how did I become an interpreter? - part 2

Just a little explanation on this console, another one in my collection of kit I've worked with. Note the Braille next to some of the buttons. Raises the question why blind interpreters would need to know the 'floor' and 'relay' and 'microphone' buttons but not the volume, frequencies, or even the channels they are listening to or going out on. Any ideas?

But let's continue with part two of my road to becoming an interpreter:

I went to extended secondary school in a specialist language class, meaning I continued Russian and French and learned English again, passed the entrance exam for the linguistics course at Leipzig university, and waited for the language combination I would be alloted by the system – no choice there, just 'Einsicht in die Notwendigkeit' (acceptance of necessity), as Friedrich Engels defined freedom. At an open day event that we'd all been invited back to university for, I was given Russian and Serbocroate. I was devastated, and probably realised for the first time that I wasn't into just any old languages. There was one girl who'd got a place in the English/French group but when it turned out that she didn't have the required entry level (a story in its own right), she was kicked out. After the session I walked up to the head of the faculty to ask her whether I couldn't have the place that had become available in the English/French group. She didn't promise anything but I left full of hope and proud of myself for having dared for the first time to take my destiny into my own hand, a big no-no in this socialist state.

Weeks later, when I retrieved our mail from the letter boxes in the communal hallway, I found a letter from Leipzig and opened it hastily. I hope I still have that letter somewhere as it changed my whole life. It said that due to unforeseen circumstances, a vacancy had turned up in the English/Spanish group, and they offered it to me! Needless to say, I was over the moon. We lived in the fourth floor in those days, no lift, but no lift could have been up those stairs faster than I was that day.

The rest is history, they say.

However, many years later, when I already lived in the UK, it turned out that there was another twist in this tale. On one occasion, when I told this story at a family party, mum finally came clean. She told me that actually, after the day when we were allocated languages, she had traveled to the university – she must have taken a day off work for it – to talk to the head of the faculty, who happened to be a woman. She pleaded with her from mother to mother, and in the end it was this visit that resulted in the late change of mind.

I have no idea why mum never told me this before. I always thought I got a raw deal from her in my teenage years as she was very strict with me, but looking back now, she was there for me when it mattered most, and she did more for me than I can ever thank her for.

Mum, I love you and admire you more than you can possibly imagine.

Oh, one of the girls who took evening English classes with me also became an interpreter. Isn't that funny? Especially when you consider how few places the three linguistics faculties in East Germany had.