This is story #36 in the series “Where Exactly is Home?”. The author recommends you read them in order.
Introduction:
“Where Exactly is Home?” follows the story of my parents, my two younger brothers and me, Susan, who emigrated from war-battered Britain, in the mid-late 1950’s, to Southern Rhodesia, Africa.
The effects of this move on our family were huge, as we struggled to adapt to such a different way of life. Only after further upheaval, and more long-distance travelling, did our family eventually settle in the city of Salisbury, Rhodesia.
However, we did not know then that we would not remain there for the rest of our lives, either.
When the family first went to Africa, I, Susan, was 9 years old. My two brothers, John and Peter, were almost 7 and 4, respectively.
Nowadays, as seniors, John and Peter live in England. I live in Canada. Throughout our lives, we have both benefitted from, and suffered because of, our somewhat unusual childhood.
I, for one, still sometimes ask myself which country represents home to me.
This is a series of stories under the title “Where Exactly is Home?” – I recommend you read them in order, starting with story #1.
36. Going Back to the Middle Ages, Murat, France, 1967-68
I stared at the directrice (principal) of the lycée (high school) in Murat, Cantal, France where, for the next academic year 1967-68, I was to be an “assistante” giving English conversation lessons to small groups of the oldest students only two years younger than me. I hardly understood a word of what she was saying, not only because of her southern French accent, but also because of my own inability to take in quickly spoken daily French. It was one thing to read and write in French, to listen to university lectures about famous French writers such as Rabelais, Molière, or Gide, but it felt completely different when I was faced with a native French speaker in the mountains of Auvergne! I was totally lost. Again and again, I asked her to speak more slowly, but she was somewhat brusque, probably because she had so much to do to prepare for the academic year, about to begin.
I had arrived in Murat, by train from Paris the day before, having previously flown from Salisbury, Rhodesia to London, UK. I had spent a few days seeing my brother John, who was then living in England, my grandmother and husband in Portsmouth, and one of my father’s sisters, who lived in London. I stayed with the latter, since she had a large empty house.
Why was I in France, in the first place? Mid-way through my second year at university, I had applied for a position in a French school, with the aim of becoming fluent in French. I was thrilled to be offered a post but was still terrified of going to France. I still feel that this was understandable, because unlike most students who applied for such positions in France, I was not at university in Britain. I was at an external college of the University of London, whose buildings were 6000 miles away in Rhodesia, which was where my family lived. Since British and European school years began in September, and my Rhodesian year began in January, I had to leave mid-way through my year to be ready to work in France by September.
