大象传媒

I was eight years old when I started to attend school in Cambridge...the prep class at Cambridgeshire Girls High Scool. That was in the Christmas term of 1941 and I went off to school with a satchel on one shoulder and a gas mask, in a smart black leatherette case, on the other. School was seven miles away from my village, so I caught the bus at eight and walked the last mile.

There was always a seat on the bus in the morning, because my village was the first stop on the route. The afternoon journey was a different story. Girls from my school were the last to be picked up on the homeward route and were packed into the aisle on the lower deck to stand the whole way home. Frequently we watched the laden bus sweep by and leave us stranded. The next bus was an hour later. In winter, it would be nearly dark by that time. When this happened there were two things one could do: catch the next bus into Drummer Street, in Cambridge (which cost a precious penny) or walk as far as one was able. I always chose to do the latter.

I was rather small for my age, with skinny legs but I managed to walk the three miles to Stapleford in time to catch the five o'clock bus home to Sawston. To keep up my spirits I sang "The Road to the Isles" to myself as I marched along, wondering all the time about what those strange Scottish words meant. I do this even today. It was about three miles to Stapleford but I dare not take a rest in case I missed the next bus. When I got home, my mother used to say "Oh! there you are. I knew you'd be all right."

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