No 5 - Rickmansworth Roman Ruins

Exciting Find at the Rickmansworth Roman Ruins 

It was the morning Sunday church service at the Rickmansworth Young Ladies College and through the open stained glass windows the girl’s voices rang out like an angel choir and were carried high on the gentle zephyrs which blew across the vast playing fields. It was John Hughes Hymn “Guide Me Oh Thou Great Redeemer”.

Guide me O thou great Redeemer,
Pilgrim through this barren land;
I am weak, but thou art mighty;
Hold me with thy powerful hand:
Bread of heaven, bread of heaven
Feed me till I want no more.

Tamsin Lacey was not present at this feast of choral music; I assumed she had been placed on detention again. Until I was brought up to speed I was not sure if it was because of the continuing vendetta with Miss Pringle or a general issue of the bad blood that existed between them that Phaedra had spoken about. As it turned out I had misjudged both Tamsin and Miss Pringle. Her absence was explained as she was called to the front office to receive the news her parents had turned up unexpectedly to inform her that her father was about to leave on an immediate Government overseas posting.

So I will relate the story about a metal plate covered in mysterious Chinese symbols that was recently discovered in a field near Sparrows Nest close to the famous Roman ruins at Chenies during a dig behind the Red Lion Pub discovered by the Beecham’s son, Raymond.

Incidentally it was Phaedra that reckoned Raymond had the hots for Tamsin.

Anyway initially the plate was thought to be from the first Ming Dynasty which would have put it at around 700 years old. I think they were Mongols; not that it makes any difference but I have to question what were the Ming people doing near Rickmansworth anyway.

The plate was dispatched to London to the Tate people for evaluation. It was discovered it was not actually from the Ming Dynasty at all but one of 15 million or so made for the European market by a Chinese company as a baking dish and heavily marketed on eBay.

This find triggered a lot of interest by the girls speculating that the painting that hung in the library of a Chinese Girl was a lost Rembrandt. Miss Sefton googled the painting and found it was one of millions of mass-produced prints referred to as the ‘Green Lady’; a picture as kitsch as three flying ducks that graced the living room walls of people in the West with copies still appearing from Nigeria and India.

Google informs us the original painting sold for 1.5 Million pounds, even today a fair copy could fetch as much as 2 pound 50 pee, or even more.

I heard some terribly exciting news late this afternoon. Mr Crisis the Science teacher was back on staff. Patience said she overhead Miss Sefton say to Miss Pringle “He may well have come from the Constellation of Epsilon Boötes but he was good at his job and therefore I see no reason why I should not re-employ him”.

This was a bad omen for stuck up Madeline Brown as the girls used to enjoy watching Mr Crisis hypnotizing Madeline during the science lesson into believing she was a chicken.

Her fears were unfounded as Miss Sefton had since forbidden Mr Crisis to hypnotize ‘ANY’ of the girls during the science class. Rhonda had the presence of mind to keep well away from him after the last debacle of being accidentally taken to Bootis and needless to say Rhonda’s mother also had a word or two to say to Mr Crisis about the matter. Nevertheless it was fortuitous that Mr Crisis did return.

We had four houses, Boadicea, Nightingale, Victoria and Pankhurst and although we were a comparatively small college what we lacked in student numbers was made up by the fees the governors charged our parents. The money channelled into my education would have bought a small African country or at least the Isle of Wight.

In our dorm Boadicea, there were 20 beds, 10 girls each side. My bed was placed between Patience and Rhonda’s. After lights out we used to whisper to each other about things that only boarders would understand. I always thought Rhonda’s imagination could be termed wild and somewhat disturbing.

Before the German warship story she told me she has seen ghosts. She recounted at length of seeing a legion of Roman soldiers walk through the concert hall wall, across the corridor and through the science room wall. She said they looked dirty, tired and generally fed up as if they just wanted to get home and have a bath. I don’t know if she was trying to frighten me, but if she was it was working.

The truth of Rhonda’s imaginations took a frightening turn a few weeks later. It was the night after the yearly prize-giving and Rhonda and I were detailed to tidy up the concert hall. We were to put the chairs back in their positions, push the piano to its normal position and pick up any pieces of paper lying around.

We left the concert hall around 9pm and were walking along the corridor between the concert hall and the classrooms when Rhonda, who was ahead of me, turned around and went instantly white. She pointed her finger over my shoulder and said “My God, they’re here”. I turned to see an apparition of a number of Roman Legionaries with shields and spears appearing through the concert hall wall, marching straight across the corridor and into the science room wall. They looked tired, dirty, unkempt, and without expression. There were no sounds.

