Going Dutch

seem to be reminiscing alot of late. today about the 14 schools i went to, in the space of just 11 years, the first two in Dutch (my favourite, the second Dutch school, i was teachers pet. i know this, as she kept me in a cage at the back of the class!) in reality, i was invited to her house. she was widowed, her husband had been in the Dutch Resistance during WWII, and died at the ands of the Nazi's. she taught me how she made her own butter, and was generally a really lovely woman, that i desperately hoped would adopt me, anything to get away from my family! her name was Mrs Paul (pronounced pal). the second school was also a free school created by a quaker, where we were treated as equals to the teachers. we would also be involved in cleaning, and gardening! but the most magical thing, was every so often, the headmaster would announce that the Black Prince had visited, he would close the school lectures, as we were all led off to the local woods, where there would be chocolates hanging from trees! queen Beatrice had attended this school, but i was 10 or more years younger than her. my girlfriend Georgette, her  father was one of Queen Julianna's (mother of Beatrice) physicians, and birthdays were fabulous, i still remember my 6th birthday, i was told to wait outside the classroom, then about 5 mins later called n, my desk had been decorated, and sweets put inside, and everyone sang (spelling as pronounced) 'lans sall sher laver). then we moved back to England, and for me, it felt like we'd stepped back into the Victorian era, i no longer felt free, it was all about control. so i treasure my memories of Holland. even having my tonsils out, the surgeon, said in heroic fashion, that i should be given a decent supply of ice cream for my now tender throat! what a guy! x