Read Online One Young Fool in Dorset by Victoria Twead - Free Book Online
Authors: Victoria Twead
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my sister was far more academically
gifted and motivated than I would ever be.
As with every final year in Primary School, our
class was planning to put on a big show for the parents. Ours was
going to be a musical, poetry and dance extravaganza, staged at
Dorchester Corn Exchange. My poem was part of The Walrus and the
Carpenter from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass and I knew it by heart. I could recite it with ease in my bedroom
and in the bath, and can still remember much of it today.
“ The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“ To talk of many things:
Of shoes - and ships - and sealing-wax –
Of cabbages - and kings –
And why the sea is boiling hot –
And whether pigs have wings.”
A wonderful poem, full of humour and irony, and
every word was burned into my brain. The problem was my shyness. As
soon as I opened my mouth to recite anything in front of anybody,
except Snowy Twinkletoes and Annabel, my mind went blank. My mouth
opened, but nothing came out.
“Victoria, you know this poem,” said my
exasperated teacher, Miss Gunson. “You need to be able to recite it
next week at the Corn Exchange, word perfect. Now come on,
try!”
I did try, but the words remained locked away and
hidden. Of course, as soon as Miss Gunson passed to another child,
the words came flooding back.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, I was also taking
part in the dance routine. It began with a country dance liberally
sprinkled with ‘dozy-does’ and ‘under the arches’.
For the dance, the boys would be wearing blue
checked shirts, and the girls would wear blue checked dresses with
petticoats. I loved my costume. I also loved the dance, but I
struggled. I must have been Miss Gunson’s worst nightmare.
“Victoria, peel off to the left , not right!
Good. Now under the arch… No, under it, not round it… Take
your partner, spin to the right… Right, not left! Now,
skip-skip-skip… Victoria, apologise to Nigel, I think you skipped
quite heavily on his toe...”
I practised in my bedroom at home, determined to get
it right before the big performance. Spin to the right,
skip-skip-skip...
“ Ach! Victoria! What are you doing up there?
You sound as if you are coming through the ceiling!”
Before the day of the Extravaganza, I heard our
telephone ring.
“Wareham 297,” said my mother. In those days, all
telephones were heavy, black, dial affairs, and telephone numbers
were just three digits. “Yes, I’m sure that would be possible. Yes,
we’ll bring her then. Thank you for admitting her. Goodbye.” She
replaced the receiver with a clatter.
“Victoria, that was Poole General Hospital. It seems
they have an unexpected vacancy and they want to take you in next
week to remove your adenoids. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“But what about the Extravaganza?”
“ Ach, I’m afraid you’ll have to miss it.”
“But I’m reciting my poem! And what about the Rustic
Dance? Nigel won’t have a partner, and I can’t wear my costume…” My
bottom lip was a-tremble.
“I’m afraid the hospital won’t wait. You’ll have
other chances to perform when you go to Talbot Heath.”
So that was that. I never did perform at the Corn
Exchange, and Miss Gunson probably celebrated when she heard I
wouldn’t be there. I’m sure the performance went without a
hitch.
Now I had something new to worry about; the removal
of my adenoids.
7
TH
Summer Pudding
I didn’t even know what adenoids were, but it
seemed that I was scheduled for a stay in hospital to have mine
removed. From the 1930s through to the 1960s, tonsillectomies and
adenoidectomies were routine operations and thousands were
performed every year. Nowadays, doctors are more enlightened and
know that most of those operations were unnecessary and probably
unwise. But, when I was a child, they were extremely common
procedures.
“My brother had that,” said Nigel Harding enviously.
“He was allowed to eat as much ice cream as he wanted for
gifted and motivated than I would ever be.
As with every final year in Primary School, our
class was planning to put on a big show for the parents. Ours was
going to be a musical, poetry and dance extravaganza, staged at
Dorchester Corn Exchange. My poem was part of The Walrus and the
Carpenter from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass and I knew it by heart. I could recite it with ease in my bedroom
and in the bath, and can still remember much of it today.
“ The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“ To talk of many things:
Of shoes - and ships - and sealing-wax –
Of cabbages - and kings –
And why the sea is boiling hot –
And whether pigs have wings.”
A wonderful poem, full of humour and irony, and
every word was burned into my brain. The problem was my shyness. As
soon as I opened my mouth to recite anything in front of anybody,
except Snowy Twinkletoes and Annabel, my mind went blank. My mouth
opened, but nothing came out.
“Victoria, you know this poem,” said my
exasperated teacher, Miss Gunson. “You need to be able to recite it
next week at the Corn Exchange, word perfect. Now come on,
try!”
I did try, but the words remained locked away and
hidden. Of course, as soon as Miss Gunson passed to another child,
the words came flooding back.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, I was also taking
part in the dance routine. It began with a country dance liberally
sprinkled with ‘dozy-does’ and ‘under the arches’.
For the dance, the boys would be wearing blue
checked shirts, and the girls would wear blue checked dresses with
petticoats. I loved my costume. I also loved the dance, but I
struggled. I must have been Miss Gunson’s worst nightmare.
“Victoria, peel off to the left , not right!
Good. Now under the arch… No, under it, not round it… Take
your partner, spin to the right… Right, not left! Now,
skip-skip-skip… Victoria, apologise to Nigel, I think you skipped
quite heavily on his toe...”
I practised in my bedroom at home, determined to get
it right before the big performance. Spin to the right,
skip-skip-skip...
“ Ach! Victoria! What are you doing up there?
You sound as if you are coming through the ceiling!”
Before the day of the Extravaganza, I heard our
telephone ring.
“Wareham 297,” said my mother. In those days, all
telephones were heavy, black, dial affairs, and telephone numbers
were just three digits. “Yes, I’m sure that would be possible. Yes,
we’ll bring her then. Thank you for admitting her. Goodbye.” She
replaced the receiver with a clatter.
“Victoria, that was Poole General Hospital. It seems
they have an unexpected vacancy and they want to take you in next
week to remove your adenoids. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“But what about the Extravaganza?”
“ Ach, I’m afraid you’ll have to miss it.”
“But I’m reciting my poem! And what about the Rustic
Dance? Nigel won’t have a partner, and I can’t wear my costume…” My
bottom lip was a-tremble.
“I’m afraid the hospital won’t wait. You’ll have
other chances to perform when you go to Talbot Heath.”
So that was that. I never did perform at the Corn
Exchange, and Miss Gunson probably celebrated when she heard I
wouldn’t be there. I’m sure the performance went without a
hitch.
Now I had something new to worry about; the removal
of my adenoids.
7
TH
Summer Pudding
I didn’t even know what adenoids were, but it
seemed that I was scheduled for a stay in hospital to have mine
removed. From the 1930s through to the 1960s, tonsillectomies and
adenoidectomies were routine operations and thousands were
performed every year. Nowadays, doctors are more enlightened and
know that most of those operations were unnecessary and probably
unwise. But, when I was a child, they were extremely common
procedures.
“My brother had that,” said Nigel Harding enviously.
“He was allowed to eat as much ice cream as he wanted for
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