I’m not a reader from one of the far-flung corners of the British empire. In my late teens in 1959, I came from the sticks, attended a school in Cologne and got to know and appreciate the library of the British Council Die Brücke, where I felt daunted by the linguistic and intellectual standard of the broadsheets, among them the then-Manchester Guardian.
Later, when reading English at Cologne University, I was grateful for the lectures, seminars, theatre and film shows at Die Brücke and its next-door neighbour, Amerikahaus.
In 1969, I took up teaching English (my wife did soon afterwards) and we both tried to keep abreast of current affairs in the English-speaking world. We were glad to be made aware of the Guardian Weekly, in which, however, the many hard words made vocabulary lists for our students rather long.
I always begin with the excellent photo pages in the middle, go on to Pedanticus (once a teacher, always a teacher), read all the answers to N&Q and enjoy many of them, to What I’m really thinking; and Nature watch. Then, if I feel strong enough, to the more serious stuff, because reading the Weekly is nothing for cowards and, as we know, optimism is lack of information.
More than a decade into retirement, we still read with an eye to their usefulness for a daughter-in-law in teaching. Compliments for your fine journalism. And courage.
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