This is story #29 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.
29. Self-Confidence at Last
“Why?! What on earth have we done wrong?” So said I, panic-stricken, to a fellow student, after we had both been told by a runner (a younger girl) to report to the Headmistress’ office. I couldn’t imagine that either of us had broken any rules, since we were on the first day of our last year at Girls High School, Salisbury, Rhodesia. The school day had not yet begun.
We were 17 years of age and had both been prefects for a year, members of that elite group of 36 girls, who had their own Study Room/Lounge at one end of a corridor, and who were responsible for much of the daily running of the school. Anxiety ran through me, though. Students weren’t requested to report to the office unless for some urgent or disciplinary matter. All I could think of was that there just had to be a mistake, one which hopefully could be rectified.
I shall never forget the words that my peer used in replying to me, there and then. “Don’t be ridiculous, Susan! It must be about being Head Girl and Deputy Head Girl!” What?! I couldn’t believe that, either! I had long since known that my fellow student was an obvious choice for Head Girl, since she was both sports-minded and academically able. Not that she had any say in the matter, because it was the staff (not the students at the school) who chose the Head Girl and her Deputy.
To me, the message in her terse reply was as incredible as my being found guilty of some misdemeanor. Was I about to be asked to accept the position of Deputy Head Girl, an incredible honour to my mind, and one that had never crossed my mind? I had assumed that I would continue to be a prefect which I considered to be an accolade, as it was.
So, with my mind racing and almost in a state of shock, we headed to the school office where we were ushered into the adjoining office of the Headmistress, a middle-aged lady, called Miss Perold, whom we students half-feared, and half-admired, for her efficient running of the school. We stood in front of her like soldiers on parade, waiting to hear the commands of our superior officer.
