Page 11 - My Story (final)

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.
But the girls from Bermondsey had cockney accents, whereas Jackie and I were always being urged by my
mother to “speak nicely”.

I can remember, aged 10, explaining to a girl called Margaret as we walked to school that we were
Jewish and maybe that was why we sounded different. She stared at me and said, “I’ve never seen a Jew
before. I didn’t think they would look like you.” However, we were accepted, and I was very happy. Poor
Jackie had enjoyed her other school and really wanted to be with the friends she had made there. They
were all evacuated to Bishop’s Stortford in Buckinghamshire which was a long way from us in
Hertfordshire.

My mother found us another place to live. We were lodged with a friend of my uncle, one Mr.
Stein and his two sons, one of whom was called Alan and Alan was not the favourite. The younger boy,
John, was the favourite and we thought he was a creep. Mr. Stein, named Stinky Stein by Jackie and me
was a greasy, repulsive man whose one aim appeared to be to get into our mother’s bedroom. We two
girls would get up at the weekends and take Mummy a “wake-up” cup of tea in bed and Stinky Stein would
try every means possible, short of brute force, to wrest that tea out of our hands and take it in himself. I
am proud to say that he never succeeded! I had then no idea what it was all about but my mother (then
aged about 35 and very pretty) had told us that she did not want him anywhere near her, to not let him
bring in her morning tea and that was good enough for us!

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