Then I'd turn down a smaller road and reach my favourite house. I describe it in a June entry in my diary:
Down the Drive there are some absolutely beautiful houses with enormous gardens – my favourite has a great big pond, almost a lake, with willows all around and a little waterfall leading onto a much smaller pool surrounded by bluebells. There is a fence and hedge all round so you can only see bits at a time. At the moment their rhododendron bushes are all in bloom, a lovely crimson.
I found out that this beautiful house, Kingfishers, had once been part of the John Galsworthy estate. I didn't read his Forsyte Saga books until they were serialized on television in the late sixties. It was enough just knowing that the house had once been owned by a writer.
I wrote a lamentably bad poem about the house:
KINGFISHERS
I peer through the bamboo leaves;
No privet hedges here.
The sweet pea on the trellis weaves;
Bees, satisfied, appear.
The gabled house stands proudly
Embraced by tender creeper.
Only a chaffinch, singing loudly,
Ignoring me, the peeper.
Small curious paths brazenly wind
Beneath the silver birches,
Scattered round, to the garden's rind.
Peace here, as in churches.
A feathery aged willow protects
The quiet unruffled lake.
A tiny woodsy island injects
Itself, obstinately opaque.
The water trickles, filters through
To a secret mossy pond,
Springtimely fringed by bells of blue
And the fern's lacy frond.
Oh house, generations-long secure
With your cosy ingle-nooks.
Your magic easily did procure
John Galsworthy and his books.
Would that I might live here too,
Free from cares and danger;
So easy, Jeevesy. Troubles few;
But I am just a stranger.
As I trudged on through the less exciting suburban streets of New Malden I'd daydream about being a famous best-selling author one day – and maybe I'd live in a house like Kingfishers.
Dream on, little Jacky Daydream! I live in a beautiful house now and I wouldn't want to swap it with anyone, but my lovely home looks like a little cottage compared to Kingfishers.
I was clearly exercising my imagination as well as my legs as I walked to school. I also went dancing at least twice a week, sometimes more. Not ballet dancing, though I'd have loved to learn. When I was little I longed to wear a neat black practice dress, a pink angora bolero and pale pink ballet shoes like some of the girls at my primary school. Biddy thought ballet a waste of time and didn't want to get lumbered with making my costumes.
She sent me to old-time dancing classes instead, mainly because they were held just down the road on a Saturday morning and I could go with Sue. There were fourteen or so other pupils, all girls. We paired up, and because I was a little taller than Sue I had to be the boy. I'm still better at being the boy at dancing and have to fight not to take the lead and steer my partner around the floor!
We didn't have to wear special outfits like ballet dancers. We didn't even have to wear special shoes, though lots of the girls wore silver or sparkly strappy dance sandals. I longed to have a pair, but had to make do with boring black patent. Perhaps that's why nowadays I have such a weakness for silver or sparkly shoes!
Sue and I went dancing together for years. I started to feel I was getting too old for it – and we weren't really progressing. We'd got our bronze and silver and gold medals but we were never going to be real competition standard. I skipped dancing class the first two Saturdays in January, but on the sixteenth I wrote:
For once I went Old Time dancing with Sue. I quite enjoyed myself although I prefer Friday night dancing. [Of course I did – it was ballroom, and there were boys]. I wasn't the oldest for once because Sandra came [the girl who lent me Peyton Place]. We danced the Quadrilles and it was ever such good fun. Also we did the Maxina which I enjoy doing as it is so unusual.
I can't for the life of me remember how to do the quadrilles or the maxina now. I can vaguely remember old-time favourites like the valeta and the Boston two-step, and I still get tempted to whirl about the room whenever I hear a Viennese waltz – my feet go forward-side-together-back-behind-front of their own accord.
Mr Crichton, the old-time teacher, threw a party for all his dancing students at the end of January.
It was very good fun and I had a lovely time, but not as good as last Saturday! [I'd been to a party. I'll be writing about it later in a chapter on boys.] We had some good novelty dances and some ballet shows that Sandra was in. Then all these lifeboat men in raincoats and sou'westers came in through the door pulling a rope and singing 'Yo heave ho'. Then into the hall on the end of the rope was pulled a man on a potty reading a newspaper. Everyone was so amazed they just stood open-mouthed. Guess what! Sue and I won the Maxina competition and got a lovely gold medal each!
