My granddaughter, Emily, and I were riding our horses down a beautiful dirt road that crosses a meandering creek seven times in a span of three miles. Riding with Emily is a special time when we enjoy our environs and share with each other what is, or was going on, in our lives. Emily is a junior in high school, and I was asking her about how her schooling was going during this insidious pandemic. She explained to me the challenges of virtual learning and speculated when she and everyone else might be able to return to in-class learning. I, in turn, launched into the very different story of my junior and senior years of high school, or prep school, as it were, at Gunston from 1963 to 1965. You never know if your grandchildren will be interested in your past experiences, but Emily sure was, this time at least.
In the mid-nineteen sixties, it was in vogue for college professors’ children to be sent off to a prep or “finishing’ school for their last two years of high school. I grew up in Lexington, Virginia, where two colleges exist virtually side by side - Washington and Lee University, and the Virginia Military Institute. My father was a professor at Washington and Lee and most of my friends had parents with one or the other of the colleges. So, after our sophomore year, many of us went off to school, a phenomenon that is perhaps not so much in use today.
Gunston was the school that my parents chose for me, and they couldn’t have picked a more suitable school. I will never forget my first visit to Gunston. The headmistress, Ms. Mary Middleton, known to all as Aunt Mary, greeted us at the front door of a huge old and architecturally interesting building which served as her home and as housing for around 15 members of the student body. We sat in the parlor, whereupon Aunt Mary offered my parents a glass of sherry and then turned to me to ask if I would like a glass. I was flabbergasted, as well as amused, and quickly said no thank you. While the three adults were sipping sherry, I was interviewed and accepted to the school, all in a matter of minutes. That was it. I was to return in the fall of 1963.
Upon my arrival that fall, I learned that Aunt Mary’s health was in serious decline. She was pretty much bedridden. My room with two others, Mary and Libba, was right across the hall from Aunt Mary’s room, and we ended up sort of taking care of her. There were many times when I cooked her supper, gave her sponge baths, and ran little errands for her. Other than a house mother and a few teachers who lived on campus, we, all of the students, were pretty much on our own. Looking back on it I am amazed that we didn’t take advantage of so little supervision. We followed the rules and went to our classes and meals like clockwork.
The main physical education the school offered was riding –the very reason I was so eager to attend. Our riding instructor was an English woman named Penelope Ord. She, and all of us who rode, took care of twenty some horses. We mucked their stalls, fed them, cleaned the tack, and all the rest that goes along with caring for horses. We showed competitively with surrounding schools, and we fox hunted. I was in horse heaven. We were even taken to the Madison Square Garden Horse show each year!
One particular memory I have while caring for the horses, was the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. A few of us were in the barn cleaning stalls with the radio blaring as we happily worked away, when the radio paused and then announced that Kennedy had been shot and killed. There was an immediate, profound silence that I have never experienced or heard since. The horses even stopped munching their hay upon hearing this horrific news. We were literally traumatized for what seemed the longest time. So, that’s where I was when JFK was killed.
Our teachers and house mothers were all good people. Good to us students and good teachers. In particular I remember a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kling, who taught math and science. For some reason the Klings took an extra liking to me and two of my buddies, Libba and Lisa. Quite often they would have us over for dinner which meant a great deal to us. Our house mother, a tall stately woman, whose name was Ms. Brunhida, or was that her dog’s name? I am not sure. But she would invite some of us into her suite for tea in the afternoons. We loved this opportunity because she let us smoke! Sometimes our French teacher, who was also British, would join us. She smoked a pipe and even converted some of us to her way of tobacco use. Can you imagine? Those were different times, for sure. Ms. Brunhilda, if that was her name, taught me something that still serves me well. My room was often a little messy, and one day she said to me that a messy, disorganized living space would mean a messy and disorganized life. I believe she was right!
Our senior year, the class of 1965, was definitely not the same as our junior year. For one, Aunt Mary died and was replaced by a new headmistress who wasn’t amused with the fairly autonomous lives we had had. Many new rules and requirements were put in place. We were reined in for certain. Things we were used to doing were forbidden. But for the most part we begrudgingly buckled under and finished our senior year without incident.
I went on to a junior college after Gunston, got married, had two children, and then went back to get my bachelor’s degree at Mary Baldwin College, then on to the University of Virginia for my master’s degree. I am retired now from several careers, save for one. I taught sociology at the college level for a good while, then became the librarian for a small public library. All the while, I lived on my farm raising horses, showing, and teaching riding lessons. I am still doing that but only for pleasure and not as intensely. And oh, I have written five books, mostly on local history. So life has been good for me. My accomplishments, while not earth shaking, are most satisfying, and in part I owe much of this to The Gunston School in Centreville, Maryland.