Dear Readers, this is my continuing memoir of arriving from South Africa, aged ten and a half, to live with my father (who I barely knew) and boy cousin, in my father’s somewhat eccentric Brighton household – and go to an English boarding school.

By the time the school term began, my hair had been cut by a razor (and had leapt into a round fuzz-ball), Marco and I were firm friends, and the house was, if not becoming ‘home’, definitely less intimidating. Marco and I hadn’t conquered the drawing-room yet, that was to wait for our Easter break.

Meanwhile my father, alongside asking about my day, had broadened his evening inquiry to include whatever was topical in the news. Eisenhower was about to be sworn in as President of the US, what did I think of that? Did I know why Albert Schweitzer had been awarded the 1952 Nobel Peace Prize? Did I think he was a good choice? Did I know that weeks before I’d arrived in Britain a London smog had been so dense many people had died in it? (I didn’t, but thinking back to the day we had walked across the tarmac at London Airport, it wasn’t difficult to imagine!) Now my father wanted to discuss the ins and outs of the plans being drawn up to prevent one on that scale happening again. Finding myself flawed on all counts, and wanting to be up to the recognition he seemed to be affording me as a reciprocal mind, I decided I needed to do something about it..............

Read on here