The Adult Evening Class that changed my life.

Did I ever tell you how I got into Higher Education?

After many years of ill health and various responsibilities I decided something had to be done.  So I signed on for an Adult Education Class in the evenings: only lasting one term.  It was a course designed to equip one to identify various fungi, with the object of collecting and eating them if so desired.  I assumed it would be other mature ladies like myself, in my forties with a gentle interest in Natural History.

(Husband is anxious that none of you actually think that Michael Palin in drag is me!!)

The back story is that my mother was partly Scandinavian and would unhesitatingly go out into the woods and fields collecting all kinds of odd looking fungi: strange colours and shapes.  She then made them into omelettes, soups, or just gently fried them in butter  to eat on toast.  To my shame I never quite believed that she knew what she was doing.  I had the English fear of eating fungi from the wild.  So, despite her urging, I watched her eat the goodies waiting with a mixture of anxiety and excitement to see what would happen to her.  And of course nothing ever did.  She just had fun and a good meal. So, eventually, I decided that it was time for me to take the plunge and continue the family tradition, despite my trepidation.

Well, I walked into the class room at the local University at seven o’clock one Autumn evening and looked around.  There were very few women there at all, much to my astonishment.  In fact the room was full of men, some rather hairy prophet-looking types, but mostly presentable young men, full-time students in the main.  A very pleasant surprise.  “This is a bit of ‘all-right’ “,  I thought.

Then a man in his thirties crawled into the room on hands and knees.  He crawled down the aisle between the tables, and under a chair, to then pull himself up and sit on it.   Odder and odder. The Lecturer came in with wild hair and a long very wild beard, a mixture of Beethoven and Moses.  I have to admit to feeling very out of my comfort zone but excited and full of anticipation.  This was not what I had expected.  What had I got myself into?

What followed was a serious lecture full of chemistry and botany: I took reams of notes and left two hours later with a befuddled mind full of Latin names and a general feeling of surreality about the whole evening.

The Lecturer had made arrangements for us all to meet the following Saturday for a field trip to begin to identity fungi in the field.  The weather was propitious, warm and damp, and he said there were many good examples to be seen.  We were to take collecting baskets or paper bags, nothing plastic or the samples would sweat.

So, at the correct time and place we met.  A local area surrounded by moorland, but low down beside a lake and a small National Trust Tea room.  These Lecturers always have a thought to our comfort!  We began by looking at various tree fungi, both those growing on living and dead tissue.  Lots of tough bracket and some delicate matchstick fungi. Then we walked across some short springy turf, closely cropped by sheep, in full sun, where we found some glorious parrot fungi, all bright colours and shiny surfaces.  Reds, oranges, luminous yellows and greens.  After a short stop for coffee we moved up onto higher ground with rougher grass.  As is my wont I wandered off slightly apart from the group searching for specimens.  I found a very small fungus on a long, thin, slightly wavy stem: I took it back to the Lecturer and asked for an identification.  There was some hesitation on his part and a slight feeling of excitement rose from the group.  I seemed to be the only one who did not share some secret.

“Well, I am not quite sure how to put this”, said our leader.  “But this is ….. ” (I cannot now remember the Latin name), ” often known as a’ Magic Mushroom’ because of its hallucinatory properties”.  He turned to someone else and a press of young men surrounded me.  The first one to grab my attention asked whether he could help me by carrying my collecting basket.  Rather flattered but surprised, it was a very small, very light basket, I agreed.  As we walked on he queried, just as a matter of interest, the whereabouts of the mushroom I had picked.  “Had there been any others?”  “If so, did I want them?”

Rather amazed (I was very naive), I replied that I did not want them, and then took him to where I had found the patch.  He proceeded to pick them and during the rest of the trip he explained to me how to process them and how many to use to get certain effects.  He suggested that I make a pot of tea with them if I was ever interested in trying them out and told me how many to use to make the carpet move, or to make the wall paper talk to me.  A very pleasant fresh-faced student quite openly teaching me about hallucinatory drug use.

There and then I decided that if this was what Higher Education was all about, I was going to continue.  Not at all the rather stuffy, ivory tower world I had imagined and feared.

I never looked back.  But that is another story.