know, in the words of Basil Fawlty, that’s a statement of the bleedin’ obvious but that led to much midnight oil to catch up. I couldn’t have managed without the gang, especially Neil, who gave me copies of notes which meant I got essays in on time.

Exams, however, were a different matter. On Saturday 9^th January, two days before the start of the exam fortnight, I was busy reading about Treweryn and Penyberth when I became of someone calling. I went outside to investigate and discovered my wife Christine had fallen and, as it turned out, broken her leg in several places. She was getting furious with Rhosyn, our lovely Welsh Collie, who kept bringing her a ball to throw. Clearly, she needed to see some Lassie films! I called an ambulance that couldn’t get near our house on the snow (we’re 1028 feet on a mountain-side and we were snowed in) so Christine had a dramatic trip in an air ambulance to Ysbyty Gwynedd. It played havoc with my exam schedule and I missed three exams but my tutor and the other lecturers could not have been more sympathetic and helpful.

She’s home now and I have dusted off old cooking skills as well as clothes washing, ironing and cleaning skills as Christine can’t weight bear for three months. Again, the Uni has helped with a car-park pass so I can zoom in and out of lectures and seminars without searching for a parking spot and friends are recording lectures I can’t make.

I attended Serendipity 2 with some trepidation after my disappointing experience last time when I was ignored by students who thought I was too old to be an undergrad. This time it was a delightful event – less crowded, more friendly and easier to speak with people. I stopped to chat at the Chaplaincy stand and one of the Chaplains introduced me to the Catholic Chaplain who amazed me by asking after Christine and told me they knew of her accident and had been praying.

That event summed-up my Bangor experience. I’ve found the people at Bangor University to be a supportive family through my wobbles – my six close friends, my personal tutor, the lecturers, and several other History students. Now, solve the car-parking problem long-term and I’ll be a happy Bangor bunny (until the next essay deadline).

This article flowed in an hour to 892 words. Why can’t essays be that easy?

Hospital’s always an awful experience and Christine managed to convince everyone she was ready to come home. With the help of Robin, who is a doctor friend of ours in A&E who conveniently ended a shift and drove us home in his van, we got Christine home at 6.30pm Friday with the extra help of Robin’s family. Christine has a really heavy, full-leg plaster cast and was told she can’t weight-bear for three months. She has a walking frame to move around slowly.

It’s going to mean major changes at home as she really needs someone to be with her all the time. After one day as a carer, I have a rapidly increasing respect for the heroes who care for relatives full-time. I’m rediscovering my cooking abilities (how long do you cook carrots?) and how to use a washing machine (where does the Persil go? what temperature for sheets?). Thank goodness for Tesco Online! Thank God too for church friends like Robin and for Joy and Roberta who brought meals to start me off.

I don’t know what this means for University. The accident happened at the start of exam week and I missed one exam but got in for another. However, I’ve been able to do little revision and I have two more exams next week. The following week semester two starts and I’m scheduled for nine hours of lectures and seminars each week. They’re aware of the situation and are both understanding and supportive.

Oh, and the twins reference? No, not Christine but when I visited Christine just before her operation, I met Mark, Samantha and Logan at Christine’s bedside. Sam had just come straight from the ante-natal clinic at the hospital to show us the scan photo of the new baby due in July. The surprise to us all (especially Sam) is that she’s expecting twins! There’s never a dull moment in the lives of the Dicken family in Snowdonia.

Loading Christine into the air ambulance

The paramedic who came was great but said we couldn’t get an ambulance up our drive (we’re still snowbound) and called the air ambulance. In less than four minutes from take off she was at Ysbyty Gwynedd!

Since then it’s been a whirlwind! It turns out that Christine’s diagnosis was accurate but only part of the story. It was a very bad break in several places and her knee and tibial plateau (whatever that is) has been damaged as well. She had a CT scan this afternoon and the Consultant Surgeon has decided to do the operation to pin and plate tomorrow as it will be a long job and he wants to be fresh. I’ll drink to that!

In the words of the song, What a difference a day makes. From immersion in University exam revision to hospital visits, running things at Trosgol, trying to keep everyone informed, walk the dog, and worry for Wales. Well I shouldn’t, but I do. I even managed to get lost on a 7 mile journey I’ve done hundreds of times!

One thing I am overwhelmed by is people’s kindness. From friends at Church, University friends, Facebook friends, everyone is universally caring. I can’t think very straight at present and people have spotted needs and come up with specific offers. One friend has taken our Welsh Collie Rhosyn for a few days as she is completely confused by Christine’s absence and I have to shut her in while I am in the hospital. I’ve been inundated with offers of meals – I’m torn between pretending to be a New Man, equally at home in the kitchen and accepting the offers. Actually with my fried brain at present, I think the offers win! Also, a couple of pals, Robin and Paul, have regularly rung up just to check I’m OK.

