A Year in England - Enrolling in School

IT HAD BEEN SEVEN YEARS since I had first been to England in 1954 and I remembered little of that previous visit. I was four and Esther was two and our family had stayed in the home of Mrs. Brand at Leigh-on-Sea near Southend-on-Sea along the Thames estuary east of London. It snowed that winter and Esther and I enjoyed playing in it and getting our mittens wet and our fingers frozen.

Now I was twelve and well into my school years so of highest concern was making sure that our education did not suffer too much in the transition from Sakeji mission school to public school in England. We had just completed a school year in Northern Rhodesia, which ran on the calendar year, but in England the school year had started in September so we were a term into it. Dad and Mum had to figure out whether we jumped ahead nine months or repeated three. Dad lined up an interview with the headmaster of Royal Liberty Grammar School (picture) in Romford where we were now living in a brand new house built especially for missionaries on leave. Romford is situated in Essex on the northeast limits of greater London. The interview was necessary as I had not taken the Eleven Plus exam which determined who was academically qualified to attend a grammar school which focused more on academics as opposed, for example, to a technical school.

The day for my interview arrived and Dad and I took the number 103 red double-decker London Transport bus from the house in Rise Park to Romford Station and connected with the 66A bus to the gates of the school in Gidea Park. The headmaster was Mr. Newth and we were ushered into his office here he sat in his suit and black robe smoking a pipe. He was a short man, heading towards retirement in the near future, and had a gruff demeanor. I remember nothing about the interview except that he sought to test my French. I had already had two years of French at Sakeji and the Royal Liberty first year students had just started in September so I should have been well ahead of them. He muttered a couple of phrases through his pipe and I had no idea what he was saying. He expressed surprise at my lack of knowledge of the French language. I felt stupid but afterwards I told Dad that his pipe had caused him to slur his words and after he explained what I supposedly had not understood it was very elementary. Nevertheless he had agreed to my enrollment in the prestigious institution but suggested I brush up on my French before classes started again after Christmas.

The next step was to determine how I would get to school each day. We had no car, and public transport – two buses each way – would get expensive. So with the help of Uncle Phil Hickley or perhaps his brother David, Dad’s boyhood friends from the village of Thundersley near where Dad grew up and who owned an appliance store and service station, I received a pre-owned bicycle that would carry me across Romford and back each day. I recall that it would take me about half an hour to cycle to school. I had to cross the very busy Eastern Avenue, the main road into London and then make my way across the eastern part of the city bypassing the down town area. Crossing Eastern Avenue proved to be quite a trick in the winter when "pea-souper" fogs would settle in and I had to listen for gaps in the morning rush hour traffic to get across.

I was enrolled in Form 1C, the first year for the school and equivalent of about Grade 7. While many schools streamed students on the basis of test results where A were the brightest, Royal Liberty, being a grammar school, considered all its students bright and simply had three first year classes designated 1A, 1B, and 1C. We (1C) were, however, the best in the frequent rubber band wars between the classes. When September rolled around and I moved up to Form 2 we all had to choose a second language besides the ubiquitous French. I had previously taken Latin (the other options were German and Spanish) so I became part of Form 2L.

Public school in England held many surprises for me after the sheltered environment of a mission boarding school in the middle of Africa.

(c) 2008 roy kruse