My first three years at medical school were good fun. We were not so different from any other students; long holidays, and plenty of time for larking about and socialising. Of course I had to do a lot more science, by an extra year at the beginning, for ‘Pre-med’ or ‘First MB’, before Medicine proper, so I knew I would have three years ‘Pre-clinical’, then another three years ‘on the wards.’

I started in the autumn, having spent that exciting summer as a skivvy in the Shrewsbury Royal Infirmary. We were quite a rum lot in the First MB group. Some slightly older Arts graduates, an Organist who didn’t last long, and some eager young ignoramuses like me. For half a dozen out of the 30 students, our scientific knowledge could only be described as pre-pre-pre-basics.

It quickly became apparent that more had to be done for such a mathematically challenged bunch and we six were given extra tuition from a tutor we called The Cherub. This was due both to his plump, rosy cheeks and his angelic temperament. His tutoring went earlier and earlier as he uncovered deeper and deeper layers of our ignorance. Finally, he found our level.

“Now,” I remember him saying, “you have a group of five sheep in one field and six goats in another.” At last I began to understand a few simple arithmetical concepts and never looked back. Kind man.

I also found that it would really, really make sense to learn my times tables, a message that a wartime education had somehow not got across to me. No wonder I barely scraped my O-level Maths. It had been hard to do all that counting on my fingers and toes in a three-hour exam. I duly learnt all my tables by heart, chanting them in the bath and while dressing.

Overall, I did so well that I was given a first year prize for the student who had worked best to overcome their difficulties, though I don’t think the authorities suspected that I was still a bit shaky on my 8-times. I still am, come to that.

Notes on my Fat Goddess pictures

Here is a note on a series of my embroidered pieces, which will be seen at intervals along the way. I call them my ‘Fat Goddesses’. They only represent one side of the Feminine Divine and are meant to be to be regarded somewhat tongue-in-cheek. They represent the wonderfully loving, overwhelming, warm, sexy and expressive feminine power of the human body.  Because they are archetypes they have no real heads or brains – not because women don’t, but because an archetype only represents one aspect of anything. I hope they offend no-one.

They were meant to be followed by a contrasting series of Skinny Saints, who represented the archetype of purely masculine emphasis on the head and brain, but only a couple of these got made.

Of course, no real life human being, male or female, is complete without the inner goddess and inner saint of feminine and masculine characteristics, intellect and sensuality, working together and nourishing the Whole – maybe under the guidance of what we might call Soul.

These little ‘jeu d’esprit’ emerged after a period of mourning for one of my most loved relatives, my Auntie Joyce, who would have been very amused by them. I find that coming out of a period of grief, or any sort of blockage, often results in a time of growth and even of laughter and playfulness – sometimes almost disconcertingly so, if it has been a major bereavement. It’s good to have such an experience and to rejoice in it, as a wonderful gift from the lost person, or from the Universe.

The picture is a cross stitch repeater pattern derived from the original inspiration for the Goddesses. That was a small newspaper paragraph and photo of a very fat ballerina – the daughter of the world famous Russian dancer, Nijinsky! The joyous way this large woman was twirling, almost flying, on one toe was a delight! She is ignoring all the restrictive ideas of what a ballet dancer should look like and I found this both inspirational and funny at the same time. She became a decorative device and then further morphed into applique Goddesses with three-dimensional boobs made of thread-covered spiral wires, with outrageous accessories and saucy titles.