Thanks to the more than 50 people who have sent good wishes and prayers on Facebook, the 37 people who’ve sent texts and those who’ve rung. I have to say that if ever I’m asked to do one of those vacuous interviews where people list all sorts of things about themselves; when it gets to the question, ‘What is the greatest human attribute?’ – I’ll answer in a heartbeat – kindness.

You see, I came late to the realisation that I have to initiate my work and mustn’t just wait to for it to be assigned. That long list of books we were given is there for a reason. So, about six weeks into the semester I realised that the majority of my knowledge was going to come with what I read myself and make notes on. Only a relatively small amount was going to come via lectures and seminars. I’m sure to most people that would be, as Basil Fawlty elegantly put it, a statement of the “bleedin’ obvious”. However, I’ve done two more essays since then with encouraging marks resulting so it looks like I’ve got the idea at last.

These Christmas ‘holidays’ have been anything but. Apart from enjoying some family time (and our new HD tv) I’ve been working on the world’s most tedious essay about why Britain industrialised earlier than Germany. I should be doing the finishing touches now, but any distraction is welcome. All that’s left is an essay about Charles V, a Welsh assignment and revision for four exams starting in 8 days.  Take me now, Lord!

View of Moel Eilio from our living room on Christmas day

We’ve been a bit distracted by the snow up here at Trosgol – not that deep, but our drive became an impassible glassy slope which necessitated a commando raid on a roadside grit bin.

I’ve been reflecting on some of the blogs and Facebook updates I’ve seen and the general concensus seems to be negative about 2009. I can’t say I share that view and I’m optimistic about 2010 as well. I’m aware that I’m an incurable optimist but I’ve made six loopy, caring, space-cadet, supportive friends who are on the same courses at Bangor and they’ve taught me a lot. I’m loooking forward to Father Josh’s stories of a more eventful life of 20 years than mine of three times that number. I miss winding up Gary – mind you, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel. Quiet Joe’s radical politics stir me up; Rhonwen’s patience with me as I ask for yet another phrase in Welsh; Jen who gets so worked up about things and finally Neil Messerschmitt who pretends to be a Yid Army (Spurs supporters) hooligan hard man, but in reality is a completely kind softy (with an infinite capacity for beer). Incidentally, he had a tattoo of a verse from Psalm 23 in Welsh a week or so before Christmas – how cool is that!

I’ve decided on a New Year resolution: at least two blogs per month. We’ll see.

Summer of love

In one lecture, we talked about the student riots in France of May 1968 led by Daniel Cohn-Bendit. I was detained by French police in Calais that month for three hours for some reason I never quite understood. The only thing I had in common with Cohn-Bendit was fiery red hair!

'Cofiwch Dreweryn' ('Remember Treweryn') Graffiti on A487 near Aberystwyth

The Aberfan slag heap collapsed on the school

Dinorwig quarry

The common thread in all these rather depressing incidents is the arrogance, insensitivity and poor response of officialdom in situations in which they did evrything wrongly. Unlike many people, I become more left-wing every passing day!

So the 1960s weren’t as wonderful as I remember them. But I’m glad I lived through them and can say, ‘I was there!’

Finally, I have entered real student life and went out drinking with the gang after a late lecture which finished at 6pm. Actually, we went to Wetherspoons for curry night and several of us left at 9.30.

Neil Messerschmidt Mortiboys (don't ask)

Over the weekend I was congratulating myself and feeling I was in control of my life again. By Monday I was cruelly disabused of that illusion when I realised I had to submit a fully referenced bibliography the following day for an essay for which I had not even chosen a title.

I’m now back to rapid cycling between happiness, panic, optimism, despair, bewilderment, confidence, exhaustion, denial and deep satisfaction. It’s sort of bipolar disease on speed. Apparently that’s normal student life for those who aren’t normally stoned/drunk/hung-over and can’t feel pain anyway!

Father Josh (note book on Catholic priesthood and Bible)

The Rebecca Riots

The best part is the friends I have made already. Somehow, eight of us have teamed up as an unusual group of good friends. All but one of us live outside Bangor in the area between Holyhead, Penygroes and Mold and one in Halls in the Catholic chaplaincy. At the risk of ruining everything we’ve built so far, here’s a little about each of them. Josh – the one in the chaplaincy – explains that he’s there primarily because the priest gives out free beer and sandwiches at the social evenings. His biggest concern is if he can recall the words of a ‘Hail Mary’ if called upon. He is one of the four ‘economy-size’ blokes in our group (yes, I’m another one). We’re all the right weight, just several inches shorter than we should be. Neil, who has the amazing middle name Messerschmitt on Facebook, is a computer whizz who keeps us all in stitches. Then there’s Gareth. What can I say about Gareth that won’t involve me in a libel suit? Well, he cheats at Scrabble – you wouldn’t believe the words he uses. If you ever feel you need an opinion on anything, well Gareth will have one! ‘Larger than life’ is somehow a pale and inadequate description. Completing the male contingent, the fourth man is not Anthony Blunt but Joe. The quietest of all of us, he has passionate political views and often just smiles as the rest of us put the world to rights with passion.

