[ad_1]
That this particular fire got a comparatively large space in the media in times when school fires are innumerable, is because it happened in a boarding school and there are not many of them in Sweden.
Humanistiska Läroverk from Sigtunastiftelsen, that was the name of the boarding school when I spent seven of my most important years growing up there. But how did it go? people often ask me and look at me with concern in their eyes.
As in Hogwarths, I answer today, even though everyone, both students and teachers, were smugglers. In any case, I think it was, but some may have had magical properties.
Most of those who attended had their parents abroad, worked in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or SKF or similar, and the state or business community paid their junior high school fees. There were also students who had their parents in Sweden, but lived far from decent schools, often in mansions or castles, and had a lot of money. And then there were a handful of free students, especially talented young people from the Swedish countryside who went there for free. And of course, Olof Palme and the king, he was about to forget them.
Why did parents living abroad send their children home instead of letting them go to local schools? Because Swedish schools were considered to be second to none. This happened a long time ago. Since then, practically everything has changed.
I received my first proper kiss myself one night, behind the curtain of the theater stage.
In my time, that is, more than fifty years ago, we were only allowed to visit Stockholm a few times per semester. We lived in our own bubble, very timely. Possibly this is why it has been relatively easy for me to endure the current existence.
The gymnasium, which in recent years served as a hall, further housed the huge room with slatted chairs along the walls, skirting boards and trestle in the corners and a theater stage at one short end, also the woodwork – just for children – and various changing rooms
In the hall itself, handball matches were played and school plays were performed and writings were written, and from there the fourth rings had their student dinner. Between many other things.
A couple of times a semester, something called game night was held on the premises. During a game night, various folk dances were danced, hambo, schottis, polka and “Three old ladies were leaving and leaving …”, “We are all musicians from Skaraborg” and other rented violins were danced. It all ended with the polonaise and how it ended could have an even more romantic impact on life in the weeks to come. The man who was invited to the polo nose could possibly follow a house to the bedroom door afterwards. And give him a kiss on the cheek. Or even orally. And then they had something to talk about with their roommates.
I received my first proper kiss myself one night, behind the curtain of the theater stage. Most people don’t remember when, where and with whom this happened, but to me it was so obvious that it was so transformative that I remember it like yesterday.
Most of you who saw that sad news on Monday morning shouldn’t be bothered one bit, but to me it was an unforgettable, irreplaceable historic building that went up in smoke.
