Let’s RECAP! Helen and I returned to the United States for me to attend a Catholic School and get my First Communion in 1957

Mom and I returned to Cyprus on the ship after my first Holy Communion at St. Mary’s School in Boise, Idaho, the home of my father’s sister. We returned in time for me to go back to the CMC school in September of 1958.

What a time that was in the Eastern Mediterranean!  Mom and I were glad to be back with Dad. His lunchtime summaries of the contents of the Cyprus Daily Mail gave one a clear understanding of what to expect as Current Events and Real Life came a ‘knocking.

Syria and Egypt joined together to form the United Arab Republic with Abdel Nasser as President.  Closer to the US, Castro began a guerrilla warfare action to displace the Batista government in Cuba.  The US gained a state when Alaska became the 49^th state in 1958. And in Europe The European Common Market came into existence.

But back to the 1950s, I am jumping ahead of myself. The Cha Cha Cha was the newest and most fabulous dance. I watched the adults dancing away in the lounge waiting for the full dance band to start playing at 8.00 pm. The dinner time meal on ships was all about the adults. Children on ships did not eat at the first or second sitting or with adults but at 6.00 pm and then were expected to retire to their parents’ staterooms and let the adults socialize.

 My mother was an ambassador from British Columbia, Canada, a true diplomat, charming and funny, popular with all who met her. And extremely proper in her etiquette. I have somewhere a wonderful photo of her in fancy dress on one of the ships fancy dress parties, I think it was the “Messapia,” Helen is wearing a sari and is fully veiled holding the veil coyly over her face so as to offend no-one with an impolite take on Hindu ladies. Poise and elegance were her virtues and a musical ear for languages that left my father and I in awe. Helen spoke Greek, Italian and Russian by the time she learned it to keep her friend, Eleni’s son, Dotis company as he learned Russian for his Masters and Doctorate in Mathematics which required at least 2-3 years studying in Moscow or St. Petersburg.

My mother drew my father into parenting a daughter even though that was not expected or part of the family credo at that time. It was the time of the Beatniks and so there were all sorts of arty and theatrical stories about human behavior, creativity and products of the imagination which widened the scope of media and news items.

I knew my mother wrestled with the tameness of life in a mining village in Cyprus, even though we were a quarter of a mile from the Mediterranean. Our kitchen and dining room windows looked out over the glory of the Greek and Ottoman empires who argued and quarreled with each other like far-flung families: one family became Christian and the other followed Islam but basically these were neighbors and wonderful folk whose sense of hospitality and hard work ethic contributed to the prosperity found all over the Middle East.

My Dad often took me with him to the Ottoman bank in Lefka. He enjoyed the Turkish Cypriot Manager for the Ottoman Bank and sometime Mayor of Lefka. Dad loved catching up on all his friend’s news, “So How is that wonderful family of yours?” George would ask, “and those daughters, you remember Mary Angela, this lucky gentleman has four daughters!”  With all the respect and ceremony due to the Mukhtar of the village of Lefka, Dad asked, ‘How are the houses going?’ This referred to the fact that our bank manager had to build 4 houses, one for each of his daughters. Dowries are normal in the Mediterranean so that daughters would be married well and provided for by the father’s prosperity.

We had 18-23 pupils in the CMC school. I don’t remember the exact number but there were only 4 girls and the rest were boys. We had 2 teachers. They were a mother and daughter team: Mrs. Bell and Miss Bell. As with all horrific encounters, the mind protects us and I dread to think how awful our experience was in that school between girls and boys. There were many nationalities but that was not the issue. The issue was full-fledged warfare between remarks, grabbing and other abuse.

I took steps to stop this infernal, constant barrage of stress. I called a school meeting in the lunch room. I put on a show with exotic Yma Sumac music then I pretended to be a belly dancer. I shocked and horrified the entire school with an enticing belly dance. The finale was to leap into the air and land on my knees not once, not twice, but three times.  The dance was over as Mrs. and Miss Bell came back from lunch and had no idea what to say or do. I am sure there were plenty of complaints!

I never had any more problems with rude remarks or grabbing from boys and my mother put into operation her plan to salvage the situation and give me a chance to succeed at school and life. 

