In 1947 after WWll my father who was a Merchant Seaman, was still stationed in Gibraltar, so mother and I, along with a cousin and his mother, and other people rented rooms from my great grandmother in a tall Terrace house - meaning larger, more luxurious row houses. This Terrace home was not embellished with wrought iron along the street and up the front stairs as so often seen in England, but painted brick and mortar, making the basement stairwell and level gloomy for the former Victorian servants who had descended them. My older cousin Michael and I loved to run around the long kitchen table until our rambunctious, noisy behavior gave way to correction: sweet Mrs. White regularly picked up a cup of tea to take to her rented room and shouldnt be knocked over! To my five year old eyes, the staircases and landings seemed to reach up to the sky and were sprinkled with doors enveloped in mystery: always closed and silent. One day my mother was punishing me and put me in the tiny attic room alone; instead of feeling punished I was happy in a secret hideaway, with a small bed, books, and a sunny skylight. She checked on me once and I asked for a pair of scissors. She obliged but later was furious when she found I had chopped off my long hair. Dont remember what sort of punishment that wrought! Behind one door in the Terrace house I know there was a young German, in all probability a POW. Displaced warriors around the world would have had the opportunity to assimilate, learn the local customs and language and share their own native tongue; this is how my father who had Romany gypsy blood, learned a little German and taught me. It came in handy in 1963 when I traveled alone in Germany. I needed a place to stay in a small town in Westfalia, but the Youth Hostel manager said it was full, yet there was not a sound nor sign of any youths; nonetheless I was given the third degree. She told me to call again around 6 o/c when I was accepted, but I was all alone with what I call a witch. As I washed my clothes in the sink, she urged me to hurry and then turned off the light so I had to struggle in the dark. Next morning as I slept - and Ill never forget the German word - she simultaneously noisily yanked the curtains back to let in the light and like an army sergeant yelled Raus! which apparently translates as get out! Its still vivid in my mind but I soon got a job as a housemaid, loved my host family, learned more German and stayed for several months.
Posted on: Sat, 09 Nov 2013 00:13:46 +0000
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