ECSOGA

I am an old girl. Specifically a dues-paying member of the Enfield County School Old Girls’ Association. I recently received the latest edition of the newsletter with the un-welcome, if not entirely unexpected, news that the association is likely to fold up its tents in 2009. As is often the case with organizations run by volunteers, too few valiant leaders have been struggling to steer the organizations, too few old girls are interested. One of the joint chairs, Harriett Nailon, stated it eloquently: “the structure, ethos, organisation and activities of ECSOGA are not attractive to those aged under 55.”

As a member (significantly) over the age of 55, I shall be sad. I’ll still have memories, fading slightly every year, but there will no longer be a structure for keeping track of some of my fellow pupils. In actuality, not many of my contemporaries have made their present circumstances know to the association as it presently exists. That is one of the reasons why I was so happy to spend time with my friend Ruth on my visit to England this Christmas. We patched together some of the old days from our joint—and sometimes differing–memories. To further quote Harriett as she defined our era:

Memories of Houses, a spirit of (sometimes fierce) competitiveness, the annual Carol Service in St. Andrew’s church, echoes of World War II and the Cold War, impassioned debates about CND, listening to Radio Luxembourg, hitch-hiking, the terror of unmarried motherhood, how difficult it was for some of us to keep our stocking seams straight, the motto—ONWARD EVER— so (frankly) Victorian and confident, our taste for formality and decorum learned at a school where hats or berets were compulsory for two terms of the year, where some pupils (not students) chose to wear white gloves with their blazers in summer, where rules included walking along corridors in single file and silence, where pupils stood up when a mistress entered the room, where each and every day started with the whole school assembling for prayers, a hymn and a reading of a religious (generally Biblical) , philosophical or moral nature and where Jerusalem and The National Anthem were known by heart and proudly sung at regular intervals.

I have picked up a few English readers of a certain age, and all of this will sound—perhaps annoyingly—familiar to them. It evokes memories for me, some of which I must capture before they fade into the dim mist of forgetfulness.


Here’s a photo of the school prefects of 1957-58. That’s me scowling second from the right, second row from the bottom. We were members of VI B Arts or Science (junior prefects?) and VI A Arts or Science (senior prefects?) By the time we reached the Sixth form, gym slips had given way to skirts and blouses, and one student (Anne Robbins, what became of you?) is wearing the “school dress”, which wasn’t too popular as it couldn’t be washed. Notice our ties and our prefects’ badges and the white ankle socks I mentioned in the last post. The white sashes worn by some are the coveted “white girdles” awarded each term to the students who had shown exemplary conduct, outstanding neatness of dress and, I suppose, obnoxious brown-nosing. I was awarded one at some point, but obviously not at the time of this photo.

That’s Ruth, sitting one place removed from me, and next to her are the two magnificent women who ran the school. Next to Ruth is the Deputy Head, Miss F. Sharp, who was a strong disciplinarian and my outstanding and beloved Latin and Greek teacher. She knew her stuff! To her right is Miss M. C. Sharp (no relation), the Headmistress for all my time at the school.

If my grandchildren read this, I suspect they will laugh their heads off. But I want to preserve for them my memories of another time and another place. Onward Ever!