My life by a nonagenarian

Reminiscences of a nonagenarian born in Croydon in 1923.

Written by Lorna P. Burroughs 2017

My first Christmas memory is of waking up to see a ribbon attached to my bed. I followed this ribbon downstairs, through the hall, the dining room, the lounge and finally to the kitchen where I found on the end of the ribbon a small tricycle! I truly believed in Father Christmas then!

Sunday School, to which I was taken by my two older sisters was memorable only because on one Sunday Olive and Joyce decided not to go into the church and impressed on me that I mustn't tell Mummy and Daddy; my only thought was that God couldn't see me because I was too small!

Going on holiday was a major operation starting with a large trunk of clothes being sent in advance to await us on our arrival at the sea-side.

We, Father, Mother and three girls, travelled by car - I can remember one of these, a Sunbeam with a roll back roof.

There were no motorways as we know them today, so we left home in Hendon, NW London in the early morning aiming to arrive in Devon or Cornwall in time for a late tea having stopped for an hour on the way for Pop to have a nap while we girls played ball - out of ear-shot of course!

About 1929 we moved to 3 Graham Road, Hendon

During the 1940s our back lawn on which before the war we used to play croquet or tennis, was dug up in a “Dig for Victory� campaign. After the war, it became once more a lawn but never seemed to be the same: we three girls had all left home, never to return to live there permanently.

The house as it is today

School Days My memories of school are mainly of sport - I was Captain of Tennis and Netball and a keen runner on Sports Days. We also played Lacrosse and for one season cricket where I made history by bowling and catching one member of a rival team in a "friendly" match! I was not good at swimming however as I was too skinny to stay long in the cold water! No heated pools in those days!

Ravensfield College in Hendon in 1934.

Another vivid memory of school days is of walking the more than two miles home every day (it was safe in those days!) with one of my three "best friends". We four girls kept in touch for over eighty years and often said we should be in the Guinness Book of Records for long friendships!

The term I was to become Head Girl at school, war broke out, thus ending at 16 my formal schooling.

I remember my parents, during a sea-side holiday, interviewing not only a prospective maid but her parents in their home as well. She stayed with us for some years until on our returning a day earlier than expected from a holiday, she was found in bed with her boyfriend!

One did not need to be rich to have a living-in-maid before the war as there were only five legal professions open to women before 1939 a) A Nurse - this included being a children's Nanny, but very seldom a doctor b) A Typist (though never a secretary)

c) A Teacher, but only if single. Upon marriage one had to resign or one was dismissed d) A worker in a factory or a mill e) A Maid (or perhaps a Cook), this could include sewing in shops, but always under male supervision.

My in-laws had two living in maids as well as a woman who came in to do the rough work, two gardeners and a handyman. My father-in-law was a permanent invalid having contracted polio in India. This did not prevent him working though in the research laboratory at St Mary’s, Paddington, with Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of penicillin.

Perhaps this amount of help was needed but in the 21st century it seems an extraordinary amount for a family of five; in truth the two boys were seldom at home, being sent first to Prep School, then to Cambridge University. After finishing their seven years of Undergraduate studies they qualified as Medical Doctors and were sent abroad as part of the Army Medical Corps. Although both boys were happily married they were never able to enjoy a stable life style after the war and both died comparatively young, Roger at only 35 and his brother at 72. Their mother lived until she was 90.

War Years 1939-1945 My memory of this time is so vivid that I can still hear Neville Chamberlain (the then Prime Minister) saying on the 'wireless' on 3rd September 1939 “We are now at war with Germany".

My parents and I remained in our holiday flat in Brighton, 8, Viceroy Lodge, Mansions, Kingsway during the first year of what was then called the "phoney war". One day we saw hundreds of boats of all sizes out at sea this was, of course, the amazing evacuation of our troops from Dunkirk and surrounding beaches in the summer of 1940. However, WWII now started in earnest, with bombs falling on railway lines.

Pop said that he must return to live in London in order to be able to get to his office in Victoria Street. It was crucial for him to be there as not only was his firm engaged in important structural engineering but his office was also a rendezvous for "escapees" from Nazi occupied Europe. They met at his office before being directed to the appropriate headquarters for Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and others. My father's firm was also heavily involved in building the Mulberry Harbours used for transporting our troops back into France when the Allies invaded the Normandy Beaches and thus advanced the ending of hostilities. For his work with France he was decorated by the French Government.

Meeting Winston Churchill. Pop is on the extreme right.

Of course we saw much aerial activity once back home in Hendon. I used to watch the searchlights crossing in the night sky seeking out enemy aircraft, and listen to bombs dropping around us. In fact I met my first husband, Roger, after a bomb dropped in the garden of his house which was opposite to ours. His mother had evacuated herself and her young daughter, leaving Roger, a medical student who was also doing night time fire watching duties on the roof of St Mary's Hospital, Paddington, alone.

