I sometimes wonder how I even made it here, what was it that gave me the push to leave home, my family, friends and security? Looking back I was like every other student. I was unsure of my future and what I wanted in life. Sure, my future at the time was what Mam had on for the dinner! For most it begins with the dreaded Leaving Cert, choosing subjects which are totally inapplicable to what you want to do in life, cram all the pointless information in, and then regurgitate it all onto paper for someone to destroy it in red biro and tell you you’re wrong. Well if I’m honest the Leaving Cert was actually really important to me now that I look back on it all. It taught me a lot and did prepare me for what University life had in store. So anyway here is where the story begins. I knew I wouldn’t achieve the points wanted by the CAO to do Psychology in Cork, or Ireland for that matter, so I decided maybe England was an option. At the time I suppose I was just looking for something extra to do, to better my chances of getting a place in college. I sent off my application, after countless visits to my guidance councillor and draft after redraft. Within a week I received an acceptance letter, which was followed by another four acceptances – lucky, as I was the only one out of my friends who didn’t have to be interviewed for a place. These acceptance letters gave grades which I had to attain in specific subjects, so instead of points I started to feel even more confident about sitting the LC. I sat it, wrote a lot of information...

    Plath’s been on the Leaving Certificate in Ireland for quite a while and seems to be one of the more popular choices for students. Teenagers get her dark, brooding, troubled poetry and, even when they encounter more difficult poems, there’s a sense of emotional investment sometimes that encourages readers to try to understand her. Wilson tells us that Plath was born in Boston in1932. Her parents, Otto and Aurelia, were academics, he a professor, she a student. Otto married Aurelia the same day he divorced his previous wife. Aurelia had wished to be a writer but was always guilty about not devoting enough time to her children, Sylvia and Warren. Sylvia was destined to follow her mother’s fate, to an extent. Otto was busy writing books and giving lectures and was a bit of a stickler for order and was fascinated by bees and their structured existence. Aurelia resigned herself to being the docile housewife. Later, Sylvia would lament the double standard whereby men could express themselves professionally and sexually while women were far more constricted. Otto Plath became ill in the mid-thirties and died in 1940. Sylvia and her brother Warren didn’t attend his funeral; their mother had wished to protect them from her own grief and theirs but Plath, later on, would be scathing towards her mother for this apparent indifference. All her life, Plath was obsessed with self-improvement and grades and had a fiercely competitive streak. It’s been said before that the children of teachers can often feel a lot of pressure to perform and that seems to have been the case here. After Otto’s death and securing a new job, Aurelia took the two kids to Wellesley, a Boston suburb. But even as young as ten, Sylvia was...

“Mom, why are you crying?” “I’m not crying sweetheart. I just have some dust in my eye. Now run along and go play with your sister. You know you can’t leave her alone like that.” “Sorry mom. I saw you out here by yourself and I… I just wanted to know what was wrong.” Sheila O’Leary, widow, broke and soon to be evicted, pulled her eleven year old son, Patrick into a tight hug and whispered, “There’s nothing wrong love. Nothing at all.” Earlier That Morning… “Please Mr. Gleeson, there must be something you can do,” Sheila grovelled. “I’m sorry Ms. O’Leary, but from looking at your recent files, I can see nothing has been paid within the last month and a half. Your insurance premium, electricity bills and credit card withdrawals have been especially neglected.” “I know. And I promise I will pay you every last penny but I need this loan.” “Ms. O’Leary…” “You will get your money!! Isn’t that all you care about? Wheedling every last pound out of my pocket? Taking it all until I have nothing left, until I can’t even afford to live in my own home!!” A fresh wave of tears streamed down Sheila’s face, and she broke into a fit of sobs and moans. Mr. Gleeson rubbed her shoulder reassuringly.        “I promise you Sheila that that is not how we work. I will try to salvage you another week, but that is the limit.” He hesitated for a moment, then continued: “I know it’s been hard for you ever since Greg died, but you will get through this.” “What about my children?” Sheila persisted, ignoring the comment. “They don’t deserve this. This is not how they should have to spend their childhood. You can’t...