Why I only found out what a Proverb means today
By Emma Astra AKA The Disabled PhD Student
Mincing my words- To be or not to be through my educational journey?
You know when someone says ‘Long story’, another common saying in the UK. This is one of those long stories to answer the question!
At 41, having gone through a degree, Master and now PhD with a previous career, you would have thought I would know what a Proverb means.
It wasn’t until I made this poster today and looked up the common saying ‘Actions speak louder than words’ the word ‘proverb’ came up:
Definition of Proverb……..
John Pym is thought to have coined the term in 1628 about the English Civil War. It was the actions of ordinary people that proved successful.
Also, my other story was written the same day as the poster‘Why my PhD is a pilgrimage’ and used the proverb ‘behind every photo, there is a story’, which is relevant here too.
I put some context to why I only just found out what the word proverb means in yet often speak these sayings during this story.
Setting the scene
I speak rather commonly. I fulfil the criteria of a ‘Chav’. For those unfamiliar with the word, here is what it means…….
Australian chav means ‘bogan’ and in America ‘, trailer park trash/ghetto’. The lower class is the ‘underclass’ term often referred to in many UK media.
But I am not young. I also don’t wear sportswear or baseball caps. But I do have ‘that’ accent. I am associated with council estate, ‘common’. Although my mum was raised through the property chain of the working class ladder, so have I done so in the past. My dad was very much council flat long-term unemployed. I went to a very inner-city Leicester (‘Lesta’) state school in the 1990s. My accent follows me. That’s who I am.
A few academics have written about ‘Chavs’ and are rather uncomfortable with the word. Ironically they are middle class. Similar to Queer or Crip Theory, where people who fall into the categories reclaim the word for themselves to break the stereotypical norm. I want to do the same with the word Chav. Think Kerry Katona or Katie Price, termed ‘chavs’ in some articles. A bit like Marmite, like or hate them, they have done more for social change than most politicians. Kerry for domestic abuse and care leavers, and Katie for campaigning legal change about internet disability hate crime, known as ‘trolling’, after experiences her disabled son faced. A bit like me and my research – like Marmite.
My school journey
You see, life went like this in a school in the inner city in the 1990s. Try and survive the day. Conform, and you will be ok both with peers and educators. My English teacher had been there for years, which must be a testament to her resilience. I remember she was an avid supporter of Amnesty International. Stereotypical middle- age spinster cat woman. (N.b I’m a spinster, so that isn’t meant to be a negative term). Nice woman. There is a BUT here………
At 14, I wanted to do a BTEC Media Studies equivalent to 3 A-Levels for when I would be aged 16–18. My dad ‘poo pood’ the idea. Yet a few months later, my dad announced he would do the course. Apparently, the job centre allowed people to do specific courses without affecting their benefits, and BTEC Media was one of them. I tried explaining that I couldn’t exactly go there, being a 16-year-old with my dad in tow. Dad didn’t get it and carried on doing the media course. So in the year 11 parents’ evening, I asked my English teacher about the A-Level English Literature on offer. English Language A-Level wasn’t offered, and neither was Media or Sociology. My English teacher didn’t exactly encourage me.
For my GCSEs, except Humanities, I was entered for ‘mid-grade’ papers meaning the maximum grade I could get, even if getting 100% correct, was a C. I got a C, but in Humanities, I got an A. Humanities was the only subject with an equal playing field for some reason. I did have a great Humanities teacher during year 10, which undoubtedly had a positive impact. But I can’t help wondering why there was a maximum grade(apart from Humanities) a student could get depending on the paper they entered for. Maybe, hopefully, things have changed.
Photo of GCSE Results
It also gets worse. I was automatically entered for Design and Technology, which was woodwork led, which I’m absolutely rubbish at. There was Food Technology for which some students were entered instead, which I would have excelled in. But for some reason, I was put in this bloody woodwork class doing nothing. This was probably best, as I would have sawn my handoff.