I wore this gold medal the next Saturday when I went dancing.
We did a good square dance called the Caledonians. Next week we are all taking sandwiches and staying on in the afternoon to train for the Kingston dancing competition to be held at the Coronation Hall.
The following Saturday
We did the Quadrilles; I love the music to that. We had a picnic lunch there, and then had another hour's dancing, this time competition work. We had some exercises to do, and next week we've got to bring old sheets to put on the ground as we're going to do exercises on the ground. It's going to be jolly indecent raising stockinged legs in front of Mr Crichton!
Saturday 20 February
Went dancing. We learnt some new dances, but not very nice ones. When it was time for the Beginners to go home and for us to have our picnic lunches this gorgeous boy and an enormous Afghan hound came and collected one of the little girls. Naturally, I went up and stroked the hound, then stared up into the boy's face and smiled. Am impatiently waiting for next week to come. We had a good chat eating our lunch in the cloakroom gathered round the oil stove on old benches. Sandra, who is 15 in July so nearest in age to me, told us she had three brothers. 'How old?' came a chorus. 'All younger than me,' Sandra replied. 'Ooh!' came disappointedly from the chorus. Afterwards we had to do some horrible exercises lying on the floor. We all had terrible giggles!
Saturday 27 February
When I woke up I thought it was Friday like I do every Saturday and tried to force myself out of my lovely warm nest. Then the gorgeous realisation swept over me and I was able to go back to sleep. I went dancing. Sandra, Christine, Wendy, Sue and I had a good chat. The dog turned up again to collect the little girl but with a middle-aged man instead of its other owner. Honestly, the exercises were so funny. Doing bicycles was bad enough, but when we had to lie on our tummies and just balance on our hands and the tips of our toes, and also when we had to raise both our chest and our legs off the floor so that we were curved, and only lying on our waists; well, we were just prostrate with giggles. Sandra told me that her hair was not naturally curly. I was amazed as it looks so pretty. I must try putting mine up in rollers. Also she said she goes to a co-ed school, and learns typing as well as ordinary lessons. Isn't she lucky!
Saturday 5 March
Lay in, and then got dressed in white jumper and pink and mauve mohair skirt and went dancing. We learnt a new square dance called the Tango Quadrilles. Now we know four: the Quadrilles, the Lancers, the Caledonians and now the Tango Quadrilles. The middle-aged man turned up with the dog again. Sue didn't stay the third hour. She might have let me know beforehand. After we'd eaten our picnic lunches we chattered a while, and then really slogged away at the Filed Waltz, Valeta Latchford and the Military Two Step. The competition is in a month's time! Mr C was giving us all butterflies when he told us about the strict rules. As Sue wasn't there I had to dance
with Mr C. Honestly, such a fuss about a little thing like a salute. Mr C had us all in front of him, and finally we could do it as 'snappy' as he wished. My poor arm aches now.
Saturday 12 March
I went dancing with Sue this morning. Sandra has had her hair cut, it looks nice, but I preferred it long and curly, it made her look more pretty. We had our picnics and then slogged for another hour at the Lola Tango, Fyle, and the Premia. Ga and Gongon said they would like to come and watch me at the competition on 2 April. I cannot think of an excuse to prevent them coming without making them feel hurt, but I shall be very embarrassed, especially if I am knocked out the first round. (It sounds like boxing!)
Saturday 26 March
I dressed in my new sprigged violet cotton skirt, and Mum's mauve Spring coat and went to Kingston with Carol and Cherry. Then I went dancing. We slogged and slogged (the competition is next week) and then Mr C played my new record on his record player for me. At our picnic lunch Sue and I talked to Sandra a lot. Then another hour of slogging – and it was time to go home.
The competition was on 2 April. After all that build-up I wrote precisely two lines about it: 'In the afternoon went to the Comp. but Sue and I didn't get anywhere.'
It had been a total nightmare. There were lots of girls who danced together, but they all had specially made matching net costumes in excitingly violent colours: purple, crimson, shocking pink, with matching sequinned bodices.
