Me (between arrows) at the Edgbaston High School for Girls 1939 Of course, I had to go to a new school in Birmingham, and a place was found for me at a small school of about 60 boys and girls called The Laurels. It was run run by an elderly cousin of my mother's. Once again the process of learning which I went through proved not to be memorable, with one important exception: my little book of 'times tables'. This played a daily part in my life, and I believe I owe my lasting ability for basic mental arithmetic to the emphasis that was put upon it. It was about 3 inches square, in a shiny red cover, and I seem to remember that the tables were beautifully written out by my teacher. No doubt I had to copy and learn, copy and learn, to the point of absolute saturation. I certainly remember sitting at the little desk in my bedroom and poring endlessly over my little red book.
The second school I went to in Brum was a posh one - the Edgbaston High School for Girls. Here for the first time I had to wear a uniform, a gym slip and tie. I wonder how many of you remember the gym slip. And the navy blue serge knickers with elastic round the leg, and sometimes a hanky pocket too, though this was more usually tucked in under the leg elastic. And a liberty bodice in winter - a sort of long cotton vest with rubber buttons on, to which you could attach suspenders to hold up your beige lysle stockings. Oh joy! Oh glamour! I don't think! Discipline was far stricter here than I was used to - no running in the corridors of course. I don't believe that I ever felt really at ease in the school, and when I left it I took with me a particular memory of misery.
In the spring and summer of 1939 I spent my last two terms there in the boarding house, instead of making a daily bus journey, because my parents had left my grandfather's house and were in the process of house hunting from London. During one half term I caught mumps and could not go home to the London flat for the break. I was so unhappy that I poured out all my misery in a letter to my parents. Letters home were, of course, monitored by the Matron - (would this be allowed today, I wonder?) - and I subsequently found myself in the awful presence of both the Matron and the Head Mistress, who harangued me together about being selfish, and upsetting my parents, and they couldn't let me send such a letter could they? Whether I wrote another one or just gave up I don't recall, but I have never forgiven that betrayal.
In my Birmingham schools I began to make personal friends. At the Laurels I met Sybil, who lived quite close to us in Handsworth, and so we were able to visit each other's houses. We both moved on to the EHS together which was an advantage for the relatively short time I was there. I also remember a friend with an unusual name: Catharnie. Allegedly her father had made a mistake and spelled the name Catharine wrongly at the Register Office, and the family had decided to go along with it.
I also began to have pets at this stage of my life. We acquired a tabby cat called Timothy, who surprised us all the day of the Munich crisis in 1938, by producing three small and unexpected kittens – well, I suppose the cat was expecting them, but we weren’t! She chose the pile of sheets in the airing cupboard to deliver them, which must have taken my mother's mind off the diplomatic crisis for a few moments at least. The cat continued to be called Timmy, and one of the kittens was kept for my brother who christened it Roughy Toughy, or ‘Ruffy’ for short. I developed a lifelong affinity for cats, and many was the time that my mother had to remonstrate with me for allowing Timmy to creep into my bed and curl up between the sheets.
Later I began to keep pet mice, in a cage in greenhouse attached to the side of the house. These were the occasion of my learning some hard lessons, probably the first lesson of responsibility for those in our care. I was far from regular with my feeding and cleaning of these poor creatures. My parents, while secretly providing them with what they needed, would let me think, for days at a time, that I was neglecting them, until eventually I would remember them, and be overcome by remorse.
There was a heavy growth of ivy up the wall of the house, beside the greenhouse, and here could be found large quantities of stick insects. I would collect these curious creatures and keep them in a jar, though I doubt they fared much better than the mice in terms of care, and probably did not survive long. Perhaps I was hoping to emulate my grandfather in his interest in entomology
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