My life as a folk high school mum

By Anja Rykind-Eriksen

“Hi, Anja mum!”

Over the years this is a form of greeting that quite a number of former students have used. On our homepage, one of my colleagues working with communication has described me as “organiser and folk high school mum”, while various other colleagues call me “Mutti” – a word that speaks of my origins in southern Jutland.

At Rødding Folk High School, my husband Mads and I share the position of principal. And our division of labour is straightforward. Mads looks after the formal and extrovert side, welcoming people and showing them around, acting host on courses, giving lectures and so on, while I primar­ily look after the planning of the year’s schedule, interviews with staff, contacts with potential students and interviews with those who need help to make a success of their time at the folk high school. It could be seen as a very classic and even old-fashioned way of sharing out areas of responsibil­ity, but it is one that comes naturally to us. It is surprising perhaps that no one ever calls Mads “folk high school dad” but that the title of mum is used rather more freely.

It is surprising perhaps that no one ever calls Mads “folk high school dad” but that the title of mum is used rather more freely.

Anja Rykind-Eriksen

I see it, however, as a stamp of approval and a major declaration of trust that many students see me as a mother at the folk high school and in relation to their own situ­ation. “Anja mum” or “Folk high school mum” are not names I give to myself, and nor do they figure in my con­tract of employment. Technically, I am employed 50% in the office and 50% as teacher, but in the real world the boundaries are very fluid. My primary area of responsi­bility – in addition to those I have mentioned – are the management of the folk high school’s diary, the fixing of fees, and interviews with students and staff. In addition, I have counselling sessions with students, corridor duty and teaching, as well as contact to the student association and their activities. I chair various building projects at the school, have my own views on the purchase of equipment and am the person responsible for ensuring conformity with data protection laws. So it is a very diverse job, and I wear many different hats.

Welcome to a private world

One of the reasons for my being seen as folk high school mum in the students’ life is probably that I am the same age as their own mothers – just as they all know that I am mother of seven children, which for many people comes as an eye-opener. This is often what makes the greatest impression on the students and sets the basic conditions for the role of mum. But I think there is another reason why the term “folk high school mum” seems to stick with me, and that is my role and my visibility at the school.

I get to have quite a number of talks with students who find life harder than the average – those whom we at the school assess as needing a little extra support. I do not hesitate to tap them on the shoulder and invite them indoors to have a chat in private. And the fact that the route to pri­vate home is so easy – we live at the centre of the folk high school and everyone passes our door every day – is one thing that means a lot to my relations with the students. They can always knock, and I will always take the time for a chat. Teachers are offered a cup of coffee when we need to talk about something, and we often share a glass of wine on a Friday evening. It is so easy when we are there anyway and when we live at the heart of the main building. The fact that this is an opportunity, and that I am the one who controls the internal workings of the school, means that students will often knock at my door, our door. And that students – and sometimes also staff – come to mull their thoughts, to ask for help, to air their frustrations, to rant, to cry or to complain about something. I then do what I can to listen and to understand, to explain and to help.

And that students – and sometimes also staff – come to mull their thoughts, to ask for help, to air their frustrations, to rant, to cry or to complain about something.

Anja Rykind-Eriksen

When they come to me, students do not always find sympathy or support for their views – neither in private nor anywhere else in the school. Many of them probably think of me as being somewhat on the tough side. At least they know there is no nonsense with me. But they always know that they can be invited indoors and can have time to talk. This, too, does something to make this notion of a mum figure stick to me. Because they know where they are with me. They do not have to analyse what I say to find out what I mean, or whether the answer was yes or no.

The visibility and accessibility we have as a couple, sharing the role of principal, give us a closeness and pres­ence that the younger students especially yearn for and value. Our way of doing things is very predictable and sta­ble. We sit in the same places in the dining hall at all meals. Alongside our children. When students, former students, staff, course participants, lecturers or other guests who have come to eat with us, everyone knows where we are. I sit facing the door, so I can register who comes in and can immediately greet people and bid them welcome. In the same way, we always invite guests into our home if that is possible. Many a lecturer, course leader, professional partner, or former student has been offered a cup of coffee in our sitting room, and here good conversations often arise. There is generous and intimate sharing in these moments, which often provides new knowledge or cause for reflection.