My German teacher at the time said, ‘Your GCSE results will follow you around for the rest of your life. I still get asked for my GCSE results now applying for jobs.’ She was desperate to get out. She had a medical condition that made her large. She spent all day behaviour managing kids calling her fat. We didn’t learn much German apart from Auf Wiedersehen. I wondered how many jobs she applied for that week when she said that. She might not have gotten the job she wanted out of that hell hole, but she was right about what she said that day.
My English teacher never really touched on the English language side of things. We never learned the difference between an adverb and a noun. Maybe she was traumatised like many of my father’s generation, who got caned when they got a sentence grammatically incorrect. So they avoided the trauma. Or was it a 1990’s state school thing generally?
My English teacher loved literature, though, which was great. She planned to take us to a Romeo and Juliet play at Stratford Upon Avon, but the trip has yet to materialise, just like the Germany trip. To be fair, though, I wouldn’t have been keen to take a load of kids who called me fat all day. I know because I was called fat all day at school too!
At the time, I thought I didn’t like books as I didn’t know what I know now– That books are like a top. You have to find the right size and style for yourself. A top on someone else can look wrong on you. Finding a book you like and connect with is a bit like that. However, I did love when we read To Kill a Mockingbird. One day I skived off school. Well, it wasn’t so much skived. It’s just had real difficulty getting up in the mornings, and the school didn’t exactly enthuse me with sitting there most of the day, literally doing nothing in class. I did try at the start of year 11 but was soon demoralised. I wanted more but was very bored. At the time, there were morning education shows on BBC2. One morning the film To Kill A Mockingbird was on. Sometimes education refrains from showing the visuals. But that film always stuck with me more than the book.
The photo above: I tippexed 79 or 89% to 99% attendance. ‘Mediocre’ as I mainly sat in class quietly, not doing anything all day as teachers were behaviour managing others or focusing on their golden students. I lost four stones for context behind the ‘grown into an attractive young lady’ comment. Yes, indeed, true. Ironically around the time of reading and watching To Kill A Mockingbird.
At 16, I wanted to get far away from that school as possible. Not being able to do the Media BTEC as originally planned, I did the disastrous thing of doing A-Levels at a college. I could only do certain A-Level subjects and only two because of my low GCSE grades. Basically, the subjects with low demand as the good ones could cherry-pick the students with the best grades. This meant sitting in a boring politics class with a teacher probably older than Abraham Lincoln, an avid Liberal Democrat supporter. I had a chaotic home life at the time too, and struggling with an eating disorder. I had to get an evening job as a catering assistant at a pub. The A-Levels didn’t last long.
I signed up for an NVQ scheme in 1998, replacing the old YTS scheme in the admin field. They were supposed to pay you £40 a week in return for an NVQ Level 3. The minimum wage was £3.40 an hour, equating to £125 a week. I never did get that NVQ, yet I was willing to put in whatever work and commitment was needed. The owner didn’t sort the tax situation out for ages, so I was stopped 50% tax of that £40 per week. When she had to reimburse the money months later, it was like she was parting with gold or her prized possession with that £200. She had a reputation for paying little as she could and giving nothing in return. I worked and earned more as an evening catering assistant while doing the scheme. At least when my uncle did a YTS scheme years previously, they gave him the qualification before giving him the push when they would have had to pay him a regular wage upon completion. My job later working as a chambermaid became full-time.
‘University Years’
I got a job working in a youth hostel in Canterbury, about 150 miles from my home town, aged 18 in 2000, and had a great time there. We were all paid the same minimum wage, totalling around £740 a month after tax. Free accommodation in a shared house close to the hostel and some food chucked in. We worked as a team. I worked hard and played hard. I call them my ‘university years’ without the university. I brought a car. I wish I went backpacking worldwide instead, which was do-able back then for £3k. But at least I had that opportunity. It’s all changed now, and so has my body. The staff now have to pay for and source their own accommodation and no ‘perks’ to working above and beyond anymore. Furthermore, if you are under 23, you are now paid significantly less for doing the same job as those over age 23. I don’t think I would have had the same enthusiasm or esteem because we all worked as hard as each other regardless of age.
