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Eleanor Johnston
Attended Thornton Hall 1994-1997
e-mail:
eleanorjohnston@hotmail.com
June 15, 2001
In the fall of 1994, I was going into Grade 11 with
a brand-new kilt, blazer and day-glo sweater (not to mention a mountain of
note-taking equipment which always avalanched onto the floor just as I was
most wishing to appear organized under Miss Greig's ever-less-amused eye).
I was to understand, you see, that I was particularly fortunate in being
allowed to participate in the OAC English courses, an honor for which I was
entirely unprepared, not having been gently introduced to the mysteries of
duotangs and portafiles by the junior teachers. In this class, suddenly reduced
from the know-it-all to a determined scrapper, I was pulled headlong through
Eliot, Yeats and more arcane material. And I adored Miss Greig, worshiped
at her feet, strove to be more sure, more elegant, tidier -- in short, the
perfect student she wanted me to be.
However, I am not to be bound; I never did color between the lines in coloring books, never wrote the conventional princess story in Junior school. My hair frizzes. My nails are short and uneven, and my body simply refuses to always know where it is and stop knocking into furniture. I do not cross my legs when I sit down, and I am as likely to sit sideways on a chair as straight-backed. In fact, if you give me a choice, I'll probably sit on my desk.
I was to spend the next two-and-a-half years struggling with messy handwriting and cutting-and-pasting but also in wonderful discussions of art and literature, of the meaning of life, of metaphors, and the comparative advantages of fevers (which are at least romantic) to colds (which are never anything but prosaic and icky). I was nagged and glared at, but through all that tussle Miss Greig and I developed a friendship and a respect for the qualities of each other, which bore me up through the days of being a naughty scholar, and "Our Lady of the Comma Splice."
That semester, Miss Greig asked us to write a short paper and present to the class which figure from history we would most like to receive a compliment from. I knew immediately, although what the compliment would be took me longer to form. I have always admired Queen Elizabeth I, and the compliment I chose was that she would say that I had sung a particular song well. I am less modest now, a fact I lay cheerfully at Miss Greig's feet, along with a certain nagging fear that I am not changing the world enough, or fast enough, or at all. I did not do well on that presentation; she complained that I had mumbled (a cardinal sin for a drama student).
I
would go on to do a silent mime presentation that year (as Columbina), and
the next year I played Kate for "The Wooing of Kate" (but we all called it
"The Wooing of Henry"), one of Miss Greig's carefully strained Shakespeare
compilations. To play Kate I developed a French accent (and a giggle which
has remained, alas, to this day). But it was in a different role that I received
the compliment that meant the most to me.
In the last year of the school, as the population fell and the older students could no longer indoctrinate the younger, Miss Greig, undaunted, proposed to do "The Trojan Women" with a drama class largely composed of grade 7/8s, and Me. We watched the film, and were instructed to prepare to read the whole thing in class the following Friday (which had used to be Tuesdays). Miss Greig read Hecuba and I will never forget that melodious voice, dropped an octave, intoning "up from the ground." We came to Cassandra and she asked me to read Cassandra. As I made up snatches of melody, and tried to pour into my voice the vibrancy which hers demanded, little sniffs came from the surrounding girls. Finally we reached Cassandra's prophecy and I raised my eyes (till then studiously dropped to the paper) and said, looking straight at Miss Greig:
"Do not weep for me, mother! Nor for this marriage that I make; it is by marriage that I bring destruction to those you and I have hated most."
And she replied to me, and there was a moment's pause before the chorus carried on. Different parts were read by all, the class ended, and then we were dismissed. Miss Greig came around the desks toward where I was, as always, trying to create order out of the chaos of the fluttering pages that comprised my notes, and I trembled. I feared that I had gone too far, that singing was not allowed in the bounds of decorum.
"I hope you didn't mind the singing, Miss Greig -- it just came to me."
"No, my dear; it was a pleasure to read with you."
I danced and sang all the way home.
In the end, the bunnies defeated her and I never got to play Helen. Cassandra was given to me that one day only because she knew that I "would show them how it was done."
In January of that year I left Thornton, never more to darken its doors as a student. It was my choice to leave, but I always felt that I had exiled myself from my homeland. You see, while my hair still frizzes, and my notes still fly, Miss Greig had worked her magic. I never again played the dowdy roles of mother or friend. I was Cleopatra, Mary Magdelene, Kate, Helen. Fly-away hair, clumsy grace and all, I was a seductress because Miss Greig had decreed that I might be.
The compliment that meant the most to me was not from Queen Elizabeth but Miss Greig. I like to think that it was because she remembered that assignment that she chose those simple words. This is, to me, why I endured the endless flow of tasks that I could never succeed in -- that simple compliment was worth more than many more excited praises because I knew that it was true.
*******
[I have just completed my] fourth year of an almost five-year double major in Drama and Music at U of T. [I recently directed] "Othello," which [was] the inaugural production for the new Vic college Isabel Bader Theater.
The
school at which I will be teaching next year takes some of Miss Greig's methods
(not, I assure you, cutting and pasting, however) to their logical conclusion
as it has a museum-based, integrated curriculum and students are required
to pursue all subjects throughout. The website is
www.dragonacademy.org.
The quiet revolution continues.
[Re: the Thornton reunion], I think we should find an outdoor space and do an impromptu June Show, but maybe that's just because of my performance tendencies. Julia Arbuckle and I have a rather wild idea involving getting many generations of Thornton females to Belly Dance.
*******
January 6, 2002
I'm directing "Twelfth Night" a la Miss Greig (that is, much cut and fooled around with) with the Dragon kids and will be appearing onstage with them June 20 and 21 [2002] at the Arts and Letters Club (13 Elm Street).
*******
April 26, 2005
I had a moment of nostalgia and realised that I hadn't updated you in a dog's age!
I have a master's degree in Musicology from the University of Toronto.
I'm not working at the Dragon anymore but it is carrying on in the grand old tradition. They're doing Macbeth this year with Flamenco witches.
I am working as the education program assistant for the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra (and loving it).
AND I'm getting married on December 17 to Chad Thomas Martin, a wonderful guy and a composer by trade.
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School Ties: Thornton Hall Alumni
Yearbook: Photos and Memorabilia
Thornton Hall Private School, Thornton Hall Private High School
Thornton Hall High School, Thornton Hall School