Page 11 - My Story
P. 11
My eyes are dim, I cannot see
I have not bought my specs with me
I have not bought my specs with me
There were rats, rats, big as bloomin’ cats in the store, in the store
There were rats, rats, big as bloomin’ cats in the quarter master’s store.
And then, of course, there was Vera Lynn, the forces’ sweetheart, singing,
There’ll be bluebells over
The white cliffs of Dover
Tomorrow, just you wait and see
And
We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when,
But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.
Meanwhile my mother heard of a London grammar (secondary) school that was evacuated to
Rickmansworth and sharing a building with the Royal Masonic School in Chorley Wood. We went along
there and met Miss Bowman, the headmistress of the Alwyn School from Bermondsey. She was a lovely,
white haired, motherly lady who I immediately liked. She agreed to take Jackie and came to an
arrangement with my mother to take me into her first class at the fee of four pounds ten shillings a year,
a special rate because my father was in the RAF, until I passed the scholarship, which I would take from
her office the following March. I really enjoyed that school and had no difficulty keeping up with the older
children in the class. I can still remember listening to a “schools” broadcast at two o’clock in the afternoon
called, “How things Began” when I learned about fossils. I loved the French lessons and was cast in a play
as the youngest child in a family. My first line was, “Aiee, aiee, il m’a tire l’oreille” (he has pulled my ear).
We caught a bus every morning to Rickmansworth station and then walked about a mile to the school.
We were not encouraged to fraternise with the girls at the Royal Masonic School. They were boarders
from “nice” families and I believe one or another parent from each had died. The school was/is beautiful
with a wonderful main hall with stained glass, but we had very limited use of the building. I forget, if I
ever knew, the details.
One day the Alwyn school was entertaining a Polish gentleman who had escaped to England but
had lost his wife and daughter to the Nazis. We were all encouraged to participate in a presentation. The
Latin teacher listened to the Polish national anthem on a record and then taught it to the school
phonetically.
Jeska Polska nietzi nella Poland’s soul is not departed
Schede may tziame While we live to love her
Kolna moska tzemok zella What by might was taken from her
Tzabla or betzime Might will yet recover
Marsch, marsch Dombrowski…………..
My father had recently sent us a parcel of lemons and bananas from Gibraltar. The bananas
always arrived quite black and Jackie and I thought that was how one ate them. My mother told me that
her parents, who came from Poland, liked their tea with a slice of lemon in it so I volunteered a lemon for
Dr. Whoever he was. My class teacher said I should preface the offering with the story of the origins of
tea. On the day, I told my story and presented the lemon so that he could enjoy his tea and got such a
hug in response. The poor man was weeping and hugging me - maybe I reminded him of his lost daughter.
Bermondsey in those days was a fairly poor part of London and is on the South side of the Thames.
South London was foreign territory to us – that was where the real cockneys were – nonsense really
because to be a real cockney you needed to have been born within the sound of Bow bells, as I was – just.
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