Hearing me playing the piano, he knocked at our front door on the pretext of borrowing a bottle of milk, and the rest is history!

I also remember my sister Joyce and I, after we had visited our eldest sister in a nursing home where she had given birth to Marleen, born on Battle of Britain Day, September 15 1940. Returning home, Joyce and I took a short cut across a church yard; the air-raid sirens started wailing and almost immediately bombs were dropping around us. As we were crouching down behind some tombstones my sister remarked, "Well we are in the right place anyway". She was driving ambulances in London during the

Blitz so had first-hand knowledge of bombs dropping nearby so was blasé about the bombs falling, but it was still a little scary!

Autumn 1940 Thinking I should "do my bit" I tried two jobs before going into the WAAF (Women's Auxiliary Air Force) where I remained for the last four years of the war.

I was now 17 ½, and having decided to do something for the War Effort, called in at a near-by factory (later annihilated by a "flying bomb" or "doodle-bug"! These were unmanned aircraft which made their presence known with a loud drone-like humming: when the noise stopped, you took cover because the bomb was now falling; damage caused was considerable I remember a street of houses in west Hendon, about half a mile from us, being more-or-less wiped out by one doodle-bug.)

My first job may be of historical interest, especially to ladies, as it was packing sachets for use in "perms"; these sachets entailed making curls by rolling the sachets round strands of hair; the customers were then attached to an electric heater and sat there rigidly until they were "done” I don't suppose Health and Safety regulations would allow that nowadays! I thought this factory was making military equipment; instead, it was making sachets for Eugene Permanent Waves. This was the time when you were attached by wires to a machine, unable to move your head, and after what seemed like hours, you were released with a glamorous head of wavy hair.

I was hopeless on the conveyor belt in the factory, the sachets piled up around me as in a nightmare; the girls either side of me used to do my packing as well as their own! Anyway, I only lasted there seven weeks and I left, covered in a rash from all the dust!

Realising this was not war work, I left the factory and reported to a nearby hospital. Here I was accepted (wrongly) as a trained nurse, given a uniform and immediately put into the men's ward! For a naïve seventeen year old girl (as they were in 1940) this was quite an experience. I don't know who was the most embarrassed when it came to blanket baths, the young men or me!

After I inadvertently infected a children's ward with nits the Matron realised a mistake had been made in hiring me. Matron only then discovered

I had not had any medical training whatsoever and after asking me not to tell anyone, politely asked me to leave.

Fancying myself on a motor-bike, I then applied to be a dispatch rider in the WAAF, so I went up to their headquarters in London. They took one look at my short legs and said perhaps I was more suited to doing wireless work and upon learning that I didn't have a driving license they thought that I would do less harm sitting at a desk than speeding along roads.

Then followed moves to other camps to learn aspects of WAAF life, including wireless maintenance (which I failed, twice) and the Morse Code, at which I was rather good. They were so desperate they sent me on from Compton Bassett, Wiltshire where I had learnt the Morse Code to Nottingham.

An eight week idyll then followed, billeted in a butcher's shop in Nottingham where we slept, four in a room, in BEDS. We were served pork chops for breakfast and rump or fillet steak for supper while most of the country was half starving under food rationing, of only a few ounces of meat per week. A memorable experience was of being (together with another WAAF) propositioned in a well-known Nottingham pub, first by a shifty looking man, probably a Black Marketeer judging by the hundreds of pounds be produced from his pockets, then being "rescued" from him by two spivvy type chaps in a sports car (black market petrol?) who were even more difficult to shake off.

Finally I reached Chicksands Priory, near Bedford, to intercept enemy coded messages. These were then sent to Bletchley Park for deciphering. I remained here until the end of the war in 1945. Life, though Spartan by present day standards, was bearable, helped of course by the friendships with other WAAF and RAF personnel. The working day was divided into three eight hour shifts, 8am -4pm, 4pm - midnight, midnight - 8am, each shift lasting a week. After the midnight shift we were given "breakfast" at 0100 (1am) then the camp cinema opened especially for us.

Leaving a centrally heated house where each family member had their own room, I had a shock upon arriving to a draughty tin Nissen hut where we

slept on three "biscuits" (hard miniature mattresses) which had to be stripped and stacked every day for inspection: washing facilities and toilets were in a communal block across a courtyard. There were twenty WAAF in each Nissan hut with one coke stove in the centre, so in the winter you were either very hot near the stove or very cold if you were at the ends of the hut. In summer, the tin huts were stifling hot so sometimes we dragged our beds (with three "biscuits") outside to try and get some sleep. I suppose there was no written rule against this because we were never stopped.

Off duty we often hitch hiked to the neighbouring town, Bedford, or to London. Once I hitched a lift to LINCOLN to join my husband for a weekend. Having come off all-night duty I promptly fell asleep in the car and only woke up several hours later on approaching Lincoln - I wouldn't dare do that nowadays. Then there was the time I hitched a lift with a jeep full of G.I.s on their way to "have a good time in Piccadilly Circus". They were very happy on 'warm' British beer and equally happy throwing their empty cans out of the window! Luckily with petrol rationing there was little traffic.

