This is story #58 in the series “Where Exactly is Home?”. The author recommends you read them in order.
Introduction:
“Where Exactly is Home?” follows the story of my parents, my two younger brothers and me, Susan, who emigrated from war-battered Britain, in the mid-late 1950’s, to Southern Rhodesia, Africa.
The effects of this move on our family were huge, as we struggled to adapt to such a different way of life. Only after further upheaval, and more long-distance travelling, did our family eventually settle in the city of Salisbury, Rhodesia.
However, we did not know then that we would not remain there for the rest of our lives, either.
When the family first went to Africa, I, Susan, was 9 years old. My two brothers, John and Peter, were almost 7 and 4, respectively.
Nowadays, as seniors, John and Peter live in England. I live in Canada. Throughout our lives, we have both benefitted from, and suffered because of, our somewhat unusual childhood.
I, for one, still sometimes ask myself which country represents home to me.
This is a series of stories under the title "Where Exactly is Home?" - I recommend you read them in order, starting with story #1.
58. Three Proposals in Two Years
I was in my mid-twenties, teaching at a grammar school in southern England and content with my life. My parents and my younger brother were still in Southern Rhodesia where my brother Peter was at university. Politically, life was getting more and more turbulent over there, with a guerilla war affecting all aspects of existence. To avoid military conscription, fighting for the right-winged Whites only government against the Blacks’ demand for political representation, Peter finished his final exams at university and left Rhodesia, too. He came to England in January of 1973, with a view to pursuing a post-graduate degree at York University.
I had not wanted to stay in Africa for the rest of my life. So, having completed a year of teaching at a boarding school in the bush about 50 miles from Salisbury, I had departed for England. I had just broken off my engagement to be married. My fiancé was a Rhodesian-born geologist. I couldn’t bear the thought of a future life in Rhodesia. I was desperate to exit the colonial lifestyle and to spread my wings elsewhere. England was familiar in that I had been born there, so it was the obvious place to go, even if it meant I had to leave the man I was going to marry. Six or seven weeks before our wedding date, I broke our engagement and began planning my departure.
So here I was, in my mid-20s, teaching in Havant, Hampshire. I soon had my own car, was sharing a house, and was happy enough. I soon had a boyfriend, a fellow teacher at another school who had been introduced to me by a colleague at my school. We went out on dates to movies, to shows, and sometimes to his family’s beach cottage on Hayling Island. All very much above board. I was still puritanical and not in the least inclined to be overly free with my favours. I was not on the pill and had no intention of getting married for several years. After all, the experience of finding my way in England was so new to me. I wanted to travel the world; I wanted to go back to France to see the people I had met there in 1967-68, when I had been working as an “assistante” in a high school; I wanted to be single and enjoy the experience. Above all, I wanted to live my life on MY terms!