Our mums didn't do dressmaking. My grandma used to sew beautifully but now her arthritis was so bad she couldn't tackle elaborate dance costumes. We wore our mums' party dresses, which were vaguely similar blue florals. We looked ridiculous with these big matronly dresses hanging off our puny shoulders. Our hair wasn't styled in a chignon, our faces weren't made up, and we didn't have the right shoes. We did our best, dancing with fixed smiles and desperate eyes – and we were eliminated in the first round.
Friday night ballroom dancing was much more fun. We didn't take the dancing part too seriously – and there were boys. Not many boys. None of my crowd went with a boy – but we were in the same room with them, and occasionally changed partners and danced with them, solemnly waltzing or quickstepping up and down the ballroom (a long bleak hall in Surbiton where Sainsbury's now stands).
Friday 8 January
A whole crowd from Coombe went dancing – Carol, Sue, Jill, Cherry, Judith and I. Carl (Mr Bryant) taught us thank goodness. I can't bear that awful Len that sometimes teaches us, when he dances with you he breathes a whole barful of beer over you. Peter and the other reasonable boys weren't there but dear Laura and co. were. She's very common [oh God, I sound like Biddy!], but I like her hair when she doesn't scrape it into a French roll. It is a sort of long pageboy. I think I'll grow my hair and have it like that; that is if it will go into a pageboy.
Laura was Peter's girlfriend. He was the only decent boy at dancing. We all raised our eyebrows and shook our heads over her short skirts and high heels – but we secretly envied her like anything.
Friday 15 January
In the evening I went dancing with Carol and Jill. Peter wasn't there again, and neither was dear Laura etc. this time. I've come to my own conclusions about those two. Carl wasn't there so that Len character took us, but it was quite good fun actually. It was great fun walking home through the snow singing at the tops of our voices.
We didn't go dancing the next Friday: this was when we all flocked to the cinema to see Expresso Bongo.
Friday 29 January
Sue came dancing with us this evening. Carl took us thank goodness. No Peter again, he hasn't come for ages. Not that I care, now I've got Ken. Laura and Veronica turned up in tight skirts above their knees. Sue's eyebrows went up when she saw them! I might wear my straight skirt to dancing, my blue one.
Ken was a boy I'd just met. There'll be more about him later. Lots more.
Friday 12 February
In the evening I went dancing. Sue didn't come, or Judith, but Carol and Jill did. I wore my new nail varnish and new flatties which were lovely for dancing in. We did a lot of complicated Samba steps and I had Peter for a partner. After Ken I think he's terribly ordinary. He's taking his silver medal next week. Jill asked him if he had enjoyed 'Expresso Bongo' and he said he had. Peter forsook Laura and accompanied Anne home this week. She looks about sixteen, wears sloppy jumpers, very tight skirts and crimson nail varnish.
Friday 19 February
I went dancing with Carol. We made friends with a Tiffins girl and she told us the amazing news that Anne (see last Friday) is only in the first year at Tiffs!!!
Friday 26 February
Jill, Carol and I went dancing. I asked Peter whether he had taken his silver medal yet, but he said he was taking it next week. We did some funny new cha cha steps and some new rhythm dancing.
Friday 4 March
After school Carol, Jill (in a new tartan skirt) and I went dancing. Laura came, but Peter didn't, so that was one in the eye for her. She is really common, but some of the things she says are very funny. When Len was trying to be funny, she said, bored, 'What a queer old man.' Carl knows my name! He called me Jacqueline!
Friday 11 March
Sue came dancing with Carol and I. None of the girls seem to like Carl, but I think he is sweet. He's certainly 'all there'. Going home Carol said my mother sounded a pushing type. The bitch! I don't care what she says about me, or even my friends (e.g. Chris and Jill) but I will not have her saying things like that about my mother.
I wonder what she said exactly. I don't know why I got in such a state. I loved Biddy very much but I couldn't possibly deny that she was pushy. She called this having gump – short for gumption – and lamented the fact that I possessed no gump whatsoever.