Sometimes, WAAF were invited to a dance on an American camp, and once I was taken (unofficially) onto a Bomber - a B47.

Life was not too hard, plenty to eat and a NAAFI where you could buy very cheap "extras". Compulsory parades in our free time was a bind (a term

much used in the forces), but once several huts of WAAF went on strike and refused to turn up; there were so many of us that the authorities turned a blind eye, so I suppose the airmen held the parade on their own.

Every six (?) months you were given a Rail Pass and one week's leave; at other off duty times you hitch-hiked as WAAF pay did not allow for such luxuries as train travel! I managed to be put on seven charges, most for arriving back late from leave, though one was for accidentally burning an iron-sized hole in my WAAF skirt, woops. The punishment was to report every hour, when off duty, with a full pack on your back; after each spell of "junkers" I was sent to hospital for a week with violent stomach pains so I had a good rest!

My job was Wireless Interception (HUSH HUSH at that time) which entailed constant listening, searching the busy air-waves and taking down coded messages: on two occasions I apparently intercepted something that nobody else managed to find so there was great excitement round me and my wireless; I often wondered what Bletchley made of those messages?

Married on August 24th 1943 on a week's leave, Roger from the RAMC Royal Army Medical Corps- and me from the WAAF - Women's Auxiliary Air Force - we flew, in wartime, from Cornwall to The Scilly Isles for our honeymoon. The following year Roger was sent to West Africa and did not return to England until 1947.

It may be of historical interest to present day travellers to hear of my father who often went to France and Belgium on business and before commercial flying became commonplace used to travel by train (from Victoria Station) to Dover where the train was loaded on to a boat which then carried the passengers across the English Channel to France. From here a train then went to Paris or Brussels. Later he was awarded the 'Legion d'Honneur' for services to France during the Second World War, and the French Thanksgiving Medal.

My other love at that time (and still is) was music making. From the age of twelve I passed many piano exams and played in festivals and concerts.

Life after the War The first winter was memorably cold: gas and electricity were scarce so our coal-fired boiler could not provide hot water and we occasionally begged a bath from a neighbour - I think my father washed in his London club! Food was even more strictly rationed than during the war - one (stale) egg a month, little milk and only a few ounces of meat and butter. My parents both had ulcers so they were given extra rations of milk. I still remember our amazement in 1947, two years after the end of the war, on seeing a hand of bananas.

After he was demobbed my husband, Roger, took hospital posts and locums one of which took us to Dun Loaghaire on the south-east coast of Ireland.

Here we lived royally because as part payment we received fruit, potatoes and fresh eggs, the definition of "fresh" being 1-4 hours since they were laid: unfortunately the fleas were also very fresh obliging us to turn back the bedclothes every night and go on safari hunting not for wild animals but jumping, blood sucking insects. I have however one beautiful memory of pushing baby Lorna in her pram through the end of a rainbow. Another record of our Irish stay was the thirty piece Irish dinner service we brought back, which is still intact 67 years later (2017). Coming through customs we avoided paying tax and Roger proved that the Irish are not the only people with the gift of the gab!

After a series of jobs including a few months in Kuwait, while Roger’s wife and daughter remained at home, and a move to our own medical practice in Broomfield, Chelmsford, Roger sadly died in 1953 leaving me with two children, Lorna aged 3½ and Arthur (Boy) aged 1 year and 3 months. I was helped by two extremely kind friends, Drs Macbeth and Paget-Davis who kept our practice running whilst also attending their own practices; thus I remained solvent for the next few months until a replacement doctor was found. Here I wish to praise the Chelmsford Council of that time who moved me into a Council House (still in the process of being built (!)). It had to be an end of terrace as I played the piano every day. The council moved the boiler too so I could have hot water heated by immersion, and my father paid for a phone to be installed. By the time we moved into 17

Pennine Road at the end of September, the weeds in the garden were so high that I could not see my sister Olive when she sat on the grass.

My parents had suggested we move back to live with them in Hendon, London, but having been mistress of my own home I was reluctant to lose my freedom and we lived there frugally but happy for eight years. The Vicar of the newly built church, St Andrews, on Melbourne Estate, called on me, and finding that I played the piano, invited me to become the accompanist of the church choir, offering to help find me baby-sitters.

Here I met John Mitchell, the conductor of the choir. During the War he had been an extra in the film “In which we serve.�

I eagerly accepted this offer as a chance to meet people and to play the piano regularly. I now have on the walls of my summer house eight laminated posters showing the concerts we performed which my daughter discovered stored in my loft.

