Lisa Lotta Trubenbach
11/09/21 17:27 Filed in: HfCHall for Cornwall
With combed, greased-back silver-grey hair and wearing her term's dress, Lisa Lotte Trubenbach would often snarl at those on the Nanny course. Daily they gossiped and applied make-up before departing to their childcare classes. Truby would bang her desk with an iron fist, encouraging a revolt against Margaret Thatcher's government. The girls would ignore Truby's call to action. The political tirade would continue, with indifference by the child carers. Our form teacher would throw them a dagger glance as the college bell rang for the day's start. The students shuffled off to their classes to be language specialists, domestic goddesses and the sciences.
Leaving school with a good collection of ‘O' Levels, my highs and lows were in chemistry, with an absolute failure in the German language. Armed with my qualifications, my mother convinced me I might be a biochemist. I took up chemistry, physics, and biology as subjects. How a sixth-form college worked was my first conundrum. I was at a college where tutors shared political frustrations, along with a physics teacher who referred to me as ‘that poof’. The sixth-form college had only just become co-educational, and teachers often took daily responsibility to enforce modesty with sunbathers, not to inflame boys' desires.
Contrary to the skirt-police regime, there was a relaxed approach to being taught, and indeed, I could call staff by their first names. Angela, Anne and Betty were teachers who gave form to my life. And, of course, Miss Lisa Lotte Trubenbach.
I discovered the Drama Studio during my daily struggle with atoms, molecules, or dissecting mice. The space was warm and inviting, with soft black drapes, theatre lanterns, and a beautiful sound system. My strays into this theatre world hampered the complicated set of equations to be practised. One day, due to my transgressions into theatre land, my chemistry teacher sacked me, saying I needed to leave her A-Level course. Under her tenure, she regularly bragged that no student had ever failed A-Level Chemistry. The said teacher, also enviably a country dancer, removed those with the slightest chance of failure by socially cleansing to keep her esteemed track record.
As the morning bell rang one morning, Truby invited me to stay behind as students shuffled off. My laboratory expunging allowed me to talk to her on my newly scheduled day. In her giggly, upbeat Germanic voice, she questioned if my talents might be better served in the drama rather than leaning over a test tube with a Bunsen burner underneath. She encouraged my direction change with refreshing honesty, knowing I was miserably failing in the sciences. With a weight lifted, I duly relocated to the art and drama studio and English huts. Horrified, my mother went straight to my college to condemn whoever would knowingly give such flawed advice to give up an esteemed pharmaceutical career potentially. Un-phased, Truby fought my corner, saying working in a job I loved would make me happy and successful.
Reluctantly, my family agreed to my change in direction. As my second year concluded, I interviewed for a few drama schools to do a technical theatre course. My English teacher told me I'd never get into The Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. Of course, I did. When advising young people, think about ignoring any career advice, and next, discover your passion; it will serve you well for the rest of your life. Finding theatre, I found my tribe; I knew where to fit in and had a great career. Of course, in your teens, you don't thank anyone enough.
Occasionally, I would bump into Truby in her present term's dress. Her square frame would chuckle in Germanic tones. It was a genuine pleasure to hear my news. She changed my life, all for good. Latterly, I learnt Truby had escaped Nazi Germany with her brother, who had polio. He died shortly after going over the border, and after that, she travelled the world to learn many languages and eventually ended up in a Southampton sixth-form college. Of course, her existence was before the internet. There's nothing to find out about her. Now, I run a theatre and want a reminder of my form teacher. I've named a seat in her honour as Hall For Cornwall emerges from its massive rebuilding project. In the new Cornwall Playhouse, I will walk by her plaque every day. Truby has somewhere in the world for the recognition of her talents - The seat inscription is: For Lisa Lotte Trubenbach - Thank you - Julien x
Contrary to the skirt-police regime, there was a relaxed approach to being taught, and indeed, I could call staff by their first names. Angela, Anne and Betty were teachers who gave form to my life. And, of course, Miss Lisa Lotte Trubenbach.
I discovered the Drama Studio during my daily struggle with atoms, molecules, or dissecting mice. The space was warm and inviting, with soft black drapes, theatre lanterns, and a beautiful sound system. My strays into this theatre world hampered the complicated set of equations to be practised. One day, due to my transgressions into theatre land, my chemistry teacher sacked me, saying I needed to leave her A-Level course. Under her tenure, she regularly bragged that no student had ever failed A-Level Chemistry. The said teacher, also enviably a country dancer, removed those with the slightest chance of failure by socially cleansing to keep her esteemed track record.
As the morning bell rang one morning, Truby invited me to stay behind as students shuffled off. My laboratory expunging allowed me to talk to her on my newly scheduled day. In her giggly, upbeat Germanic voice, she questioned if my talents might be better served in the drama rather than leaning over a test tube with a Bunsen burner underneath. She encouraged my direction change with refreshing honesty, knowing I was miserably failing in the sciences. With a weight lifted, I duly relocated to the art and drama studio and English huts. Horrified, my mother went straight to my college to condemn whoever would knowingly give such flawed advice to give up an esteemed pharmaceutical career potentially. Un-phased, Truby fought my corner, saying working in a job I loved would make me happy and successful.
Reluctantly, my family agreed to my change in direction. As my second year concluded, I interviewed for a few drama schools to do a technical theatre course. My English teacher told me I'd never get into The Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. Of course, I did. When advising young people, think about ignoring any career advice, and next, discover your passion; it will serve you well for the rest of your life. Finding theatre, I found my tribe; I knew where to fit in and had a great career. Of course, in your teens, you don't thank anyone enough.
Occasionally, I would bump into Truby in her present term's dress. Her square frame would chuckle in Germanic tones. It was a genuine pleasure to hear my news. She changed my life, all for good. Latterly, I learnt Truby had escaped Nazi Germany with her brother, who had polio. He died shortly after going over the border, and after that, she travelled the world to learn many languages and eventually ended up in a Southampton sixth-form college. Of course, her existence was before the internet. There's nothing to find out about her. Now, I run a theatre and want a reminder of my form teacher. I've named a seat in her honour as Hall For Cornwall emerges from its massive rebuilding project. In the new Cornwall Playhouse, I will walk by her plaque every day. Truby has somewhere in the world for the recognition of her talents - The seat inscription is: For Lisa Lotte Trubenbach - Thank you - Julien x