Homeward Bound

Well, it’s 1600 on Friday, and we’re just driving through Sestriere for the last time, with only another 20+ hours of travelling ahead of us. O…M…G! Beam me up Scotty! If you recognise that, you’re beyond youthfulness, which is how I felt today when peeling myself off the snow after wiping out on the very last run. See, I’m at it again: drifting (pun alert) off piste.

Right, let’s wrap this up with a few, quite a few tales from the week, which because of my present befuddled brain will not necessarily be in chronological.

Havarna gets Major Air

A kilometre or two down the road from Sestriere is the ski jump used in the 2006 Winter Olympics. When you see these things in the flesh, you realise that ski jumpers must be a very unique group of people. They must be incredibly courageous or quite frankly, totally bonkers!

So, there we are on our little red run, when our lovely instructor Francesca (more about her later), brings the skiing procession to a halt and says, “Who wants a new challenge?” Eleven voices respond with an enthusiastic yes, while at the back, Mr Duff winces at the thought of what he’s going to have to force his ageing and aching limbs through now. Did I tell you I’m a delicate little petal? Well, I am and because my wonderful group of skiers looked after me so well, they have named themselves the Duffodils, which I will use as their group name for now and evermore. So, before we get to the story, here are the Duffodils: Jess, Havarna, Pippa, Charlie, Leo, Jude, Jamie, Will, Joe, Lewis and Seamus.

Anyway, back to the challenge. Francesca says in her intoxicating Italian accent: “Let’s do some jumps!” At this point, I thought to myself, “I think I’ll give this one a miss,” which would have been the sensible thing to do, but as Mrs Duff will gladly tell you, sense of any sort isn’t really my thing. And with the added persuasion of Francesca’s enthusiasm, I couldn’t resist the challenge. Thinking about it is one thing, but doing it is another. Let me be clear before we go any further that what stood before us was nothing like the Olympic ski jump I mentioned earlier, but something more like a bump in the landscape constructed by an over enthusiastic, muscly mole. Still, by the time most of the Duffodils reached this little pimple on the piste, it had grown in our brains to mountainous proportions, causing the brakes to go on snow plough style, so rather than jump, most of us did a little anticlimactic hop. But not Havarna. Oh no. Like one of those fearless jumpers, she went for it, full throttle. The rest of the Duffodils held their breaths… but there was no need. Gracefully, majestically, Havarna soared through the crisp air, saying a quick ‘hi’ to a couple of eagles as she floated on the thermals, before nailing a perfect landing.

So, watch out for future Winter Olympics. Eddie the Eagle is so last century. It’s time for Havarna the Hawk!

Kayla Channels Chumbawamba

Two years ago, while on our skiing trip in Davos, I had one of the most traumatic days of my adult life. After falling over for about the 20th time, my mind and body decided enough was enough and that it was better to stay face-planted in the snow than attempt to get up and try again. That was until Miss Halford’s ski pole was deployed, repeatedly.

“Mr Duff, get up! You’re supposed to be a role model. Show some resilience and teach them how to overcome adversity.”

“I don’t want to be a role model. I want my mummy!” I pathetically pined. Seriously, at that point, I would have been happy to be winched off the mountain, like some beached mass of blubber. Anyway, after a few more moans and groans, I did haul my bulk out of the Mr Duff shaped hole and carry on. It would be great to report that like in some cheesy movie I skied successfully down the mountain, but that would be a lie, and any lying ability I had was deprogrammed on the 4th April 1998 when I married the glorious Mrs D. So, I stumbled down the mountain, eventually deciding the skis were better on my shoulder than on my feet.

So why am I banging on about me when this story is about Kayla. Well, we English teachers like a bit of juxtaposition and antithesis to reveal levels of contrast. And Kayla’s response to adversity was definitely the antithesis (opposite) of my weak, pathetic performance on that day. She got knocked down (see where we’re going here), but she got up again, and again, and again… You get the idea: nothing was going to keep her down. And did she moan and complain like me? Absolutely not. In fact, every time she fell, the smile on her face got wider as she sprang up, ready to go again. The slopes had picked the wrong prey; they were crushed to defeat by the all-conquering Kayla. And me? I just watched in awe as I got taught a lesson in never giving up. You’re never too old to learn - thank you, Kayla.

Seamus is my Wingman

I think this heading could be a bit misleading, but if I said frontman you might think we were in a band or something. Anyone who has heard me murder a tune on my Peppa Pig harmonica, will tell you I’m no musician. See, I’m off again. What I’m trying to say is that Seamus, who had his own demons in the shape of ski poles, was always there with some comforting advice well beyond his years when I had an attack of the jitters at the top of a mountain or when I thought my ageing, aching legs were not quite up to it. Now I’m sure some of this wisdom comes from his parents, but I think we have to thank the Albion the most. Anyone who has to endure some of the highs, but mostly lows of supporting the finest club in the country must develop the ability to spot the tiniest slither of sunlight, even in the darkest of days. Thanks Seamus, and keep the faith: we Baggies will have our day, but please hurry up because I’ve been waiting for 50+ years!