Widowed in 1953 and left with two children under the age of 3½ the next years saw much musical activity. I thought it was time to become a "legitimate" musician, so when the children started school I had lessons in both playing and paper-work, very often spattering the latter with food as I often worked whilst cooking! In 1959 My efforts were rewarded with an ARCM in teaching the piano. ARCM as I told my young son stood for A Right Crafty Mum. With the help of a Medical Charity I was found a job teaching music at St Cedd's private school and St Anne's where I was in charge of the music of six forms, including a phenomenon that I believe no longer exists in the same format - the Percussion Band, twenty to thirty of the youngest children playing on drums, tambourines and triangles in a sometimes sweltering hot tin hut for over two hours every Friday afternoon is an experience never to be forgotten! Thank heavens for aspirin! This

experience stood me in good stead when as a Primary School Music Teacher I took coach loads of children to compete in Festivals in Chelmsford, Leighon-Sea, Southend and Stratford, London. We won many cups and other trophies, the most memorable being winning the 'National Festival of Youth' trophy, once with a Primary School "orchestra" competing against secondary schools

and a second time when my private Recorder Quartet beat several older pupils playing orchestral instruments, and performed at the Royal Albert Hall. One of my (many) musical Great-Grandchildren now has the Trophy.

Later, another Recorder Quartet played Live on Essex Radio at an interview I gave after I founded the CRO - Chelmsford Recorder Orchestra.

We won the National Festival of Youth, held at the Fairfield Halls in Croydon, first with a school group and the next year with a private recorder quartet, the Tabor Recorder Consort, who then played to a packed Albert Hall. As Antony Hopkins, the compère said: "Probably the only time in the history of The Albert Hall that a recorder quartet has played here". I was interviewed and my quartet played live on Essex Radio. Our recorder quartet was also featured twice on radio.

This is the Trophy

A later headmistress was keen to introduce Recorders, making it compulsory for every child - a most enlightened Head! I soon tired of only being one step ahead of the children so started going on weekend courses where I met all the "big guns" who had pioneered the revival of recorder playing for adults. In later years I passed the Teachers Certificate in Recorder playing and had a book of Treble Solos by Dr Walter Bergmann dedicated to me and my brilliant pupils (!!) I still, in my 96th year (2018) enjoy playing recorders, piano, viola da gamba (sometimes) and various percussion instruments in the U3A music group.

1961 to the present day Even before the war and for many years after it ended there were no supermarkets open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week; in fact, supermarkets as we know them today did not exist, although there were large stores such as Liberty, Harrods and others such as Bolingbroke & Wenley and Bonds in Chelmsford, and with the possible exception of a paper shop, there was no

Sunday Trading in the 1930s. One day a week was (compulsory) early closing day (noon or 1pm) and at Christmas my mother received a little present from local shopkeepers grateful for her custom throughout the year. On the other hand, I remember that on Boxing Day the postman and the dustman came for their Christmas Box, the milkman, the newspaper delivery boy and others already having had theirs.

By the 1960s women were more independent, no longer expecting to remain at home doing housework and cooking (though I always preferred to cook and bake, no microwave ready meals in those days!) I had an eight hour day, teaching music in two schools and at home, except Saturday (four hours) and Sunday (none). In addition I was running the home and bringing up two children, though not having a car I was not obliged to ferry them to various activities as mothers are expected to do today. I did once try to regain my driving licence, but having neglected to renew it after ten years I was obliged to re-take the test. Not having driven for several years and not having a car in which to practice, I failed the test, thus possibly becoming unique in passing my driving test the first time and failing it the second!!

I also became, during this time, Honorary Secretary for about 22 years to three musical institutions, responsible for engaging artists for monthly concerts, finding three different venues and often acting as accompanist or soloist, once playing a hundred accompaniments in one day! No time to be bored. I set the recorder Syllabus and engaged the Adjudicators for the annual Chelmsford Music Festival. I also increased the number of Trinity College examinations (held in my house) for this region from one to three annually. This in turn led to my being given a Civic Award for "Services to the Arts�, by Chelmsford Borough Council.

Whenever possible I went on courses, often to Wansfell College in Epping and enjoyed marvellous lessons in Italian and other languages, Art Appreciation, Books, History, and even once with the legendary Patrick Moore on Astronomy. In other venues I improved my playing of Recorders, Piano and Viola da Gamba. I also studied for and was awarded an A level in French at the age of 57 after my son married a Belgian girl who did not speak much English, and an A level in Italian when aged 68.

Throughout this hectic time my two children had grown up, married, and given me eight grand-children; who in turn have already brought me nine great-grandchildren and one of them made me a Great-Great-Grandmother in June 2017. Two more great great grandchildren are due to be born at Christmas 2018, one in England and the other, Amelia Grace, in Sydney, within sight of the Opera House.

Incidentally music was instrumental (pardon the pun!) in my meeting both of my husbands! Music really is the food of love as far as I am concerned as my love of the piano introduced me to my first husband, and was contributory to my meeting my second, Frank Burroughs.