The ‘career’ years
I then started my social work career, working in a renowned therapeutic children’s home called The Caldecott Foundation (was Community) near Ashford, Kent. I then moved back to Leicester, supervising contact between parents and estranged children going through court proceedings. Then a massive promotion to commissioning at the council’s children’s services where I project managed and quality assured children’s residential or fostering homes which private companies or organisations ran. During that period, I started attending what was historically called ‘night school’ because I had a job and accommodation security. The night school was Vaughan College, run by The University of Leicester. I completed a Counselling Higher Education Certificate, which gave me enough points for a BA Degree in World Humanities there. Three years, all in the evening so I could continue working, and £1000 a year. Do-able. It wouldn’t have been my number one choice, but I’ve learned to be flexible, adaptable, and just blooming to get through hurdles to get things done. Vaughan College doesn’t exist anymore, so I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to progress through higher education had it been now.
As I progressed up the career ladder and housing options, so did my eating disorder. I was admitted to a specialised eating disorder hospital at age 30. I returned to work after seven months off, and I hadn’t taken a day off sick previously. I was told by my boss I had ruined my further career opportunities. The political landscape at work was also changing circa 2010. Our motto prior had been ‘pay for quality’. Overnight I was now having two-hour discussions about why we shouldn’t move a child who was finally settled after moving 30 times to save £50 a week, which wouldn’t have saved any money for various reasons anyway. Changing from an ethos of care to Key Performance Indicators (KPI’s). I did my Masters in Social Work whilst carrying on working there but had to reduce my hours and take unpaid leave due to the course being daytime, selling my soul to the devil.
I was diagnosed with dyslexia and dyspraxia during my Masters. I still question whether I really have it or if it was a product of my education and individuality. But then I try and click on a mouse without success or go off on a tangent; then I realise I have it. My dyspraxia affects my fine motor skills. I have the type of dyslexia which affects my short-term memory, but I have a detailed long-term visual memory. Also, I can see and navigate better on some screens, one of them being Medium, where I write this article. So have found ways around situations. But I wonder, when people don’t conform to a ‘box’, their disability seems to get picked up on more, and the emphasis is put on ‘things in place’ to help them conform to their organisation’s norm, which appears to be an ever-increasing tik-box. I’ve never been a box.
I went to work as a Family Court Advisor after my frustration with the political landscape saga in children’s social care commissioning. I completed complex assessments and reports for the court. In my previous commissioning job, I also wrote various reports. I also did through the years, child protection, young carers, youth offending and street youth work. Dyslexia and dyspraxia weren’t a problem. Yet in academia, it was.
I then got ill. Developed into chronic illness and disability. I couldn’t work anymore. So here I am doing my PhD called ‘The Diary of a Disabled PhD Student’.
www.linktr.ee/disabledphdstudent or www.direct.me/disabledphdstudent
The answer……
I know it’s a bit of a long story, but I’ve learned that context is important in any life story to answer this sort of question.
Maybe you can understand after reading the above story why I didn’t know what a proverb was until today, yet being in my 40s.
The ironic thing is I say proverbs all the time. But us chavs ‘say it as it is’. We say the word ‘sayings’ rather than ‘proverb’. I’ve never had a real-life conversation where we say proverb. I prefer my fellow chavs. We are truthful. Relatable. Understandable in the real world. Not hiding behind fancy words and getting things done. DOING the action rather than words. Trial and error. Experimenting. Researching. Inventing. Actions speak louder than words.
But the question remains:
Is ‘mincing your words’ a proverb or idiom?!
To be or not to be that is the question about my PhD………….
Check my work-in-progress research project out live at: www.linktr.ee/disabledphdstudent or www.direct.me/disabledphdstudent
Thanks for ‘joining me for the ride’ in reading this story!
The End
