chichester chronicles
by susan shepeard castelli

Susan is an old friend from high school who "hopped the pond" this winter; Susan moved to England to teach English at a small prep school in Chichester, West Sussex. A confirmed Anglophile, Susan has been emailing friends and family to keep us abreast of her adventures. ~ed.

Dear and wonderful friends,

Time for another update.

Right. First of all. It snowed yesterday. In itself that is nothing out of the ordinary. But what I observed was. Despite freezing temperatures, sleet, and snow, the little boys here at school thought nothing of going out for rugby practice in their shorts. I am not kidding. Shorts and shirts. Bare legs and arms. Those rosy English cheeks are not a sign of a healthy complexion I realised yesterday. Nope. Instead I think that widespread and permanent frostbite accounts for the typical English look. The stiff upper lip makes sense now, too. Along with stiff clothes “drying” in the sleet. Tumble dryers just don’t give the clothes that fresh smell! Really it’s remarkable what these lovely people can endure. Still, this IS the tiny country that once ruled an empire on which the sun never set. What sun?

Today is sunny, to tell the truth. It’s freezing but sunny. By the way, freezing is not a word I’ve heard here. “Bit chilly” seems to be the normal term.

My driving is improving, in case you were wondering. I am up to between 45 and 50 mph on the Saxon roads. Saxon roads wind. Roman roads are straight. Chichester is a Roman city with Saxon roads. I cannot explain it. All I can tell you is that this is the most non-condescending country I’ve ever lived in. While flattered by this, I would still appreciate a bit more information at times. For example, on my route to school there is a lovely road sign which warns to Give Way in a hundred yards or so. That means that there will be an intersection coming up soon. What is NOT mentioned is that before one gets to this intersection there is a one-lane stone bridge. One lane is the width only. At least two cars drive on this bridge at the same time. And the bridge is at the top of a hill. The only way to know whether a car is on the other side of the bridge is to drive to the top and check. Naturally, finding out a car is approaching means that two cars are in a face-off perched on the hill in the same lane. Am I the only one here who thinks that the warning sign for the intersection is just about the last thing needed?

Boxgrove Priory Choir rehearsal on Thursday night. Another challenge. First of all, there is no coffee, no tea, no cookies, and no friendly banter. It’s all business. Being my third rehearsal, I thought that surely I would see a piece of music for the second time. Nope. All sight reading yet again until...joy of joys...”If Ye Love Me” of Tallis! I could not help blurting out....I KNOW THIS PIECE!! (Blurting out is not British behaviour, by the way.)

I finally knew a piece (thanks to John Barry!) and could actually sing with confidence and watch the director at the same time. Once through,however, and we were on to a Victoria mass. A whole mass. For double choir. I was choir one alto.

The only alto. It was daunting and not entirely pleasant for those next to me, I am sure. However, the music is gorgeous and I love it. I only hope that one day soon I’ll be able to sing all of the notes at the right time. Did I tell you that we wear robes with hoods like monks? And there is incense at each service. I have stumbled into the middle ages and what is at the very least an Anglo-Catholic church. Without heat, I might add. Well, the place dates from the 12th century.

Nearly makes up for no heat.

This weekend I am due to see Andrew and Emma, Miranda and Jonathan Hope. I am very excited! I have missed having friends here. As kind as everyone is at school and at church, I do feel quite alone at times.

I hope all of you are well and happy. You are in my thoughts here and I miss you!

love, Susan

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Observations in March. First of all, the sun has shone a bit. It’s remarkable what that does for my spirit! On Sunday I took a lovely drive in my Citroen Saxo (good thing I’ve always driven a manual transmission because they predominate here) through the South Downs. Really lovely. I am in one of the gorgeous, posh areas of England with quaint pubs and thatched cottages around every bend. The trouble is I cannot LOOK at them with the queue of cars behind me. One must keep up the lickety-split pace here or one is frowned at. Someone actually BEEPED at me once. In England! I did think of putting an American flag on the Citroen’s back window by way of explanation and in expectation of sympathetic tolerance but fortunately had second thoughts, what with the popularity of Bush over here.

