Inklings writer, Trish Raleigh-Doyle.

Leaving Cert Memories

INKLINGS

Trish Raleigh-Doyle

It’s the 1980s and American pop culture has found its way across the Atlantic Ocean and into our lives, masquerading as shoulder pads, leg warmers and frizzy perms. ‘Everybody wants to rule the world’ echoed from our Walkmans while Pacman and Space invaders had us flocking to the arcades. MTV hit the airwaves, sending Dad into a meltdown every Sunday afternoon, having to listen to that “continuous bawl”, as he so lovingly referred to it.

The town mall was the place to go and Cabbage Patch Kids were worth killing your neighbour for. Mikhail Gorbachev became the Soviet leader while the hijacking of planes was a pastime for many terrorist groups. The threat of Aids, famine and the Cold War left a lingering sense of foreboding across the globe, but for me, they all paled into insignificance as the summer of 1985 arrived and with it the dreaded Leaving Cert.

On the first day, I made my way to the Commerce Room, where the exams were going to take place. I scanned the room looking for my table – a number written on a white sticker in felt tip marker was to be my identity for the next two weeks.

The clock struck 9.30am as English Paper 1 appeared and the frantic scribbling and essay writing began.

The odd sideways glance to see how my nearest classmate was doing could either be reassuring or unnerving. The post-mortem at the end was the worst. I desperately tried to avoid them, especially if the usual class brainboxes were at the centre of the discussion.

That afternoon the ghosts of Shakespeare returned to my blank page as King Lear continued his descent into madness while the storm raged on the cliffs of Dover.

My thoughts were broken by the turning of pages and the clicking of pens.

The customary exam sunshine beamed through the large white wooden windows, encouraging some to down the pen early and join their friends in the local pool hall.

I can still hear the clanking of pool balls down the shoot while Joan Jett and the Blackhearts belted out ‘I love Rock ‘n’ Roll’ from the red jukebox in the corner. Coca-Cola, Tayto, and Choc Ices were consumed with gusto as exam talk faded into the sunbeams that shone through the cracked dusty window panes.

The next two weeks would be a rollercoaster of good papers, not too-bad papers and the ones that you just wanted to forget about as soon as possible. That sinking feeling when you missed Part C on the back of an exam sheet as you try to convince yourself that it won’t matter much. The dreaded French paper had me staring out the window wondering if I should give in and join the pool sharks.

The two weeks moved swiftly on and finally, the exams ended. Some students celebrated by throwing their school bags in the local canal, a cathartic experience, by all accounts. We all said our goodbyes and made our promises to stay in touch, not realising that life had a different plan and would take us all on our unique journeys.

The Leaving Cert dreams would return for many years to come, filling me with dread until I came to realise that the summer of ‘85 would be just a memory and the Leaving Cert just a brief moment in time.

• Trish Raleigh-Doyle is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays at 10.30am in the Annebrook House Hotel.