I graduated from Imatran yhteislyseo (Imatra Upper Secondary School) in 1961. I was utterly unaware of all things academic, but I did know that I was going to be a humanities undergraduate and that the University of Helsinki would be my choice.

The historical-philological section of the University, now called the Faculty of Arts, required that all students should pass an exam in Latin called pro exercitio. I passed the pros for both Latin and German before the beginning of my studies in the autumn of 1961.

It is difficult to imagine a more enthusiastic student than I. A friend of mine, Raija Hietaranta (née Pulkkinen), and I paid close attention to the advice given by our tutor. Finnish Language, Finnish Literature, Folk Poetry (now Folklore Studies) and Finno-Ugric Ethnology were to be our subjects. We took an inordinate number of courses, even Latin on top everything else even though we had already passed our pros. However, we soon realised that the hours of the day were not enough and were forced to give up on Päivö Oksala’s wonderful lectures on Catullus. The focus of my studies was later to broaden from Fenno-Ugristics to education and social and moral philosophy.

The University is made by teachers with personality and courage. We, that is my friend Raija and I, were fortunate to be able to include creative self-expression and communication in our curriculum. We had a matchless teacher in Ritva Ahonen - university lecturer, orator, actor, doctor honoris causa. After the compulsory courses, there was a small note on the notice board in the lobby with the words: ‘Complementary course for the most advanced students’. We, who were targeted, knew exactly who this meant.

Ritva Ahonen’s manner of teaching was uncompromising, diverse, cultivated. It still has not released its hold on me. I often find myself wondering what Ritva’s assessment of a given thing would be. She is no longer here to check whether her teachings are adhered to – whether a speech is delivered with life, without mannerisms. The texts that she conveyed to us are among the best in the tradition of humanism.

Our group included, among others, Licentiate Jaana Venkula, professor Annikki Kaivola-Bregenhoj and the dramatist and director Ritva Holmberg.

From Ritva Ahonen, I learnt more about teaching than during the whole year of teacher training, which I did pass with excellent grades.

My luck with teachers did not end with her. I got to study under professor Annamari Sarajas’ supervision, and to her I owe a debt of gratitude for her exacting standards and encouragement.

‘There are no good or bad topics, only good or bad researchers,’ Sarajas used to say, and she was right.

I urge the university teachers of today to be original and demanding. Charming professors are unquestionably important. One of those was the first-rate humanist Matti Kuusi, even though his subject, folklore studies, was not my number one. Matti Kuusi urged everyone to keep the threshold of no longer understanding new art, especially literature, as far from oneself as possible. This way one could grasp both the old and the new.

There was no modern study allowance in my days, and I did not want to take a loan to support my studies. My family supported me until the death of my father. I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in 1964 and received an excellent job as an editor in Tammi, a Finnish publishing house. I pursued my studies for more than a year alongside my job until I realised that I was so drawn to it that my graduation would be postponed. So I left my job, making do with various stipends and scholarships to complement my scant savings.

My MA thesis on the 19th-century Finnish author Minna Canth as a depictor of the fin-de-siècle woman was excellent, so I expanded it into a Licentiate thesis and graduated in 1970. I trained as a teacher in Helsingin Normaalilyseo (the Normal Lyceum of Helsinki) and returned to my old school, Imatran yhteislyseo, to work as a teacher of Finnish language and literature as well as Drama.

It was the Finnish Border Guard that made us return. My husband, Toivo Uosukainen, became a border officer and I ‘a happy wife of the fortress’, to borrow a phrase from Maila Talvio, the 20th century Finnish author. During the different phases of my career, my husband has understood me and supported me in the life of a humanist.