This is story #25 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.
25. My Last School (1961-1965) Before I Headed to University
When I entered the second year of Girls High School (GHS), Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia, in January 1961, I was hoping that this would be the last time I changed schools. However, given our family history, I was not quite sure of what might lie ahead. As always, I was nervous but soon grew accustomed to the routine. By the time I had finished my five years in this one establishment, however, both the country and I, too, had undergone many changes. Life had brought many challenges and Southern Rhodesia was in political turmoil, no longer considered by the government of the day run by Ian Smith to be part of the Commonwealth.
From the beginning of my time at GHS, I remember disliking my school uniform not only because it was green, but also because my dresses were made by my mother. Although acceptable to the school, the fabric was not of the same hue as that of the store-bought uniforms everyone else wore. Added to that, I hated the fact that I clicked everywhere I walked: around or across the central quadrangle, along the concrete-paved pathways and on the old wooden floorboards in the classrooms. This was because I was very hard on the heels of my shoes, so my parents insisted on my having small steel plates attached to my shoe’s heels to cut down on the cost of repairs. It was another way in which I didn’t fit in, I felt. Everyone could both see and hear me coming.