I clutched at Rhonda’s arm. “I’m scared”.

Rhonda said “don’t be. They won’t hurt us. They are just ghosts”.

I had a lot of respect for Rhonda after that night. I also took her fantasies a lot more seriously too. I suggested that we keep this ghostly sighting to ourselves. “We don’t want any teasing by the other girls, and the doctor might put us both on some sort of medication followed by a course of intensive counselling”. Rhonda instantly understood.

I had a change of heart the following morning; I couldn’t stop thinking about the poor Roman soldiers that couldn’t get home so I suggested to Rhonda we tell Mr Crisis. He was a man of science. He would have an answer. If we told Miss Pringle or Miss Sefton no doubt they would say it’s a result of a rush of pubescent estrogen or something just as silly.

“In the lunch hour let’s talk to Mr Crisis”. I suggested. He usually sits on the bench in the quadrangle doing the Times crossword.

The following day as we approached Mr Crisis, we were a little apprehensive as to who was going to broach the subject, for as far as he was concerned there were no reports of girls with psychological problems. I was still in awe of Rhonda’s bravery on the ‘night of the Romans’ so I said I would ask him.

I recounted everything that happened that evening. Mr Crisis listened without interrupting and just nodded. He waited until I had finished, paused then said, “look come and see me after the holidays. They won’t be going anywhere. They will still be here after the holiday break, I promise you. I will get them home”.

But that is another story.

No 4 - Magical Summer Days at Rickmansworth

Phaedra, Tamsin and Charlotte

Magical Summer Days

 at Rickmansworth Young Ladies College

Rickmansworth Young Ladies College boasted a fine choir; in its large manicured grounds stood its own small church, its organ gifted to the church in the 17th century by Sir Richard De Chauncey. On Sundays the girl’s voices would echo around the high vaulted ceilings as they sang the school hymn the only hymn John Bunyan was credited in writing sung to the Monks Gate melody “He who would valiant be”. 

It was not the same words that Tamsin was singing though and the day was nigh when Tamsin was going to find herself in a heap of trouble if she persisted in her behaviour. I must admit her words did follow closely to the original words though. Tamsin’s version follows. 

She who would valiant be ’gainst all disaster, 
Let ‘er in constancy follow the Master.
There’s no discouragement shall make ‘er once relent 
er first avowed intent to be a pill grin.

Singing the last line of the hymn terribly off- key she sang “she’ll labour night and day to be a pill grin”. Her intent could be mistaken of just awful singing. Tamsin said she particularly tickled about the bit about Giants, Hobgoblins and foul fiends. Be that as it may no doubt it was why she was never picked to join the choir. 

It was midsummer and we were in bed by 10 pm. The sun’s rays managed to find the gaps behind the curtains and reflected the sunshine off the ceiling making it difficult to sleep. 

Rhonda could not contain herself any longer. ‘Did you hear about some idiot tying Helium party balloons around the necks of the swans in the village pond?’ 

‘No Rhonda and I don’t care I am trying to go to sleep’ whispered Patience. 

‘Well you should care, how are the swans going to feed off the bottom?’ 

I realized this was not going to be an early night. ‘Well can’t someone remove the balloons?’ I suggested, 

‘Well no, because they run away as soon as you approach them’ replied Rhonda 

’Well why not tranquilithe them firtht?’ Elspeth had decided to join the conversation. 

‘What with Elspeth?’ questioned Rhonda, 

I could see what was going on here. Rhonda was determined to keep this conversation going as long as possible. 

‘Tranquilither Gunth’ said Elspeth. 

"What thort of Gunth Elspeth?’ I asked. 

‘Bridgette will you thop it’ said Elspeth irritably. 

‘No, I am really interested’ I lied. 

A scuffling in the ceiling interrupted Rhonda’s delaying tactics, ‘Hang on what was that?’ 

There was silence as the girls strained to hear the noises. 

‘Perhaps it is the ghosts’ said Rhonda. 

‘Shush, listen’ whispered Patience. 

There was definitely something moving about in the ceiling. Rhonda’s summation sounded reasonable 

‘Doesn’t sound like Ghosts to me, there again has it not been proved beyond all reasonable doubt that ghosts do not make noises, I mean I have not read of any study done on this subject have you?

Rhonda was not going to leave this subject alone or allow us to get to sleep. 

‘Rhonda I am not listening to you anymore’ whispered Patience. 

I think Rhonda understood and that was the end of the matter. 

‘Get your colloquial French notes out’ ordered Miss Pringle, ‘Oh I should alert you Marmalade has gone missing’ 

Marmalade was the terribly spoilt school cat. He spent most of his days luxuriating on the couch in the bay window in reception, in the winter he could be found underneath the warm radiator on a cat bed in the office. Rhonda reckoned he was as old as Miss Sefton, possibly older. 

