Here’s what I learnt after attending my school reunion

Ninety-four-year-old June Squibb voices the character of Nostalgia in Pixar’s Inside Out 2. Riley, the girl whose head we are inside in the film, is a teenager and Nostalgia keeps getting sent away by the other emotions every time she appears. Riley, just starting high school, is too young to feel nostalgic. Nevertheless, I appreciated the nod to the importance of this emotion as my grandchildren and I watched the film. Nostalgia is an inevitable part of getting older. It helps us stand back and reassess who we are and how far we have come, once we are old enough to feel it.

No one was competing any more. We had settled into ourselves and accepted ourselves for who we are and where we have ended up.Credit: Getty Images

I was reminded of Squibb’s Nostalgia when I attended my 50-year high-school reunion recently. The event began with a tour of the school, and I was astonished by how my alma mater had shrunk. In my memory, it was huge. Even the gym, my most hated space, seemed modest. I remember it as cavernous and terrifying. When I entered that gym, 50 years on, I didn’t feel nostalgic. I felt a surge of fear. The misery I experienced in that place as a non-sporty teenage girl is still with me. I have a vivid memory of the PE mistress, a woman who made her disdain for my lack of talent abundantly clear, prizing my fingers off the high and low bar in an attempt to get me to swing from my knees. I knew they would not hold. As she got them loose, I grabbed the sidebar and clung to that for grim death. She gave up – until the next lesson.

The rest of the tour was more enjoyably nostalgic. I remembered the funny moments best. The science lab where, on my first day in 1st form (year 7 now), we were told by our teacher that when an adult came into the room, we must stand up. As if on cue, the science head teacher entered the room. Dutifully, we all got off our stools and stood behind the lab benches. The teacher glared at me. I wondered why. “We are all waiting for you to stand up.” She said, furiously. “I am standing up.” I replied. Poor lady. She made a special fuss of me from then on.

The beautiful girls were still beautiful, the charmers still charming, the naughty still naughty, the noisy (guilty, your honour) still noisy, and the quiet still quiet.

Places matter. The smell of Forest High, about to be knocked down and rebuilt elsewhere, was surprisingly familiar. A number of us remarked on it as we wandered through the corridors and classrooms. It wasn’t unpleasant, just very distinctive. Soon it will be gone forever.

People matter more. As my fellow students arrived at both the school tour and, later, at the reunion, my initial reaction was to wonder who they were. Not everyone. Some had remained completely recognisable. For others, it took a few moments until their faces swam into focus. Sometimes it was their voice, the way they smiled or walked that gave their identity away. It is funny the things that stick in your memory.

Without exception, everyone was delighted to be there; 75 out of a cohort of 120 attended. Not bad after 50 years. Many of those who didn’t attend lived overseas and sent warm apologies. What I saw was a gathering of attractive, vigorous 67- and 68-year-olds having a very good time. Yes, many of us were grey-haired, and many of the men were bald. We were all wrinklier and a bit saggier. Most of us were fatter, but some were thinner. It seems you go one way or the other as you age. The beautiful girls were still beautiful, the charmers still charming, the naughty still naughty, the noisy (guilty, your honour) still noisy, and the quiet still quiet.

I have been to my 10th, 20th and 25th, but this one was different. There was a sense of warmth and joy in the room and, as we walked from one knot of people to another, everyone was invariably greeted with expressions of delight and giggly surprise. No one was competing any more. We had settled into ourselves and accepted ourselves for who we are and where we have ended up. And, once you have accepted yourself, perhaps it becomes much easier to accept everyone else.

Maybe you only get to indulge in the pleasures of nostalgia when more of your life is behind you than in front of you and, while that may sound melancholy, it is also liberating. The striving is done. We didn’t talk careers and achievements. We talked about children and grandchildren, aches and pains, but mostly we reminisced, telling one another what we remembered about them from school. One bloke revealed to a fellow student that he had named his daughter after her. She was delighted and astonished – although it must be said that among a sea of Karens, Sues, Jennys, Janes and Debbies, she always had the most interesting name.

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