VT Coughtrey - revealed

NOTES	The great advantage of our illegal occupation of Barry's council flat was that it was within walking distance of Regent's Park, the Regent's canal and, nicest of all for us, Hampstead Heath, which features quite a lot in earlier chapters. We spent many pleasant hours pushing the pram for miles all over these already very familiar areas and got into the cosy habit of frequenting tea houses - mainly the Rose Garden in Regent's Park and the Old Coach House attached to Kenwood House on the Heath. We also started to brew beer, and managed to produced a passable imitation of Guinness, which is a very difficult thing to do. Needless to say, we made sure it was a lot stronger than the real thing.
We heard nothing more of Sidge until 2011, when he emailed us, having found this site. He says it's a strange sensation reading about all the hard work we did for Brighton Hostel. I'm not sure I'm entitled to be included in that 'we' Robin!	We were already beginning to feel nostalgic about the Brighton era (chapters 49 - 76), and somehow re‑established contact with three of the key figures in my adventures there - Arnrid Moore, Mike Taylor and Robin Sidgwick. Arnrid and Mike visited us, but there was just one exchange of letters with Sidge, who was on a teacher training course. I was surprised to find that Mike, who was by now an officer for the Barnet area (by coincidence) of the trade union NUPE, had developed quite a bad stutter and seemed nervous and altogether rather strange. He was certainly not the old self-confident, super-efficient and slightly domineering Mike who had been crucial to the early days of the Brighton Hostel project, and had conducted the CBR lockout to such devastating effect (see Chapter 53). I've heard nothing more of Mike either, since that rather awkward visit to 13 Healey Street, but there was to be one more meeting with Arnrid, several months later.
	I had given up the dishwashing job in the care home, mentioned a couple of chapters back, when Felix was born. This was because Angela couldn't contemplate being left alone all day with the baby. I was afraid to sign on and apply for any sort of benefits, in case it came to the attention of the council that we were not the rightful tenants of the flat. We were still paying the rent, using Barry's rent book, so we soon found ourselves desperate for money. Angela returned to life modelling, but only for a few hours a week, as I didn't want to be in sole charge of the baby all day, any more than she did. It soon accurred to Angela to put pressure on me to resume my activities as a model, following my successful debut at the Brighton life-drawing club (Chapter 75).
	The first series of bookings I got was for an adult education centre within Quintin Kynaston school in St John's Wood. I was fairly nervous, as Angela was reporting that in the 15 months since my previous session, the attitude to male nudity in the life room had shifted, and 'wearing something' was generally no longer acceptable. I took my posing pouch anyway, prepared to make an issue of it. Fortunately, the elderly tutor, Mr Mennie, was so far behind the times that he still taught from a desk at the front of the room, and actually asked male models, in accordance with ancient ritual, "Have you brought some cover?" I did the job well enough, but was not happy with old Mennie's stuffy, unfriendly attitude, which was still anchored in the old view that life models were a very lowly form of life. He sacked me before the run of bookings was complete, on the grounds that an empty whisky bottle had been found in the models' changing cupboard. It wasn't mine. In fact, I wouldn't have dreamt of drinking anything alcoholic, either before a session or during the break, but he was convinced I was the culprit. I didn't realize it at the time, but the reaction of most other art tutors in those days would have been nothing more than slight disappointment that the bottle was empty.
	The next run of bookings was very different. It was for a rather severe woman in Golders Green who ran private life classes in her own house for rich girls who wanted to go to art college. At that time, very few schools offered life drawing, so the classes enabled the girls to show a few nude studies when applying for a place at college. I was already feeling very nervous, having been conducted in a bossy fashion into a small room packed with equally apprehensive 16 year-old girls. Furthermore, they were arranged in a tight circle with sketch pads on their knees and it was obvious that I was going to be required to pose in the middle of the circle. It didn't help to be told that this would be their first session with a model. Of course, this sort of situation is encountered many times in the course of a life modelling career, and it's a routine part of a model's job to make young first-time life drawing students feel at ease. But even if I had understood that at the time, I would have been in no state to put anyone at ease, especially after the next shock. Having changed into my posing pouch, I forced myself to emerge from behind the screen, only to meet the horrified gaze of the tutor. "You can't wear that !" she snapped in a scandalized tone. I took her to mean that the tiny amount of cover I had was disgustingly inappropriate for girls of such a tender age. As I had already been thinking along those lines myself, in my rather Puritannical way, I dived back behind the screen, red-faced, and began to pull on more cover. Then the tutor, standing on the other side of the screen added "Don't you understand that this is a life class? You mustn't wear anything for a life class!" So it was even harder to force myself out from behind the screen the second time, now deprived of any cover at all, and walk into the centre of the circle of girls. At first, I was not able to pose very well - I was actually shaking with embarrassment. Even worse was to come. This tutor was very keen on something that was all the rage in the more fashionable life classes at the time, which was to get the model to spend part of the time jumping up and down, running round in circles and performing various other exercises, while the students tried to capture the sense of movement.
I gather that in the few years since I wrote this, attitudes have become a little less liberal again and 'covering-up' is now often required in girls' schools. I must confess that I find myself in agreement with this backwards shift.	When the ordeal was at last over, I went home somewhat shocked and confused and told Angela I would never do any more life modelling. So the great rebel had an easily-shockable conservative side after all! Angela already knew what I pretty soon found out for myself - that when you've been doing the job for a while your only concern is to do it well and maintain a good reputation. You soon find yourself wondering why newcomers to the job are so nervous. In time, life drawing sessions of that kind became standard in many schools, and prancing naked in a class room full of girls, boys or both became run-of-the-mill stuff for male models - but still a bit nerve-racking for the inexperienced, I hear.