Miss Pringle continued ‘I have sent Briggs to look for him, so girls keep an eye out for him as you know he does not as a rule go wandering that is why we are worried about him’ 

The last time Marmalade’s general well-being had been brought into question was when Miss Pringle warned the girls that Marmalade did not like Liquorice allsorts, Chocolate or saucers of Sherbet as part of his regular diet; she said it makes his hair fall out. Rhonda disputed this, not directly to Miss Pringle of course but to anyone who would be silly enough to listen to one of her impromptu and riveting lectures during lunch time. 

‘Miss, I think Marmalade is in our dormitory ceiling’ 

Here we go; it is Rhonda going off half-cocked again but as Rhonda previously pointed out ghosts don’t make noises, well not real ghosts maybe someone masquerading as a ghost might. Rhonda was an attention seeker and I hoped when she put her hand up she had a little more than unsubstantiated suspicions on the whereabouts of Marmalade. 

‘What reason have you got for saying that Rhonda? Miss Pringle asked. 

‘Well we heard noises coming from our ceiling last night’ 

‘Right I will alert Briggs, thank you Rhonda, right colloquial French textbooks out girls’. 

In my best French translation I inquired of Miss Pringle about my Aunts pen that she lost in the garden and the time of the next train to Marseille, the location of the nearest Police station and could I be directed to the Ritz Hotel where I ordered two Café sans Lait and a Mille-Feuille, 

 Rhonda meanwhile ordered the À la carte not too well done, avec chips et sprouts. 

Miss Pringle’s eyes glazed over as she shook her head, no doubt wondering if her years of teaching had been a complete waste of time. I averted my eyes to my desk and blushed crimson. We were released into the warm embrace of the late afternoon sun.

As we headed for the playing fields we passed reception when we caught sight of Marmalade in Brigg’s arms, covered in dust with his head covered in cobwebs like a bride’s veil. 

As I approached reception to check my mail I saw a group of Gypsies being attended to by one of the office staff. I learnt that they had found young Jane Campbell wandering in Peckham Woods. It seems the class had stopped for a comfort stop and later moved on leaving Jane behind a tree. On trying to catch up she had taken the wrong path and got lost and was found by the Gypsies, which accounted for their presence in reception. 

When I was recounting this event Rhonda inquired if they were selling pegs or did they want to purchase Jane because if they did they would need an awful lot of money seeing who her parents were, or were they just seeking compensation for finding the lost student? Fortunately at this point the school bell sounded which gave me the excuse to dash off. 

All boarders were expected to return home during the summer school break. Those remaining being the gardeners, who tended the large gardens, mowed the huge playing fields with a maintenance supervisor and a couple of his men. 

The morning of the summer holiday break had arrived, the scent of rhododendrons hung heavily in the air as did the smell of freshly mowed  lawns. The concourse in front of the building was full of animated students with parents inquiring of the teachers of the academic progress of their offspring while their young irreverently climbed the statue of Lord Horatio Grantham joining him on his horse. It resembled Victoria Coach Station, but it was expensive cars rather than buses that lined the manicured drive to the Gatehouse. They were sheer magical summer days at Rickmansworth Young Ladies College.

No 2 - My Alma Mater. Rickmansworth Young Ladies College

My Alma Mater, Rickmansworth young Ladies College

I was telling Tamsin about my earliest memories. I recalled playing on a big rocking horse and of our ginger cat Monty that used to lie on the end of my bed. I asked Tamsin what were her earliest childhood memories.

Tamsin cannot help herself she always has to go one better. She thought about this for a moment then said it was leaving involuntarily from her mother’s uterus and seeing Auntie Elsie coochie-cooing and tickling her under her chin as her father endeavored to take a photo of her on his mobile phone just as they were about to cut her umbilical cord.

She said it all got a bit hazy after that. I know Tamsin is inclined to exaggerate but using one of father’s sayings “stuff me this surely has to take the cake”.

She told me that when she was young she remembers asking her mother where babies come from. Her mother told her they were found under gooseberry bushes. She said she accepted her answer without question despite crazy speculation by her primary school friends. Later she found to her horror her mother had been lying to her.

My parents sent me to a very exclusive girl’s boarding school, Rickmansworth Young Ladies College, also known as Denham Hall, for genteel young ladies. One term school term fees would have armed a third world country for years or fed a child from Biafra for hundreds of years, probably more, and possibly got a space programme off the ground for them.

