Tag: challenge

Woman smiling at the camera, in a park

A scholar’s rocky road to a fulfilling career

Author: | 22 Jul 2025

Imogen Andrews made a big impact on the audience when she spoke from the stage at the Longford Lecture in 2013 about her love for geology, her degree subject. ‘It rocks’, she said. Later, though, she dropped out of her degree but the support she experienced as a Longford Scholar, she now writes, has contributed to where she has got to in her career, running her own successful fundraising consultancy.

Life doesn’t always follow a planned route. My university journey, made possible by a Longford Trust scholarship, was unexpectedly cut short by a family breakdown that led to homelessness. Suddenly, the academic path I was on vanished. The future I’d imagined felt distant.

However, even amidst this crisis, support arrived from unexpected corners. The immediate crisis of homelessness was addressed by a dedicated charity that stepped in decisively, providing the crucial first month’s rent that enabled me to secure a place to live. Another organisation then provided essential supplies. These were distinct acts of kindness, each playing a vital role in my ability to rebuild.

Working in a gold mine

Before the family breakdown disrupted my studies, the Longford Trust had provided me with extra help to deal with the complex maths that was part of the geology course, via Margaret, an advanced maths teacher who was one of their volunteers.  Then, through my mentor, Luke, I was offered an extraordinary opportunity: work experience with his company in Africa on a gold mine.

This experience was truly transformative. Beyond the fascinating geology, a real-world immersion in the earth’s composition, I learned invaluable lessons about different cultures and myself. It undoubtedly gave me a unique perspective and a real-world edge. My education took an unexpected turn when I discovered first-hand the impressive (and slightly alarming) defensive spray of certain local beetles – a practical lesson in organic chemistry that university hadn’t prepared me for.

But survival then took precedence when I had to leave university. I grabbed the first job available: door-to-door fundraising. It wasn’t what I expected, going house-to-house, talking to strangers. It was a challenging start. But something clicked.

Sharing the support I had received

Connecting with people about a cause, inspiring them to help, felt meaningful. It was a way to give back, channelling the support I had received into benefiting others. I found my stride, moving into other areas of fundraising. I began to excel, consistently surpassing targets and breaking fundraising records.

My connection with the Longford Trust remained a source of incredible moments, both during and after my formal studies, with the annual lectures being a consistent high point. One year, after I had spoken on stage about the scholarship’s impact, I had the truly surreal and awesome experience of Vivienne Westwood calling me magnificent. It was a lifetime highlight, a moment of pure validation from someone so iconic.

Eventually, the skills and experience I gained in fundraising led me to a new ambition. I enjoyed the energy, the challenge, the direct link between my work and positive change. The skills I was developing – communication, resilience, empathy – felt incredibly valuable.

Where life can take you

Five years on, I lead my own fundraising and consulting agency. It’s a reality I couldn’t have envisioned, underscoring how initial opportunities can shape unexpected successes. The Longford Trust’s belief in me, and the experience in Africa, remain invaluable, even though my path diverged from academia. Overcoming homelessness and family breakdown, thanks to crucial early support, revealed an unforeseen strength in fundraising, which has become both my career and a source of genuine purpose. My journey is a testament to how life’s detours can lead to surprisingly fulfilling destinations.

One man Will dressed in a graduation gown with a certificate, being congratulated by another man Peter

They say education is freedom. I learned that while I was locked up

Author: | 13 Feb 2025

Our Longford Scholar Will Pendray graduated last week (pictured left with Trust director Peter Stanford).  As he waited in line to walk out on stage to shake hands with the Vice-Chancellor, he thought about all that had happened to him in prison, and since, all that he had lost and missed and been denied and refused. And how his graduation proved wrong the people who had counted him out.

 

Every door slammed shut. My life was put on hold. My future, it seemed, was no longer in my hands. But the first time I opened an Open University textbook in my cell, it wasn’t just a way to pass the time. It was an act of defiance, a quiet rebellion against the limitations of a system I refused to be defined by.

At first, it didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like frustration. Prisons in this country aren’t built for learning; they’re built for punishment. The noise is relentless; shouting, alarms, doors banging. You study with one eye on your work and one eye on your surroundings, because you can’t afford to lose focus for too long. You carry books in one hand, keeping the other free, just in case.

But that was just the start

Some days, I unplugged my TV and shoved it under my bed, replacing its allure with the weight of a textbook instead. I studied through the chaos and the noise of the wing, through lockdowns that kept us behind doors for days on end, through nights when sleep was impossible, my mind racing with the life I was letting go of and the life I hoped to build when I was free.

And in those pages, I discovered a way forward. Each book I opened reminded me that, even in confinement, my mind was free to roam. Learning gave me movement in a place designed to keep me still. It allowed me to redefine myself. I wasn’t just another prisoner. I was a student.

The moment it hit me

People like me don’t often get the chance to go to university. As I sat in my seat at the graduation ceremony, watching the other students cross the stage, it hit me. Some twirled, some stopped for selfies with the vice-chancellor, others strutted with confidence like they were walking a catwalk. Their families cheered. Their friends clapped.

And I sat there, tilting my head back, widening my eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling. I wasn’t crying for them, though I was happy for their achievements. I was crying for me. For the journey that led me here.

I thought about how I was supposed to start my Master’s in 2020, but the pandemic had other ideas. I thought about the day officers frog-marched me from open conditions back to a closed prison on suspicion of something I was later acquitted for, just months before I was due to begin university.

I thought about that first morning back, when the chaplain knocked on my cell door to tell me my father had passed away in the night. I thought about attending his funeral in handcuffs, how I nearly wasn’t allowed to go at all.

I thought about all the moments that could have broken me. And yet, somehow, I kept going.

Giving up would have been easier. But I refused.

When my name was called, there would be no fancy celebration, but I would walk across that stage with my head held high.

Because I had earned my place.

Because despite everything, I was here.

The narrative needs to change

People thought it was over for me when I went to prison. But really, it was just the beginning.

Too often, we are defined by our mistakes. Society tells us that once you’ve been to prison, your future is already written. That education isn’t for people like us. That the best we can hope for is survival.

That narrative needs to change.

I’m not an exception. I’m proof of what’s possible when people in prison are given access to education, when they’re seen as more than their past. And if you’re reading this, whether you’re currently inside, recently released, or just trying to find a way forward, know this: your future is still yours to write, and every setback is an opportunity for growth.

It won’t be easy, some days you’ll want to quit. But keep going.

One day soon, you’ll walk across that stage. Not as the person they tried to confine, but as the one you fought to become. And when you do, hold your head high, because the world counted you out. But you proved them wrong.

Will Pendray recently completed an MA in Creative Writing at the University of Brighton, achieving an overall distinction. His debut poetry collection Overgrown will be published later this year.