Another thing that I value and spend time on is talk­ing with all staff about everyday matters as often as pos­sible. I drink coffee with kitchen staff every day and have my work and my place in the office for several hours every day. My curiosity about other people and my readiness to ask questions mean that I have a pretty good idea of the concerns everyone has outside their work. In the same way, I am happy to share accounts of my own life, because our relations here have to involve more than a community of work. Many of us spend more hours every day with our colleagues than we do with our family, and so this togeth­erness has to give us something at more than one level.

This caring for each other is a fundamental premise that allows us to take that difficult conversation with each other if and when that becomes necessary. That daily chat over a cup of coffee brings in a degree of trust that makes it easier for a member of staff to come to me in private with either personal or work-related problems, which we then try to solve together. In the same way, I have a good sense of what is going on in the ways various sections of the school work together, and this makes it easy for me to be available as a sounding board.

Sisterly solidarity?

I myself feel honoured that younger students in particular regard me as a mother figure. But that is not necessarily how everyone sees it.

We once had a woman on a course who had been here several times before and whom we had got to know a bit. She came up to me during dinner one evening and was very indignant on my behalf. She had seen the expres­sion “folk high school mum” used in a description of me in an article and told me that that was not something I should put up with. For I was just as important in the folk high school as Mads, so I should not be reduced to being mum. This was, she felt, a typical male comment, which was only designed to devalue my role and my area of work.

What nourishes me is having things function and seeing with satisfaction that we as a school are doing a good job. That we are sending our students home happy.

Anja Rykind-Eriksen

This came as quite a shock to me for that was not at all how I saw – and see – things. I am entirely conscious of my own worth and aware that my role as overall organ­iser with total overview of everything that goes on, is com­pletely indispensable. In fact, it forms the entire founda­tion for the school being able to function and for everyone knowing when they are to be at work and why. For what and for whom. I have no issue with the fact that my areas of work do not receive a standing ovation, that this is a more discrete field of action than if I were bidding welcome to courses, lecturers and so on, or giving lectures about big issues and interesting subjects. This suits me just fine. In truth, I am not very keen on being in the spotlight and being the object of fulsome words. What nourishes me is having things function and seeing with satisfaction that we as a school are doing a good job. That we are sending our students home happy. That a fragile student got through the course and returned home strengthened and smiling. And that lecturers and course leaders have enjoyed being here and feel at home when they come again.

Of course, good welcoming speeches, well-crafted lectures, tasty food, comfortable rooms and cosy teaching and living spaces are important for students’ wellbeing. But the most important thing is the mood, the atmosphere of the place. The joy that can be felt in being here and the desire to share the experience with others. And it is this last part that I keep a constant eye on and that I make every effort to ensure our school creates. So, I decidedly do not feel that my role is overshadowed by anything at all. Far from it.

The ancestral homestead

What is particularly significant here is the homeliness that we value and the fact that we have our private home here. And that this nurturing of homeliness is also linked to my role as folk high school mum. The pupils who have been to the school “in our time” – in other words over the past 12 years – call Rødding Folk High School “our ances­tral homestead” This is a term that points backwards in time and underlines a narrative about a familial and histor­ical place, with stable frameworks, daily rhythms, rituals and family structures. In its way, it is a million miles from a modern family life with parents working away from home all day, constantly changing workplaces, with insti­tutional childcare, schools with learning targets and a mass of leisure activities to be paid for in the afternoons. Each member of the family has his or her own everyday life, which in truth only rarely overlap with the others’. There is a longing buried in this. A longing for more time together, for social and working communities of togetherness and visible structures in which to create these communities. And these are the structures we create at our school, and it is my function to ensure their creation. In doing so, for many people I acquire the mother role that they know – or that they long for. A woman with time, with overview, with authority, with physical presence – who is always at home.

Each member of the family has his or her own everyday life, which in truth only rarely overlap with the others’. There is a longing buried in this.

Anja Rykind-Eriksen