A chance remark by an internet acquaintance of mine reminded me of an incident at school.

I was approached by Miss Frenzi the school sports teacher and asked if I would like to join the senior netball team.

She asked “what position on the court would you like to be trialled?”

I replied “well, preferably in goal miss”.

She inquired “do you know much about netball Bridgette?”

I replied “Well frankly not a lot”.

She never got back to me.

I buried Charmaine one of our chickens the other day. She had been egg bound. Her spirit moved on and she was consigned to the cold, cold ground.

I advanced the hypothesis to mother that it is possible that the sudden demise of Charmaine must have caught the attention of the other chickens and would have been the focus of much discussion. We as humans think we are the centre of the universe. We are so puffed up with our own importance we fail to see the broader picture.

I reminded her, “mother dear, we are wretched victims of nihilism. Chickens too suffer anxieties from a sense of insecurity when something like this happens. Remember we are all fellow travellers on this inconsequential dying blue/green stellar piece of flotsam floating aimlessly without any apparent purpose against a star-studded ebon cyclorama”.

I reminded her, ‘Life Doesn't Stop When Dementia Starts!’

No, that’s not the ramblings of a twitter amateur philosopher. I saw it on the wall in the doctor Mackenzie’s waiting room in Inveraray high street along with ‘Parents be Ever Vigilant for Head Lice’. Funny that I thought only children got head lice.

It has happened again; another one of our chickens died. I found Pamela on her back under a tree. She was a homing chicken. She will be sorely missed. As you can imagine the other chickens are distraught and again are trying to come to terms with the tragic loss of a sister chicken.

Phaedra my fourth best friend suggested to Graham that seeing he had Irish heritage he should buy his mother for her 20th wedding anniversary a celebratory pack of 20 DVD'S totaling 1,000 hours of Irish dancing.

Roger, my friend, bought me a year subscription for my birthday for the Dolly magazine little realizing the profound, haunting morbid dread I used to experience whenever I was about to open the sealed section at the back of the magazine. It probably explains why even today I am terrified of badgers. Can you understand that?

By the way, I was hoping the new Pope would have been an African woman.

I suppose it all started when my mother suggested I should cultivate some "deep meaningful relationships". So I joined Facebook. Father then accused me of being a tart trying to pick up males of the opposite species? I overheard mother's bridge partner, Mrs Dalrymple ask if I was adopted. Mother shook her head and replied “I don't know where she came from” with a heavy emphasis on the ‘where’.

A new day and the news is that mother returned from shopping in Inveraray High Street and surprised father by informing him she has decided to part exchange her Hillman Minx motor car and upgrade to a second hand Morris Minor, a green one. She has this nostalgia for past times. Father refuses to be seen in it and prefers to drive the Rolls Royce. .

No 3 - Rhonda's Unexpected Trip to Epsilon Bootis

Rhonda's Unexpected Trip to Epsilon Bootis

Rickmansworth Young Ladies College is a very exclusive boarding College for genteel young ladies, from well to do privileged families whose allegiance is to England, the flag, the English way of life, its traditions, customs, history, the King and the empire.

A place of learning for the daughters of Captains of industry, representatives of the Judiciary and influential Political figures, a number who had managed to escape the courts. Patience my very best friend's father had been bankrupted twice and on another occasion found not guilty of fraud. He had reserved a half dozen QC’s and informed the press that he would defend the slanderous, malicious, trumped-up charges vigorously but if he were found guilty he would throw his reputation on the line and plead leniency, even plea bargain and show groveling remorse hoping for a reduced sentence.

He is now a well-known politician, high in government whose position is something to do with the Treasury.

Rhonda, that’s Rhonda Appleton was my third best friend until she un-friended me from Facebook just because I criticized the color of her lipstick which her mother forbid her to wear anyway and it was Rhonda who unfriended Phaedra because it was Phaedra that accused Rhonda of being a loose tart. It was getting out of hand. By the way, Tamsin is now my second best friend. Patience, my very best friend, never joined in these spats. Phaedra put it down to breeding.

So this event one could say was timely. It was the day the science teacher Mr Crisis accidentally took Rhonda off to Epsilon Boötis. I suppose you are going to ask where is Epsilon Boötis. That’s precisely the question Miss Pringle asked when we broke the news that one of her students was missing.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

Mr Crisis our Science teacher was a most strange-looking man; he had a large oval head, long skinny arms, and large oval eyes. Rhonda my third best friend said perhaps he is an alien. I asked why an alien would be teaching science at our college. Rhonda suggested maybe he is seeking asylum.

Mr Crisis had been warned repeatedly not to hypnotize the girls, which was a pity as it was always the highlight in the science class watching stuck up Madeline Brown behaving like a chicken.