I know if I had to resort to such means to stop the bullying, a thousand other youngsters of my age found similar methods of stopping their abuse and bullying.  We were enduring the boys’ frustration and stress at not knowing what was shaping their behavior. In my mind, if it wasn’t stopped, we would have to endure their masochistic bullshit and it would continue.  My survival within a family unit depended on my mother’s ability to solve the dilemma so my father’s even life and happiness was not in jeopardy.

To my surprise before we left the States, Mom looked at some gray school uniforms. ‘What are those for?’ I asked.

‘Just checking whether to buy them here in the States or in London,’ replied Helen.

I said, ‘CMC school doesn’t have uniforms.’

‘No, no they don’t. You are quite right.’ That was the end of the discussion.  For the 4^th or 5^th time in my life I was reminded that actions had consequences. I would never be able to live down that belly dance I performed to shut up the boys at the CMC School.

Preparations for me to attend an All Girls’ boarding school sped up as my folks consulted and researched and finally decided on St. George’s School in Switzerland.

After our three months’ vacation in the US in 1959, we returned to Europe with a stop in Switzerland to deliver me to the school, to the headmistress, Miss Georgina Codrington, a wonderful Australian principal originally from Australia and to Miss Bamford, a former British Army matron. I remember burying my head in my mother’s fur coat and reveling in her perfume. Then it was time to say Goodbye. I think I cried for three weeks and then thought of my father saying, ‘Don’t be a pantywaist, Mary-Angela. We will see you for the Christmas holidays,’ and when the holidays came, I flew back to Cyprus. When I got off the plane in Nicosia, Cyprus, I was a different person.

Everything in my life was different. The bullies hadn’t changed; they were just girls who spoke about you behind your back, and in a foreign language. What really came into play was the school’s immersion course in learning to speak French. I was lucky my mother was raised in Canada and believed in a bi-lingual life style. Helen had taught me primary French grammar and a few phrases. She also hired a friend of hers, a French teacher for several months in Cyprus.

I wasn’t totally lost. But there’s a difference between managing one week of English and one week of French firmly enforced by staff and prefects who did not allow one word of the wrong language to taint the immersion experience. The difference was managing and excelling. It was a revelation to me. I thought I would fail, but I did not. The second term was worse because the fear of not being able to speak French and be understood, doubled. Classes were still in their regular language but every word and utterance, jokes, Pass the bread, everything outside of classes, had to be in French.

Fortunately, the girl in the bed next to me in my dorm was a weekly boarder, her parents lived in Lausanne, she went home every other weekend and she spoke mainly French. Speaking English was not difficult for her I think her dad was English but she and her sister spoke French and Italian at home with their mother, Patrizia was very good to me and helped me learn to speak French.

St. George’s offered three sets of exams so most advanced education requirements were met by what the school had to offer except for Math, Science, Chemistry and Biology. We took the Ordinary and Advanced exams set by the British, there was also preparation for French university and to my surprise I did very well with SATs and CEEB for American universities.

I falsely believed, for years, that I had friends at St. George’s. There were three ‘friends’ I actually had. So out of 150 girls each year for seven years that’s not a very big number of friends. Before these statements of mine are misconstrued, I must explain that my father and I had a very frank and honest discussion of what he expected of me while I was a boarding school in Switzerland.

‘Mary Angela, the school your Mother and I chose for you has 56 nationalities and 27 religions. Imagine that you are attending a scholastic version of the United Nations. Plenty of girls will be smarter than you, plenty of girls will be richer and act more entitled than you, plenty of girls will marginalize your importance and significance but remember you are smart and kind and compassionate without a cruel streak in your body, you are very talented and this school will give you an opportunity to explore those talents and focus on what you want to accomplish in your life. Compete in sports and learn in the class-room, entertain in plays and use your debating to convey your point of view. I know you will excel and remember that you are younger than all your class mates, your mother talked Miss Codrington into accepting you a year early, do your best, you can’t do more than that.’

With that directive from my Father ringing in my ears, I applied myself to learning everything I could and at no point then or now do I consider going to boarding school to have been a punishment.

I felt extremely lucky to have such an education offered to me courtesy of my Father’s company.

