Former Hillcrest High School student Dr Elsie Walker credits her time at Hillcrest as a pivotal chapter in her life. Arriving in 1988 feeling small, shy, and uncertain after her parents’ divorce, Elsie found confidence, belonging, and a love of the arts through the encouragement of teachers who recognised her potential. From choir, orchestra, Shakespeare Club, and debating, to musical productions and the study of English and music, Hillcrest became a place where she truly found her voice.
Today, Elsie is a Professor at Salisbury University in Maryland, USA, where she co-runs the cinema studies programme and serves as Editor-in-Chief of Literature/Film Quarterly, a leading international journal in adaptation studies. She has also authored several books, including her forthcoming Oxford University Press publication Life 24x a Second: cinema, selfhood, and society.
Below is a piece Elsie wrote as a Hillcrest student following the passing of much-loved teacher Mr Leitch — a moving reflection on grief, music, and the lasting impact teachers can have on young people.
ON LISTENING TO SIBELIUS’S THIRD SYMPHONY
ELSIE WALKER
I am coming home the afternoon after the funeral. I can see rain pouring furiously and the grey light that seems to smother the sun. I feel the coldness of a bitter wind and no coat to protect myself. Once inside I flop by the fire, wriggling my toes to make them warm again. My cheeks are drawn and my eyes are heavy and tired. I put a record on and sit down.
The beginning is dark and ominous – just the soft hum of low strings. Hovering flutes falter above – uncertain… Now I can see the doors opening and the family slowly coming into the church. His children are bent over with the weight of the coffin. A gentle light surrounds the coffin as it is placed at the front and we bow our heads…Suddenly a melody rises above the darkness. Petal by petal its simple beauty unfolds. It gains strength and form. The melody continues, no longer faltering, but smooth and certain. Here it is most beautiful, most impassioned. The warmth of the music fills my heart and makes me forget the cold…One by one people speak of the dedication, friendship, love, and support they found in him. We think of all he did for each one of us.
Abruptly the melody stops. Mournful cellos smother the light with a reminder of all that is painful. The loss of the day presses against my chest and I sit – tense, apprehensive. The tune is no longer sweet and light but heavy and slow like a death march. The cold twists down my spine and I look down…Now I see his wife. She bravely talks of all that he meant and reminds us of all that is most precious in life. Then she stops and her eyes are filled with tears. She staggers back to her seat and says nothing more.
And then a single note sung by the oboe pierces the sadness. I listen intently. A single strength brings back the melody. This time it is alive and perfect. It is the full orchestra at its greatest strength…Finally we all stand to sing – “to sing him to heaven”. We raise our heads and the song captures our souls. It is so beautiful and so full of love. We try to accept his death for the joy then and the joy we will always remember.
I stand up and walk to the window. The pain still seeps through me but I am stronger now. The simple beauty of the piece still echoes within me as if it had slept there for a lifetime. The magic of the music hovers just a little way above my head. Outside the sky has cleared a little – I am smiling.
Good-bye Mr Leitch.