Frank and I enjoyed many delightful holidays during the next fifty years, in Italy. I would like to mention the Barbieri family in particular with whom we became close friends. The head of this was Orazio, the ‘saviour of Florence’ as he was called by guides leading tourists round Florence, who would rush up to him to shake his hand and/or kiss him. He was so called because when the Nazis occupied Florence, Orazio would crawl through the Corridoio Vasariano, a corridor stretching across the River Arno, in order to relay messages between “i partigiani” (partisans or freedom fighters) and the Allied forces on the other side. It was thanks to Orazio also that Frank and I were taken through secret panels in the 14th century Palazzo Vecchio down to the hidden “get away” on the Arno and up to rooms where the secret archives were kept.

Holidays I have now added a short list of my holidays and other highlights over 60 odd years; these are only my personal thoughts, not meant to be a travel book, nor to have any political or ethical views. Neither are they in any order, alphabetical or chronological. They are simply my reactions.

USA About 55 years ago I went to San Diego with my sister Olive to visit Marleen and Rusty; England at that time was far behind America in material goods so it seemed to me that even though we spoke the same language it was as foreign as any European city.

There are two remarkable aspects to the USA for me: its natural beauty and the people and their way of life.

My memory of the scenery includes the following: The millions of years which have gone to make the Grand Canyon – remarkable and awe inspiring.

The intense red colour of the Bryce Canyon soil.

The beautiful stone formations of the Zion Canyons.

The Arizona desert which we crossed the day the newspapers reported finding the bodies of two young people who, leaving their broken-down car, died of exposure to the sun.

The Native Indians and their crafts – I still have the slippers I bought and the silver bracelet with turquoise non-precious stones.

The yucca plants which inspired me to plant one in my garden even though I will not live long enough to see it fully mature The Hollywood Bowl where it was possible to hear every note of a piano recital in the huge open-air arena, because of the incredible acoustics.

As for the people…

Coming out of the airport on our arrival in the USA was a shock for we British to drive in several lanes of traffic with cars passing on both sides, but I was impressed by the drivers giving way to traffic on their left at junctions.

Seeing super- and hyper- markets for the first time, going to a drive-in cinema where you not only saw the film without getting out of your car, but could eat a meal which was brought to you. The car really is an extension of the human body in America. In a built-up area away from the centres it was impossible to walk anywhere as there was no provision for pedestrians. The police wearing guns in the streets was a novelty that we were rather nervous about!

The people however were incredibly friendly and generous – friends of Marleen whom we had not previously met plied us with gifts, and strangers in the stores came up to talk to us because they wanted to hear our English accents! Marleen has never, in over 50 years, returned to live in England.

The cost of living is so cheap in comparison that she has no desire to do so.

GERMANY I extensively visited Germany, both East and West three times, in 1987, 1989 and in 1993 by mini-bus shared with 10 like-minded people and led by Walter Drews, a half German half Englishman who spent the war years (1939-1945) hiding from the Nazis as he not only hated their ideology but did not wish to fight against his mother’s country. He was of course a fascinating guide and teacher, leading us into places and people we may not otherwise have known.

The first of my several “favourite” places we visited in Germany was Goslar with its medieval cobblestoned, half-timbered houses surrounded by the Harz mountains coming right to the outskirts of the city, a thousand years of living history and, thank goodness, no sign of our having bombed them.

We stayed in the Heimvolkschock Schule (Folk High School) with food better than the average English school and totally different, accompanied

by free wine, beer (of course), apple juice and champagne. Lectures were given by the Principal about the living conditions in Germany. Walter was interested to learn that his counterpart earned more than twice as much as him and retired five years earlier – so much for their losing the war! We reflected that Germany did not have the equivalent of our National Health Service. The only uncomfortable moment was when a Guide showed us a forest of trees in the mountains which had been destroyed by Acid Rain brought by the prevailing winds from England. While in Goslar we took the opportunity of going down a Tin Mine (one of a few still surviving) and were given a luncheon reception at the Rathaus (Town Hall).

Among other memories of Germany was driving into the courtyard of the large home of the industrial firm of Siemens; built in 1693 it is still owned by the family. Also memorable is a visit to a look-out post on the East German border before the wall came down. We were all, including Walter, a little nervous as we were looked at through binoculars and photographed by the armed police. UM-ER Another memorable event was going to Bayreuth to visit Wagner’s unique Opera House (Festspeilhaus) built by him of wood (including the seats) and stone; the seating was tiered to maximise the acoustics and the view of the stage. So that nothing should interfere with the audience’s enjoyment of the Drama, the Orchestra was hidden from sight under the stage. The temperature down there when we visited was over 900F so not surprisingly the players, unseen by the audience, usually dressed in shorts and tops!

