Page 55 - My Story (final)

weeping willow. The house was in move-in condition which is just as well as we arrived before the
furniture and we spent the first night on the floor!

The funny thing is, nobody had ever heard of Pyrford, but we kept finding people who had lived
there. A Canadian friend, Anne le Rouge Tel had boarded there for a while as a student, Helen and Susan’s
English teacher had lived in the next street to us for a couple of years and there were others.

The children were excited about living in England. They had had several vacations there when the
weather had always been fine and the relatives loving and generous. They had a picture of some beautiful
tropical island where the spending money flowed so they were not at all sad to leave Wehrheim. As we
drove down the street for the last time in March 1971 Wolfram and Jo and various other children came
chasing after us on their bikes shouting, “Auf Wiedersehn, Auf Wiedersehn”. Peter slowed down, and we
all stuck our heads out of the windows and sunshine roof and waved and shouted back.

In England we had to see about schools. Susan, Hilary and Toby would all go to Pyrford
Elementary School, but Helen would have transitioned the previous year to either grammar school or,
new to England, the comprehensive school. I believe that nowadays everyone, unless they are privately
educated, goes to a comprehensive school. They are like the American high school but then a few
grammar schools hung on and the really bright could still attend them. Helen sat an exam and passed and
was called to an interview at Woking Grammar. The headmistress was daunting and looked down on us
both. We shrank back in our seats:

“Well, Helen,” she said, “I hope you’re keen. We like our gels to be keen.” Helen was not too
experienced at being addressed in English, did not have an extensive vocabulary and thought the woman
had said clean. “Oh yes,” she stuttered, “I had a shower this morning”.

The headmistress looked mystified and I was stifling my laughter. Helen waited for the next question.

Then there was the uniform. It was green and grey – not the best colours for my girls who were
all pale and fair – and the skirt could not be more than so many inches off the ground when you were
kneeling. Helen was used to blue jeans or very short skirts. When she started school the other girls,
hearing she had come from Germany, were not nice to her and would taunt her with Ziegheil and a
German salute. But she never spoke of this until she was grown and away from there or I would have
been up at that school giving them hell!

After school was fine. There were lots of children and teenagers living in our cul de sac and they
would all congregate on the green. The Fidlers, Hilary’s friends, had a big forecourt and there was always
a rounders game going on there.

Peter would travel up to London by train every day – it was about a forty-minute trip – and was
told almost immediately that he was to be sent back to Germany in the near future for, maybe, three
years. He was afraid to tell us but when he finally did there was all round rejoicing. The children had
discovered that the weather was awful in England and that schools had rules, often stupid rules, that had
to be obeyed. The Germans loved and respected children and would consult them about writing rules.

I refused to uproot the family immediately. Wait till Christmas, I said, and we’ll see if Singer
change their minds again.

Peter, meanwhile, sitting on the London train, had found an old friend. He was staring at the
man across from him, wondering whether he knew him or not when the man looked up and said, “Percy?”
which was the name Peter was known by at school. Peter said, “Tony?” and there were our ready-made
Pyrford friends, the Budds, who were living just a short walk from our house, having just returned from
America. Peter and Tony had been friends at school. Their two girls had been in England at boarding
school while they were away, so they were not struggling to get used to England again.

Peter moved to Germany, this time close to Karlsruhe. The Singer office was in a place called
Blankenloch – bare hole – and that’s what it was. There was nothing there. He found us a house to live
in in a village called Busenbach. There wasn’t much there, either. Still, we were almost in the Black Forest

54