Friday 1 April
As I was standing at the bus stop ready to go dancing I turned towards the flats and waved at Mummy. Guess who was standing at the next door window. Jeremy! He must have thought I was waving at him! A new boy actually turned up at dancing, but not anything particular. Peter did not come and neither did Laura. We did the quickstep again. I could do it when I danced with Carl and with other girls who could do it, but not when I did it with someone who couldn't do it, as I was a girl and could not take the lead. On the way home I bought a red fat shilling exercise book for my new story. It is coming along nicely at the moment, thank you.
Friday 8 April
Jill, Carol and I went dancing. I wore a summer dress for the first time. We did a new dance that was good fun. Jill, Carol and I had to show the others how to do it.
There was no dancing over Easter, and when we went back it didn't seem so beguiling. I didn't bother to write about it for several weeks, then:
Friday 27 May
After school I didn't go dancing as I'm getting a bit sick of it. So is Carol, so I think we'll start going to the Lagoon on Fridays instead.
We'd been to the lagoon the day before. It was called Surbiton Lagoon but it was actually in Tolworth, a bus ride away. It was a wonderful white art deco lido with a big open-air pool and a proper diving board. I wish it was still there now. I'd spent most of the long sunny summer of 1959 going to the lagoon. It was only sixpence (2Hp) to go in, so Biddy would give me a shilling (5p) each day and that covered my bus fares and a packet of crisps as a treat. We'd stay there all day long, chatting, reading, eyeing up the boys and diving in for a swim whenever we got too hot.
Obviously the lagoon was closed during the winter but it opened up in May.
Thursday 26 May
After school Cherry, Carol and I went to the Lagoon. It was SMASHING. We certainly picked the right day for going, as it was lovely and warm. It was cold at first in the water, but after a minute or two it was delicious. We all brought our teas so we could stay in till gone seven, when the session ended. We all wore our glamorous swimming costumes and painted our toenails.
But it didn't stay warm. Carol and I went to the lagoon at half-term.
Tuesday 7 June
In the morning Carol and I optimistically went to Surbiton Lagoon. It was f-r-e-e-z-i-n-g, and when we eventually plucked up courage to jump in the water we were very nearly frozen solid. I was surprised that there weren't any icebergs floating around. Anyway, when it began to pour with rain it was just the limit, and C and I packed up and ran for the warmth of the changing rooms. After we were warm and dry and changed we decided to go. As we were standing at the bus stop guzzling our packed lunches my front tooth filling came out again, blast it.
Oh, that front tooth! It was the bane of my life, always falling out at awkward moments. Long ago, when I'd first learned to swim at the age of six, I'd bashed my mouth against the stone side of the swimming pool as I struggled to get out. Both my front teeth were chipped, and when I reached my teens my dentist sent me up to the Royal Dental Hospital in Leicester Square to see if they could fix me up with a rudimentary crown. If anything went wrong I had to trail all the way up to London. So the next day:
In the morning I went up to the Royal Hospital of Dentists and had my tooth seen to. This time I didn't have Mr Arnold but a fat chubby student who reminded me of a teddy bear. He was very nice though, and I could have hugged him when he asked if I went out to work yet!
I'm rather impressed that at fourteen I was able to make that journey on the train up to Waterloo and then take the tube to Leicester Square. I was always supposed to come straight back after my dental treatment but I didn't always, especially if it was a school day and I could miss maths and PE. I'd sit on a bench in Leicester Square and read my book, hoping that everyone would think me a young secretary on my lunch break. I didn't have enough money on me to buy myself lunch but I'd look longingly at the menu in the window of the Golden Egg restaurant. Then, to distract myself from my hunger pangs, I'd wander along to the Charing Cross Road and peer even more wistfully in the windows of the second-hand bookshops.
11
Boys Boys Boys
Oh dear. This is the hardest chapter to write. I was so silly.
Chris asked me if I'd like to start going with her to the Youth Fellowship group at her local Methodist church. I wasn't a Methodist, I wasn't any kind of church-goer , but Chris said there were sometimes interesting discussions – and lots of boys went. So on Sunday 3 January I ate my Sunday roast chicken hurriedly, got myself dressed up (the eau-de-nil outfit) and caught the bus over to New Malden.
My Secret Diary Page 10