Standing in Nuremberg square, and, later, on the podium from where Hitler made many speeches, it was easy to imagine the thousands, even millions, of young soldiers and citizens devotedly listening to their Fuhrer (leader) though, to me, it was difficult to understand how such a small man could inspire fellow Germans (Hitler was a naturalised Austrian) to occupy most of Europe, nor to inflict such tortures as they did on fellow human beings.

This sombre mood was slightly mollified by some young Germans, not even born in 1945, expressing disgust, but I could never persuade Frank to like “the Germans”! I wonder what he would make today of Donald Trump and his Bavarian ancestry?

Other lighter memories of Nuremberg are of being filmed in a church by German television (I never saw the result!) and of visiting the house of one of my heroes, Durer, where I bought the copy of a picture hanging now at the top of my stairs in Tabors Avenue. I also have copies of three of his wood cuts in my bedroom.

Potsdam was special to me, not so much for the ‘Potsdam Agreement’ signed at the end of the war by England, Russia and the USA in which they divided Germany into three parts, as the knowledge that here J S Bach met the King, Friederich William II and played on his (early) pianos and organs; the King lives for me because he gave Bach a theme upon which he wrote the wonderful ‘Musical Offering’, One of Bach’s sons, C P E Bach was ‘Resident Musician’ at the Palace, but to me of particular interest was to learn that Quantz, whose great book on ornamentation in Music I spent one summer holiday copying, was the king’s Flute Teacher there.

CRETE Another study tour was made from Wansfell in 1999 to Crete, this time led

by Tony, a man who lived six months of the year in England and six months in his flat in Chania, capital of Crete. He was an official guide on this island so of course we enjoyed the freshest food and the best local wine – every night was a party.

RUSSIA Russia is a ‘Must See’. The first of my three visits was in November (bitterly cold) 1988. Wonderful art in the Hermitage of course, the many hours I spent in there were not nearly enough. Food in luxurious Tourist Hotels was excellent but in the local supermarket where I went alone I saw whole chickens stacked up one on the other (at least, I think they were chickens!) and bread so stale that people were prodding it with the ‘provided for this purpose’ fork to make sure it was edible! Clothing was like in pre-war England – cheap and shapeless especially the knickers which were HUGE. There were long queues outside shops on the rare occasions they were open for shoes, books almost anything. Even if you didn’t want it yourself you knew somebody else who would. Women appeared to have equal rights with men being allowed to sweep the snow away on the streets!

In Leningrad families of even nine people were still living in 14 square

metres for 2 people, 5½ square meters in Moscow. It was not uncommon for a person to live in a passage through which people passed to go to the bathroom or kitchen. These were shared with other families. Salaries, even for university educated people, were very low, so even after Gorbachev who relaxed rules, life was very austere; they were not allowed to take any money out of Russia.

On a railway journey from Leningrad to Moscow I became friendly with the female guard – language barriers dissolve with nylons and cigarettes. I was then presented with the Badge of Order of Lenin! On another holiday – a ten day Russian cruise – Lorna and I were awarded a certificate, signed by the Captain, which said we could ‘Speak, Sing and Dance’ (as a result of a show I organised) in Russian!!

ROMANIA With a church group led by the Bishop, I went on a 10 day pilgrimage to Romania which proved to be a memorable experience. Our coach attracted attention wherever we went because transport, apart from in Bucharest, was horse, or pony and cart, and we were often held up by cows and/or other animals grazing. Water appeared to be mainly drawn from wells, in fact when I mentioned this to a Romanian sufficiently educated to speak good English, she replied, “What do you do in your country?”

Religion has a strong influence, there are many icons, often with queues of people waiting to receive a blessing. One 3-hour ceremony (in which I processed) was like something from Chaucer, or Carmina Burana; bells ringing, music, singing, chanting, people kneeling or lying prone in the open air; added to this there were stalls selling ancient looking pots and pans, with much shouting and laughter; it was slightly eerie as if I was in another time, 500 years earlier.

There were few hotels outside the centre so we sometimes slept in local homes; ten or eleven of us, as well as the owners, shared one bathroom and toilet; we were always made very welcome with home cooked food and wine, sometimes provided by monks, but you can imagine my horror when Romania joined the European Common Market.

FRANCE – Brittany At one time I wrote extensively on the culture, politics, industry etc. on this part of West France as it was part of my French A level. I spent eight days touring the region with other members of my class prior to passing the exam in 1980, aged 57. Did you know that the name Brittany was so named after ‘Britane’ the English once having owned this part of France?

Probably unique are the ‘Calvaries’, great granite statues dating from 14001600 depicting biblical scenes; with dozens of other carvings they have been standing in the open air ever since they were built. Some are crudely carved, others are more refined but all portray a simple faith; one cannot help being moved on seeing them. I “discovered” them with my cousins Peg and Bert, and we appreciated the French food and wine introduced to us by their gourmet friend, Michel!

