I wrote in my last blog how sixteen months of being a legal secretary plus four concurrent part-time jobs had got me to this point. That post is here : http://lyndacooksontravelandgeneral.blogspot.fr/2018/04/aiming-to-begin-living.html
In three wonderful months of camping around Europe, the only work I had to do was, on a borrowed sewing machine, make up the curtains for the classic VW Kombi we were to camp in, and do my share of the cooking and washing-up duties. What a life. More please!
When I got back to London, of course it was necessary for me to work again to pay for food and accommodation. My savings were almost finished. The problem was, that on a two-year visa, I wasn't permitted to work. I was armed with the knowledge that South Africans have a good reputation of being reliable hard workers and were welcomed as part-time employees in selected employment agencies. We were paid in cash "under the counter". It took me no time at all to register with two agencies and find myself with first, a typing job at a department of the University of London, followed by a secretarial / receptionist position with the firm who handled the Public Relations work for the Principality of Monaco.
The tiny principality of Monaco
This latter position lasted a few weeks and I loved the connection to Monaco. There were a couple of problems I had to deal with though. The first was that one of the firm's clients, not connected to Monaco, was South African and insisted on speaking to me in Afrikaans although his first language was English. I suppose it fulfilled his need for a bit of home. For me, it was scary. I was still extremely shy and this included my ability to speak Afrikaans. I had passed it well enough as a subject at school, but having grown up in the most English-speaking part of South Africa, my spoken Afrikaans was subject to extreme stage fright. Although I understood everything he said, I was tongue-tied in replying and battled to remember the correct words to use. Every time the telephone rang in that office, I had a panic attack that it might be this man set to terrify me again. It sounds a little thing, but to a non-worldly, shy and obedient twenty-year old from the other side of the world, it was huge. His simple friendliness spoiled my days. I chuckle about it now.
The other thing was that the son of the owner of the Public Relations firm was always trying to kiss me! Yuk. It was another challenge for a polite and innocent young thing from the other hemisphere. I managed to evade him for weeks, until one evening I was obliged to take a taxi with him and his father. His father left the taxi early, leaving me like a sitting duck next to his son. He lunged. I jerked away. The taxi driver looked worried. As I said - yuk! - and that kind taxi driver let me off at the nearest convenient place to stop.
This was the straw that broke the camel's back for me and I immediately looked for a less stressful job. Later in my career as a secretary I was to encounter quite a lot more sexual harassment in the office. Thank heavens there's more consciousness about it these days.
I found another job, something completely different to secretarial work, and it took me to Scotland. I was to join the kitchen staff in a boys' boarding school in Rannoch, near Pitlochry. I traveled there by steam train, overnight, loving the beautiful old wooden-bedecked sleeping compartments where the leather seats flipped into beds and the back of the sliding door was a full length mirror. The windows, also wood framed, took mammoth strength to slide open but you could sit there with a full breeze on your face as the scenery rolled by, breathing in what can only be described as crystal clear air. It was heaven to me. I gazed out in the early morning at clear rushing water over rocks in streams we passed over, and misty green hills and valleys.
It was November, heading into winter, and I spent a month peeling potatoes, using a big peeling machine, in an icy cold and damp room off the warm kitchen. After potato duty I made puddings, dipping my hands into big bags of crumbly tart mix with stewed apples and rhubarb, and stirring up instant chocolate whilst the chef stirred the biggest pots of stew I had ever seen in my life. I loved it in that kitchen! What I didn't love though was that because my duties ended before the meal, I had to hang around and help the washing-up staff put the dishes away after the meal.
Me with three other members of the kitchen staff at Rannoch School for Boys
Working at this school was an eye-opener for me, coming from a continent (Africa) where water use is treated with extreme respect and you just don't waste anything because there is always someone needy who can use it or eat it. Taps were left running and the amount of food which the boys didn't touch and which was scraped into the rubbish bins broke my heart on a daily basis.
Not long after that, homesickness, imminent Christmas and my eldest sister getting married lured me home. I regretted that decision the minute the plane touched down in Durban and I immediately set about saving to go back. That would involve more office work for a while.
Au revoir
Lynda
Lynda