Three women complete our group. Lesley, who is a near neighbour of mine, shares my problems of holding two lives in tension. Hers is a busy farm life and she’s questioning whether she can do both farm and university. We’re all trying to encourage her as none of us want to see her leave. I’m trying not to let the fact I get the odd lift home from Lesley affect my judgement! Rhonwen is a first-language Welsh speaker and helps me with my Welsh module – actually, not that much yet, but I’ll be calling on her more. She and Jen, the final member of the group have been a real surprise to me. They both look like whatever the female equivalent to ‘mild-mannered Clark Kent’ but the reality is very different. A hundred years ago they would have been up there with Emily Pankhurst and the Suffragettes fighting. Jen was the first to draft a stinging letter of complaint to the Estates Department, followed by Rhonwen, concerning the completely useless so called ‘parking arrangements’ for students. I was only sorry that we don’t have the facility to do Harry Potter type ‘howlers’, which is really what was called for. They are two feisty ladies!

I’ve been so impressed by the kindness shown to one another in the group (sometimes heavily disguised in the case of some of the lads) as each of us has had the pressures of ordinary life and university life together. In fact, I hit the wall on Wednesday and went down with a bug half way through the day and went to bed with a 38.4deg temperature after throwing up. One the third day I rose again (not the most famous resurrection in history, I know) but all the gang showed concern and sent supportive emails, Rhonwen offering to take notes for me.

That was in marked contrast to my university lecturers who chose to ignore my emails of apology that I would be unable to attend their lecture. We were told to do this with dire consequences if we failed to show for a lecture without having sent apologies. I sent four emails (four lectures and seminars that day) and not one had an acknowledgement. Would it have hurt them to hit the ‘reply’ button and typed ‘Thanks for letting me know’? Just forget, ‘I hope you are better soon’. All I got was a threat from one lecturer who said I failed to show up at her seminar and would get a yellow card next time. So much for Bangor University’s supporting culture.

So, Rebecca Riots? Well, that’s my essay due two weeks today. I can hear ‘Rebecca, Scotch Cattle and the Chartist Movement’ calling me, ‘Amser gweithio prifysgol’. Blogging is far more fun.

Rob Merchant said,  You’ll be fine. It takes students the first 3-4 weeks to get into the swing of things. By Christmas you’ll feel like an old hand, and by your second year you’ll be wondering what all the fuss was about.

Jane Templeman said, I remember that feeling. I just kept thinking that if they left me alone for just a while I could actually finish a task but instead all these things appeared on my timetable!

I think the skill is not to take it all too seriously. Missing the odd thing is not fatal at this stage, you can always borrow notes. However tiredness is the enemy to be guarded against because with it quickly comes unrealistic discouragement.

Wise words and really helpful to me. One of my anxieties was related to being an older mature student, living off campus and the possibility of not having any sense of being part of university life. The reality is happily very different. I’ve become part of a group, most of whom are mature students living off-campus like me, but all in their 20s. Next week four of us are getting together to plan our first major essay.

I suppose I’ve only done two weeks in my degree so feeling better this weekend is definitely progress!

Two of the four lectures were in a room that was too small (six students had no seats), with a non-working projector. I trust this chaos is purely timetable teething problems but we will see next week when seminars start. It was an exhausting week!

It’s going to be hard getting in to the practice of note-taking and I’m terrified about finding and reading the interminable list of books. One module asked for 11 hours lectures, 11 semininars/workshops and 175 hours of reading. Multiply that by four, add the Welsh lesson homework and I obviously have to give up sleeping. So how do students find all this drinking time I keep hearing about?

I do want to join some social activities but as I always have to drive, my options are restricted due to most society activity involving alcohol. The Welsh Learners’ Society was a big disappointment as they are all complete beginners. I was hoping to fnd people at a similar, or more advanced level, for conversational practice.

I do plan to talk about what I’m actually learning in my blogs but this week at Bangor has been largely administration. My abiding memory will be the warnings about the dire consequences of plagiarism and the ability of the University to spot it at 50 paces. All essays must be submitted electronically and they are crunched through software called MaeBrawrMawrSpioChi.com (BigBrotherIsWatchingYou.com).

Dolbardarn Castle

However, the ‘Images of Wales’ module was great. One example was how Wales was seen up to about the 16th century as wild and untamed, so too its people were similarly portrayed as savages. Through contemporary art the lecturer showed how that image softened and matured. When Turner painted Dolbardarn Castle, Llanberis in 1802, the image was very dramatic. It’s a bit gentler now. The spot from which Turner painted his masterpiece is now a car-park and the background is now the terraces of Dinorwig quarry. Looking forward to next weeks’ Images of Wales lecture.