Incidentally, it was Madeline who was caught skinny dipping in the canal at Chorleywood by Pastor Dickie and his wife; Madeline’s mother would have had a fit.

I suppose at this point I should make mention of the gardener, Cripps. Rumours would spread like the bubonic plague at RLC. One of the older girls speculated he was Miss Sefton’s illegitimate son sired by the village lock keeper. Another rumour was that Cripps was a German spy who got left behind when Germany lost interest in the last war.

The rumours got wilder as each intake of new girls entered the college.

What the girls did not take into account was if Cripps was Miss Sefton’s illegitimate son she must have been eight when she had him. But the speculation of this event was far more exciting than fact.

My mother’s words again reverberated in my ears “children can be so cruel”.

One evening in the dormitory Rhonda told me that on a trip to the seaside when Millicent Martin made it to France on an inner tube. She had seen Cripps signaling with his torch to a German warship off the coast.

I reminded her that Germany had surrendered and the war was over long ago. Rhonda pondered this conflicting anomaly for a moment then suggested maybe the warship people had not been informed of this. She had a point of course, but being of a late hour I was not about to get drawn into a conversation about the matter, because I was well aware of Rhonda’s fixations on silly fantasies and that she would not let the matter drop.

We broke the news to Miss Pringle. This is the conversation I had with Miss Pringle ad verbatim or as best as I can recall.
“Miss. Miss. It's Rhonda, she’s gone.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

“Well she’s not here, Miss”.

“I can see she is not here, where has she gone?”

Miss Pringle was getting impatient, and I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to break the news that the parents of one of her fee-paying students would not be tending any more cheques.

“Well, Bridgette I will ask you once again...., WHERE-IS-RHONDA?”

There was a moment’s silence.

“I think she has gone to Epsilon Boötis, Miss”.

This conversation was going to hit a dead-end very shortly.

Miss Pringle regained her composure, paused, leaned forward and in a quiet, measured voice repeated the question.

“Now then Bridgette, for heaven’s sake where-is-Epsilon Boötis? Is it the flower shop in the town?”

This was the dead-end I was referring to a little earlier.

“No Miss, it’s a star system about 210 light-years from earth. We discovered that Mr Crisis comes from a planet that circles the star Epsilon Boötis. He has returned home accidentally taking Rhonda with him” I gushingly replied.

I would have also liked to have added that his home planet circled Epsilon Bootis which was the second brightest star in the constellation Boötis with a visual magnitude of 2.35. But I felt the information I had already given her was going to keep Miss Pringle’s attention focused for quite a while, without adding any further irrelevant information.

It was all too much; Miss Pringle decided to seek a higher authority.

“Bridgette come with me. You can try and explain this to the headmistress”.

I repeated to Miss Sefton what I thought had happened, again with a little embellishment about a bright flash of light, the smell of cordite and a whooshing sound.

I didn’t quite understand why it was I that was being quizzed. It wasn’t MY fault that Mr. Crisis accidentally took Rhonda off to Epsilon Boötis. It was just his carelessness. I asked myself, was I the patsy here?

“Well. I am now forced to call in the police” said Miss Sefton crossly.

I could also foresee problems ahead for the local police as regards how they intended apprehending Mr Crisis as their hands were already full finding the culprit who tied helium party balloons around the neck of a swan on the village pond, a news story that the Rickmansworth Bugle managed to carry on its front page with pictures for over a month now. Know-all Madeline Brown said they would probably call in the Yard.

It goes without saying, Mrs Appleton, Rhonda’s mother was beside herself with worry. I did my best to console her by putting my arm around her trembling, quivering shoulders and gently reminding her that Mr Crisis was by nature a kindly, gentle, considerate, careful and responsible person; well apart from Rhonda’s disappearance that is, and had a lovely and carefree disposition, but it didn’t seem to help very much.

At the morning religious sermon Pastor Dickie asked us to keep Rhonda’s safe return in our prayers. There was some reluctance by the girls to start a collection after the last debacle of Millicent Martin’s unscheduled 3 day trip on an inner tube to France, besides Rhonda’s parents were not actually on the bread line as her father was an Industrialist so how 2 pounds fifty pee or thereabouts in small change was going to lessen Mr and Mrs Appleton's grief was beyond me.

However, there is a happy ending to this story. A few days later there stood Rhonda in her crumpled school uniform, glasses askew, looking slightly flushed, one sock at half-mast with her arm outstretched confronted her parents, “On behalf of Mr Crisis, please accept this small gift and a letter of apology for any inconvenience he may have caused”.