03 - My School Days by E. Nesbit

In this enchanting memoir, the author takes us on a nostalgic journey through her school days, originally serialized in The Girls Own Paper from October 1896 to September 1897. Filled with heartfelt stories about beloved teachers, cherished friends, and the childhood fears that lingered into adulthood, this account also offers a vibrant depiction of the most memorable summer of her youth. Summary by Cori Samuel.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part three of My School Days by E. Nesbitt. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Part three South
with the Swallows, with what delicious thrills of anticipation and excitement.
I packed my doll's clothes on the eve of our journey.

(00:22):
I had a little tin trunk with a real padlock.
I have it still by the way, only now it
holds old letters, and a bunch of violets, and a
few other little worthless things that I do not often
have the courage to look at. Nowadays. It is battered
now and the paint is worn off. But then it
was fresh and shiny, and I packed all the doll's

(00:43):
clothes in it with a light heart. I don't remember
anything about our leaving home or saying good bye to
the boys, so I fancy that they must have gone
back to school some time before. But I remember the
night passage from New Haven to Dieppe far too vividly
to care to describe it. I was a very worn

(01:03):
out little girl. Indeed, when we reached Roon and I
lay for the first time in a little white French bed,
my mind was, I suppose a little upset by my
soul's sorrows at Stamford and my body's unspeakable discomforts on
board the channel boat. And I was seized with a
horror of the words de bi de tabac, which I

(01:25):
had noticed on our way from the station. I associated
them with the gravestone of my father. I don't know why.
I can only conjecture that the last syllable of debi,
being the same as that of our name, may have
had something to do with it. I lay awake in
the dark. The light from the oil lamp in the
street came through the persiennes and fell in bright bars

(01:48):
on the wall. As I grew drowsier, I seemed to
read there in letters of fire, de bie de Tabac.
Then I fell asleep and dreamed at my father's ghost
came to me and implored me to have the horrible
French inscription erased from his tomb, for I was an Englishman,
he said. Then I woke rigid with terror, and finally

(02:13):
summoned courage to creep across the corridor to my mother's
room and seek refuge in her arms. I am particular
to mention this dream because it is the first remembrance
I have of any terror of the dead, or of
the supernatural. I do not at all know how it
had its rise, perhaps in the chatter of some nurse
maid long forgotten by and by. I should like to

(02:36):
tell you about some of the things that used to
frighten me when I was a child. But just now
we are at Rome, where Joan of Arc was burned,
and where the Church of Saint Ure is. Even then,
the beauty of that marvelous Gothic church filled me with
a delight, none the less intense for being incomprehensible to me.

(02:56):
We went too to Saint Catherine de Mont. The seal
of the church was blue with gold stars. I thought
it very beautiful. It was very windy on the mount,
I remember, and the sky outside was blue like the
church ceiling, with white clouds instead of gold stars. There
was a stall a little way down the hill where

(03:18):
a white coughed woman sold crucifixes and medals, and rosaries
and pictures. My mother bought me a little painting of
the church in an alabaster frame. It was, for a
long time one of my chief treasures. We went on
to Paris. It was very hot and very dusty. It
was the exhibition year. I went to the exhibition, which

(03:41):
seemed to me large, empty and very tiring. I saw
the Emperor and the pretty Empress driving in a carriage
with her little son. The boy was about my own
age and wore a velvet suit and an embroidered frilly collar.
The crowd cheered them with wild enthusiasm. Three years later,

(04:01):
but this is not a history paper. The pleasantest part
of our stay in Paris was the time that my
cousin Fred spent with us. He lived in Paris and
knew that little girls like sweeties. Also, he sang the
comic songs of the day cafuslaeum and it's really very unpleasant,
and taught me their long and dreary words. He was

(04:25):
very kind to me, and I remember him with tenderness,
though I have never seen him since. On the whole,
though I had a real silver daisy brooch bought at
the exhibition, and more toys than could conveniently be carried
in my tin trunk, I was glad to get away
from Paris. As this is not a guide book, I

(04:45):
suppose I must not tell you about tour and the
convent of Marmoutier. I expected a convent to be a
dark and terrible place, with perhaps a nune or two
being built into the wall, and I was relieved to
find a trim, well kept garden and a pleasant house,
where kindly faced women in black gowns and white gimps

(05:05):
walked about Breviary in hand. Nor must I linger at Poitier,
where we saw gloves made, and I, to my intense delight,
was measured for a small pair of bright blue kid
I liked Poitier, especially the old Byzantine church, now used
as a stable. I picked up a bone there and

(05:28):
treasured it for months. It was human, I was convinced,
and I wove many romances round the little brown relic,
romances that considerably embittered the reality. When I came to
know it, What's that? Alfred asked, picking the bone from
its resting place in cotton wool in my corner drawer
months afterwards, A human bone, I said, gravely. Alfred roared

(05:54):
with aggravating laughter. It's only half a fowl's back, you
little silly. Ashamed and confused, I flung the bone into
the inmost recesses of the drawer and assured him that
he was mistaken. But he wasn't. We went from Poitier
to Angulems. How often in school I have got into

(06:16):
trouble for tracing that route on the map of France,
when I should have been tracing Cap Grenee or the
course of the Rhone. And so, by easy stages we
reached Bordeaux. Bordeaux is on fate. The great annual fair
was in progress. The big market place was covered with
booths filled with the most fascinating objects. I was very

(06:40):
happy at Bordeaux until it occurred to some one to
take me to see the mummies. After that, farewell the
tranquil mind, Farewell content. And here I cannot resist the
temptation to put a long parenthesis in my traveler's tale,
and to write a little about what used to frighten

(07:00):
me when I was little. And then I shall tell
you about my first experience of learning French. End of
Part three.