The people who made me happy at St. George’s were the teachers. They were magnificent. From my first year until I graduated seven years later, I had outstanding teachers, Mademoiselle Bacque and Madame Ravussin were my first French teachers and taught me just about every year I was there.

Then in my third year, Miss Furmidge and Mrs. Ross White joined the teaching staff.  I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Miss Furmidge taught history and she was brilliant. Mrs. Ross White taught Art and Art Appreciation and History.

There were a couple of morons; one taught math and the other attempted to teach biology and was soon retired to be an assistant matron as she didn’t know much as far as teaching was concerned. The dreaded Math teacher was soon fired for slapping Amparo, an Ecuadorian gal, across the face in Math class. I saw it and was in that class and couldn’t believe it.

I don’t think that lady’s feet touched the ground as she was unceremoniously shown the door. But I failed Math and Biology O’ level because of these two poor choices in the teaching faculty. My father was disgusted with me when he saw those results. Fortunately, I aced the other 6 subjects but I was humbled and vowed to make straight As in my A’ levels and I accomplished that.

I was also preoccupied during O’ level prep, I was elected House captain of Diana House and that meant plenty of extracurricular activities including all the sports teams and drama productions that were associated with the school’s Houses: Minerva, Diana and Atlanta. I had the great pleasure or working with Miss Arkless studying Drama and then Miss Nicholson. They were both excellent teachers and I applied for a scholarship to Webber Douglas because of them but never sent it off as I realized my father would not approve, and I knew the company would not pay for that education.

 Then there was the extraordinary Actor and teacher: Madame Quinche. Madame Quinche taught French and English literature for O and A level exams and was a celebrated player in the Nestle Dramatic society. Madame Quinche’s husband worked for Nestle.

Several years ago, in a foolhardy moment I looked up a friend of mine who was from The Dominican Republic and it was at that moment I realized that there was not one person at that school who gave a rat’s ass whether I lived or died.

I was very grateful to realize that we are on our own, or I am on my own. What you see and what you believe, the words you use to describe your situation are so far from the reality to which you have awoken that there is little point in imagining you will be happy in a one city, one town or, one village. There is nothing that prepares you better for the loneliness of life than attending three schools where not one soul cares if you live or die.

We learn the lessons of ego; we learn that the primary pleasure acquaintances contribute to our lives is that we enjoyed their company for a small amount of time and then it is time, to be on our way.

I say this without bitterness but also because it is important to reconcile my bravado and desire to include an entire generation of folk who were lonely and misunderstood came from my experience of being lonely and misunderstood myself. Finally, I went searching after the turmoil of marriage/business partnership and live-in boyfriends for a real love and friend that truly cared if I survived.

Since I found him, I haven’t looked back and it took half of my life to locate him. The truth was laid out in front of me. No-one has any interest in your truth, your suffering or your good looks or your witticisms. The audience, the other people are far too busy applauding themselves.

If we taught this to people at a young age, their lives might be less difficult to navigate and the constant self-examination brought on by tired, old religions might escape our consciousness. One needs to grasp the reality of struggling to survive. We must lay it out cleanly and concisely especially now as the population of the planet will soon increase the hardships of food, water, shelter and clean air.

But Switzerland! It was glorious. I loved going to school there. The variety and quantity of folks who passed through this tiny yet International country with 4 national languages that welcomes folks from around the world: The Helvetic Confederation.  Tourists from all over Europe come for the climbing, the hiking, the sightseeing, for skiing or banking or art or deal-making.

The Nestle company was head-quartered in Vevey which was the twin choice between Montreux and Vevey, the two towns where we shopped, where we went for coffee or went to church before the beautiful city of Lausanne on the Lac Leman train Ride to Geneva. We skied at Rocher de Naye at the weekends and at Col Des Mosse, a smaller group of ski slopes on Wednesday and Thursday. We had a fierce GYM teacher in Miss Coombes. She was heaven! As far as planning was concerned, I studied the examples of Miss Coombes. And I thank my mother every day for aligning her beliefs with those of my father so that I was prepared for hardship and disappointment but not prepared to buckle under it, or to lose my optimism that I would succeed and I would fulfill the dreams I have pursued since that wonderful School experience in Switzerland!