Mother Became a Hero of Socialist Labour in a Notebook

In 1985, at an ordinary school in Sofia, an eleven-year-old held office. Every pioneer detachment had children responsible for things, and she was responsible for “sober and atheist activity”, a title she had not asked for and could not have explained to her grandmother, who went to church.

The office came with a report. At the end of the year the reports of all the classes were compared. The class with the best report won.

Her class had a problem: no famous visitor. Other classes had hosted notable personalities during the year. Hers had been visited by a dentist, about teeth.

According to her account, the class teacher took this up with her in the corridor, loudly. A year without a meeting with a notable personality was not acceptable. Then she asked what the girl’s mother did. A doctor, said the girl.

Good. She was to write that the class had invited Hero of Socialist Labour Dr So-and-so, her mother, to explain the theory of evolution.

But she isn’t, said the girl. Write it, she was told.

She wrote it. In one class period that never happened, a doctor on a ward across town received the second-highest honour in the state.

At home, the promotion got the laugh it deserved. For months, any small kindness in the flat was met with “Thank you, Hero,” and her mother would bow.

A year later the girl was responsible for cultural work, the office that actually finds the guests. She had learned her lesson about famous people: bring your own. Her father was a journalist, and in October 1986 he had covered the Reykjavik summit between Gorbachev and Reagan. She invited him.

He came. He spoke about arms control for about four minutes, which was three and a half minutes more than the class could bear. Then he spoke about Iceland: geysers, and lava close enough to feel its heat on your face. Nobody remembered a word about missiles. Everyone remembered the lava.

I have never been promoted on paper by a teacher. I have, however, been promoted by a child. For a careers day in Madrid, the youngest told her class that her mother was “an explorer”. This was based on a single walking holiday in the Picos de Europa, during which I got lost for an afternoon.

The teacher wrote to invite me in. I went, and gave a talk about exploring. I had a map. I had a compass. I had a photograph of a cow.

The youngest says I was very good. She has asked me to come back and explain the theory of evolution.