FRANCE – Paris Of course, I have seen all the Paris tourist places. Apart from the Louvre of international fame, the two museums I especially liked were: Orsay, built from an old railway station with the huge clock in the Entrance Hall; it covers art from 1848-1914 and was where I bought a copy of the Renoir which hangs now over my piano.

The Picasso – I hadn’t realised how good he was (!) and clever as well, building models from e.g. bicycle parts. By the way, the Dali museum in South France is also entertaining. ( I think Mum meant Spain where we once took her) I remember being taken to Paris as a teenager by my father on one of his business trips; he was always quick to tell everyone I was his daughter, but judging by some of the men’s facial expressions I don’t think he was always believed! That’s Paris for you. I remember too, one lunch he gave me where I insisted on having an, to me, unknown dish; Pop and the waiter exchanged grins as they tried to dissuade me, so I assume it was some unmentionable male organ! It tasted ghastly!

Another lunch I had alone (Pop was at a meeting) so, feeling very grown up and bohemian, I ordered a ½ carafe of wine; this was fine while I was inside the café, but immediately I got outside into the fresh air I succumbed to

the effects of the alcohol and had to sit on the pavement until I recovered – I never told my father of this (mis)adventure!

Another highlight was going to the Opera, with young girls shouting “Mario, Mario” wanting to see the handsome singer. Was this Mario Lanza I wonder, renowned throughout Europe and America for his powerful tenor voice, but also as a glamourous Hollywood film star? This was before Beatlemania with its hysterical fans.

The last holiday Frank and I had was a gourmet mini cruise in 2010 on the River Seine: with every course at lunch and dinner we were given a different wine and special cheese of the region, together with lectures on each one; I went for long walks in between the meals and particularly enjoyed sitting in a café imagining myself in a painting by Renoir – perhaps “Luncheon of the Boating Party” amongst trees and overlooking the river.

There were houses of other Impressionist painters nearby – Heady stuff!

Back on board we were given a daily piano recital by Jean Phillips, from whom I once had a harpsichord lesson in her Canterbury home. I have a recording she made; we corresponded for many years. I also still have two pretty little Royal Worcester bone china plates which I “won” – I can’t remember how.

CHINA China in 2010 was, for me, a cultural shock, impossible to describe briefly to Westerners, I can only refer to some of the notes I made during my visit with Lorna and Chris. On the negative side was the amazing impact of people. 3½ billion (a ¼ of them living in Beijing) so blocks of flats, some elaborately designed, take the place of houses, at least in the cities. Cars had only been owned by the average person for about five years when we visited in 2010 and there were still very few restrictions so crossing a road was extremely perilous for pedestrians; cars, bicycles, motor-bikes all without lights, swerving around the terrified walkers, I never once ventured to cross a road on my own.

Perhaps it was inevitable that even while walking in a group some of us were lost; one returned in a taxi, Lorna in a police car and one was rescued by a member of our group and I saved another frightened lady in danger of

being knocked down by a swarm of about 30 laughing teenagers who descended on us without warning while we were waiting to sail on a Dragon boat.

Fortunately the good memories outweigh the bad (in which I include the Chinese food which was plentiful, consisting of many dishes, but to the majority of us almost inedible). The Forbidden City (1368 onwards) lived up to expectations – golden roof tops, marble bridges and pagodas, bronze lions and dragons, palaces; reflections of novels I had read were abundant and a vivid imagination filled in the gaps!

Tiananmen Square, largest in the world; the picture of the student standing in front of advancing tanks during the revolution of 1989 was still vivid to we English, but unknown to the majority of Chinese. We were amazed to see queues of people running to see Chairman Mao’s tomb, 34 years after his death.

Great Wall of China: This, of course, was one of the two highlights of our visit, stretching 1450 miles through fabulous mountain scenery and originally built in 221-206 BC. Walking along a stretch of the Wall we were living history. I was dazed, imagination on overdrive!

Yangtze River and 3 Gorges: This, even allowing for seeing the terracotta army with its 800 plus life sized warriors and 40,000 bronze weapons, and putting aside some fabulous museums with artefacts from BC was, for me, the (unexpected) highlight. Formed about 70 million years ago the result is spectacular scenery and a wonderful feeling of peace and quiet, appreciated after the chaotic noise in the cities. I still have an ink and brush painting I bought, signed by the artist, and my name, Lorna – apologies to Chinese scholars! Thousands, perhaps millions of people were displaced when complete towns were submerged so in some cases great mental anguish must have been felt. However, as one man happily remarked to me “Before I only had one – outdoor- toilet, now I have been rehoused I have two indoor toilets!”

We enjoyed rickshaw rides through beautiful parks, some with 1000-yearold lakes, and witnessed many people of all ages practising Tai Chi in the open air – this was especially interesting to me because I had belonged to a Tai Chi class for eight years until a bad fall forced me to retire. Another

form of transport for both Lornas, and other tourists, was a sedan chair carried, sometimes up steep stairs, by two strong men, their sweating muscles glistening in the strong sunlight.