Since I spend a fair amount of time alone, I have the opportunity to indulge in random thoughts. Hence, I must mention the importance of string. This is something I’ve not thought about much before except during occasional kite flying moments. In England, string plays several significant functions. One is to turn on lights. My lovely and even elegant bathroom here has a light, the only light, which operates by yanking on a piece of string. It requires an intentional yank, too, not some namby-pamby one. While I can yank with the best of them, what crosses my mind is—you guessed it, I am sure—what happens if the string BREAKS???? I see no way of re-attaching a piece of string to the bit at the ceiling. The thought of spending the rest of my time here in a dark bathroom gives pause.

And that is not the only piece of string suspended from my bathroom fixtures. The heater has three separate pieces of string. Essentially then, I risk having no light and no heat if string should break. You have no idea how respectful and appreciative I am of string now. Although my toilet does not operate by string, many toilets here DO operate by chains. Again, a hefty yank is required. As my mother would say, Gorgeous George would be in trouble over here.

Did I mention that I saw a man sea-bathing in Portsmouth Harbour in February? I was facing the sea and the promenade, safely tucked in a nice warm BMW belonging to my friend Andrew, when I saw an elderly man remove his tweed jacket, shirt, and trousers and, in his boxer shorts, wade into what must have been sub-zero water for a wee swim. Seriously. At first I thought he was committing suicide and grabbed Andrew’s arm in dismay. Stifling the urge to rush to the water’s edge and call for help, I looked around and noticed that all the passers-by, wrapped in fleece and wool, were paying him no heed at all. So, I watched him swim around, dodging the Isle of Wight ferries coming in to dock, and then slowly make his way back to the beach where, using a small towel, he dried himself and proceeded to put on his trousers, shirt, and tweed jacket. The guy had to be in his 70’s and very pale and skinny. It was a sight I’ll not soon forget. I thought the only people crazy enough to enjoy freezing water were the Swedes. And they swallow raw eggs in orange juice, too, so one would expect them to do daft things like plunge into Portsmouth Harbour in the middle of winter.

News. I am now up to 60 mph on the Saxon roads! Very proud of myself. One morning on the way to school I was buzzing along, veering nicely around parked cars, as I know how to do now, and swerving around bikers, when I rounded a curve to be met by the most beautiful bird I’ve ever seen sauntering across the road. I skidded to a halt and let him cross safely. When I got to school I told everyone about the gorgeous bird. Naturally, a colleague pulled out his Birds of Britain book (a naturalist is always just at hand here) and showed me my bird, a grouse. He said, and I quote: “Just run over the thing or you’ll have an accident and kill yourself and/or someone else. Then go back and retrieve him because they make great eating.”

This is an Englishman, mind you. One of those same breed of people who came up with the Cat’s Protection League long before there were any organisations to protect children in this country! I have since proceeded more cautiously (back to 40) just in case I see any more grouse.

Quick choir update. The square notes were becoming a bit easier for me just as Clifford decided to add a few plainsongs composed of not just square notes, but square notes with tails and other wiggly things. So, it is back to square one for me, so to speak.

Happily, along with the incomprehensible music there is plenty of Palestrina, Tallis, and Byrd. I think I must have mentioned that the Priory is Anglo-Catholic. Clifford often refers to the Pope and each service includes pillows of incense. While I like incense on the odd occasion, each Sunday is a bit much. During one particularly generous dousing (the choir is in the direct line of fire), I was unable to sing for a full page of music! And it was a piece I actually KNEW for the first time! Honestly. I was incensed! (Sorry.)

Susan Shepeard Castelli:
After 24 years of teaching in the USA, I decided to move to the country I first fell in love with in 1972. I landed in a small prep school in lovely West Sussex and have been charmed by English boys and girls who start each day saying to the Headmaster, “Good morning, Sir!” Read that with the best Oliver Twist imitation you can manage and you’ll have it!