Heartbreak on the Hill

To save any embarrassment, no names will be mentioned here. When teaching Romeo and Juliet, I always stress to classes that we don’t choose who we fall in love with, and often compare the doomed couple’s first meeting with the moment I looked across the smoke-filled bar of The Beehive in Halesowen (it’s a Cooperative now - sacrilege) and gazed upon the majestic splendour of Mrs D for the very first time. Unlike Romeo though, I was a mealy-mouthed, spineless mess, so it was left up to Mrs D to take control, which 35 years later, she is yet to relinquish. Luckily, very luckily for me, it all worked out beautifully, but us battle-hardened lovers know that not every crush ends in firecrackers. No, we know there’s usually a few damp squibs along the way, and it’s a lesson we all need to learn, even if it hurts like hell.

Enter Francesca, our ski instructor, centre stage: kind, caring, funny, encouraging and intelligent (she’s a biologist in Turin). Just an all-round lovely person, the same as her colleague, Aleesia. We were so lucky to have them looking after us.

Now, imagine you’re a teenage boy, miles away from home, and mummy, and this goddess-like person comes into your world. And add to that, she actually talks to you, and genuinely cares about you. Try to imagine the explosion of different emotions in that teen brain. The result? A puppy-like adoration for all things Francesca.

Enter downstage, the villain: Mr Duff. His crime? Sharing numerous chair-lift rides with Francesca, and sometimes Aleesia, too. Imagine the slow puncturing of several cartoon hearts, slowly deflating.

So, these chair-lift rides. Well, we talked about our families, backgrounds, work, education, Brexit, and skiing, of course. So not really villainous at all, your honour. But as far as those crush-ridden Romeos are concerned, I don’t think they’ll ever forgive me.

There is a serious point to this. During our last ski trip, some of our English instructors were less than complimentary about ‘foreign’ instructors, so I think we were a little apprehensive about what our experience would be like. We needn’t have worried. The ski school in Sestriere was founded in 1932 and they really know what they are doing and how to get the best out of their pupils. Francesca, Aleesia, Umberto and Enrico, thank you for teaching and looking after us so well: we will never forget your kindness.

And the broken-hearted boys? They’re over it, and stronger for it, too.

180 Oscar

Unfortunately, the local ice-rink was closed during our stay, but this did not deter one young man from attempting a spinning jump, normally associated with famous figure skaters like John Curry or Robin Cousins (another ageing reference).

Anyway, Oscar, one of our top skiers of the week, seemed to think he had swapped his skis for a pair of ice-skates. So when he took off from a jump, he decided to jazz it up a little bit, or did he? Was he really attempting a toe loop, salchow, lutz, flip, loop, or axel? We think not, neither does Oscar. What we do know is that Oscar discovered that doing a 180 degree turn and landing backwards is never going to end well. And it didn’t. I’m pleased to say that Oscar is fine, but he does need to practise the flourishing, dramatic arms-in-the-air finish of a sequinned clad figure skater.

Jamie’s Jokes (Grimace Now)

What do young skiers do when they’re not skiing?

The watch SkiBeebies!

What do young call two best friends who ski?

Broskis!

Double Acts are Back!

It’s a great British tradition: Morecambe and Wise, The Two Ronnies, French and Saunders, Cannon and Cope, I mean Ball and Little and Large. There’s a new act in town but these guys are not on prime-time Saturday tv. Right now, you can only catch this new sensation on board a coach.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the next generation in coach travel, the chuckling, cheery, nothing-is-too-much-trouble, go way above and beyond, should be used as an example of excellence; any other superlative you can think of for being the Tina Turner’s (simply the best) in coach travel: it’s (drum roll) Cody and Reubyn!

Seriously, these chaps have looked after us so well. Everything they plan and do makes our lives easier. They clearly have a passion for their work and deserve to be recognised for their excellence: thank you, guys; we will miss you but hope that our paths cross on a future adventure.

That’s a Wrap

I’m really sorry that I haven’t been able to include everything, so if I’ve missed one of your stories - apologies. We will reminisce in school.

Now you know, this isn’t quite the end because if you’ve made it this far with me, you’ll have realised by now that I’m a rambler.

It’s been a fantastic week and as ever, Ridgewood students have been a credit to themselves, their parents and carers, and the school. It has been a privilege and a pleasure to spend the week with every single one of them. They may be a little ripe after our long journey home, but please don’t let this put you off giving them a big welcome home and well done hug!

Nearly there. A huge, heartfelt thanks to the Ridgewood team, led by the super-organised Miss Halford, Miss Harper, the most graceful history teacher ever to take to the slopes; Miss I’ve got a pill, lotion, cream, herb for that Jones; Mr all-in-one, best-dressed on the piste Jones, and Miss lunchtime supervisor, soothing sage and team mum Bastock. I really hope we can do this again.

Finally, to you, parents, carers, grandparents, aunties, uncles, pets etc. (we’ve heard so much about you all), thank you for giving your children this fantastic opportunity. And for doing all their dirty washing!

See you all at school on Monday, ready for another great term at Ridgewood.

Best Wishes

Mr Duff