I could write more of the wonders of this amazing country and I am grateful to have seen a part of the world that was previously unknown to Westerners; I appreciate the energy of the people, their friendliness, even very young children would try to speak in English to us, many strangers would stop us in the streets wanting to have their photos taken with us.

However, in spite of its beauty, I don’t think I wish to return!

ITALY My first Italian visit was to Rome where I went with a friend, Freda, in the early 1950s; in those days young Italian girls were not allowed out unchaperoned, so you can imagine the reaction of Italian men on seeing two English girls wandering alone! Sometimes their attentions were so overwhelming we had to shout the only Italian we knew ‘BASTA’ (enough).

We were so exhausted we even fell asleep and missed having an audience with the Pope!

For Frank, his first visit to Italy was in 1961 when we went to Santa Margherita for our honeymoon and I still have the crystal necklace he bought me in nearby Genova (Genoa). We always travelled by bus or train and stayed in small hotels so were constantly meeting and being accepted by genuine Italians.

What makes Italy so different from other counties? Leaving aside their beautiful buildings and art galleries (other countries have these too), even ignoring their small, often centuries old towns which seem like a living picture or, sometimes, as unreal as in a film, I will try to explain what Italy seems to me.

What policeman of any other country, after stopping the traffic in all four corners of a busy cross roads, would tell me off for not crossing the road at a pedestrian crossing and then say, “But you are very nice”. This happened to me in Rome.

Where else would a bus ticket seller put away the dirty bank notes he had intended giving me as change, and, from under the counter, produce brand new ones because he liked me trying to speak his language (Milan).

How about the rough looking girls, seeing me struggle to find the correct coins for the bus, took my purse out of my hand, found the right coins and handed me back my purse and the ticket?

And the elderly man in a train between Desinzano and Venice who, after showing us pictures of his grandchildren, suddenly put his arm round my shoulders, saying, “You are one of us”.

The ice cream maker in Bergamo who, after proudly showing Frank and me how to make his ice cream, insisted on giving us the biggest ones, refusing to take payment.

Then there were the times when caretakers of houses such as those of Puccini (Torre del Lago), Verdi (Parma) and others, supposedly shut, would open just for us and take great pride in showing us their treasures, often their personal favourites.

Of course we never forgot the time when a seemingly closed café opened for us and food and wine produced to a musical background – I danced with the two or three waiters in turn while Frank looked benignly on; no doubt his glass was being constantly refilled, but when we left I was given a strange small broach, which we think signified that I had been “untouched” – or maybe it was a fertility symbol!!

The amazing policewoman in Ferrara, smoking, wearing high heels, lots of make-up, her cap perched on top of her bouffant hairstyle – and a gun on her hips! She looked very pleased when I told her – in Italian – she was very elegant. We thought that no way could she have caught an escaping criminal dressed like that, but she would have had no hesitation in gunning him down!

In Padua I was asked by an Italian tour guide taking a party of 10-15 American and English round the University to translate for him; when we finished he presented me with a card which showed the theatre where a river brought (stolen) dead bodies to be dissected, and the dais where the great Galileo lectured. Of course, my Italian was not really up to the task, but everyone seemed satisfied.

In Naples we were frightened when we were at the top of Vesuvius and it started to erupt – a guide called “COME” and ran off very fast leaving us literally holding the baby or, rather, a very young little boy who, with his

grandmother, had been separated from his mother because the funicular railway stopped working!

We were a little frightened also in Bologna, when a bomb dropped on a museum as we were leaving it. We cowered under a bench and were even more frightened when police arrived amidst wailing of sirens and carrying machine guns! I wanted to stay to “see the fun”, but Frank literally dragged me away. Spoil sport!

I will finish by telling of an unforgettable day in the hills surrounding Como.

We had walked for an hour or more when we found an open-air drinking place. Under the trees a party of four men were playing cars and one of them, who understood English, heard me report to Frank that cigarettes were not sold in this café. The Italian insisted on giving Frank a whole packet of cigarettes – of course we invited all four men to our table – bottles of wine were produced, especially after Frank made me say we were sorry for having bombed them in the war! Then, at our invitation, one of the men who had a lovely tenor voice sang us Puccini arias, the other men enthusiastically accompanying him. Then I tried to buy some food as we were very hungry by then, but with no luck. A little while later, the English-speaking Italian, Felice, came out carrying two bowls of Spaghetti Bolognese, cooked especially for us at no charge! Their wives returned and we walked arm in arm down, singing all the way!

There were other adventures too but I can hear you saying “BASTA” so I will stop. I hope you have enjoyed your little World Tour.

Retirement - what me?!

So much has happened, there is still so much to do; to quote three musicians: a.Rachmaninov: "Music is enough for a lifetime but a lifetime is not enough for music" b.The conductor, George Solti, who said: "Never give up" and finally.... c. Lorna Burroughs who says: "See you all at my hundredth birthday party."