Another 'Lost & Found' !

I has received an E-mail last month from an old classmate Linda Evans, it was a great surprise !
Class of 1967-1968. Linda sitting at left.

An Autobiography by Ex Needwood old scholar Mrs Linda Breeze 'nee Evans'.

I attended Donnington Lodge, Newbury at the age of three, then went to Belle Vue Primary School when my family moved to Shrewsbury. Ian Turner and Helen Collins were in the same class as me (also Needwoodians). I was twelve when o attended Needwood School. Year 1963 to 1968. I remember a lot of teachers, Mr Overend, Mr Jones, Mr Redmond, Mr Silver, Mr Dalziel, Mr Williams, Mr Howells, Mr Armstrong, Mr Read, Mr Thomas, Mr Tucker, Mr Powell, Brother Richards, Mr Leese, Mr Bulkeley-Kirkham and finally Headmasters Mr Richard Barrett and Mr Eric Brown. The female teachers were Mrs Bulkeley-Kirkham, Miss Bombroff, Miss Aldred, Miss Allen, Miss Blythe, Miss Myall, Miss Waite, Miss Woodward, Miss Clarke and i can't think of anyone else and the Housemothers were Miss Bailey, Miss Dolman and Miss Hodgekiss. When i left school i went to work in a Silhouette Factory as a sewing machinist. Then at a Metal Factory as a piece worker (Ian Turner and his Dad worked there on night shifts). I left home for good (my father has been working at GKN in Wellington during the day time to start with, then did a lot of night shifts. He had been there for so many years until he died). I then became a Postulant at the St Francis of Assissi Convent near Yeovil before moving to the convent of Sisters of Charity in Bristol until i became a novice. As i had no where to live when i left, so worked as a chambermaid at Linton Lodge Hotel in Oxford before moving to work at the Savoy looking after the famous Celebrities's Suites and meeting them. Among them were Rita Hayworth, Bianca Jagger and her daughter Jade, Muhammed Ali, Rock Hudson and Louis Jordan. I left the Savoy to get married to a porter who worked there. I have had several jobs like being a Housekeeper then Medical Records Clerk at the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford before i finally became Secretary to a group of Lecturers and Professors in the Department of Statistics in Reading University. I met someone else and had two children and have been a home maker since. I now live in Newcastle upon Tyne having been on my own for a number of years with my son Emery aged 15 years. I am now 58 years young and remember so many pupils including Moray Seni, Shelia Price and Jean Caddick. My favourite friends were Jane Tasker and Helen MacCallum who i stayed with for a few weekends while at school. I stayed with Helen Collins and played with her before i attended Needwood. We have not spoken to each other since. I would like to have contact with all those who knew me at Needwood especially Kay Norman. Linda Evans.

Mrs Ruth Bulkeley-Kirkham write in 'The Derbyshire Magazine' Bygones.

Many thanks to Mrs Kay Callow for E-mailing the newspaper cutting to me.

Autumn Song

By Katherine Mansfield (1888-1923).

Now's the time when children's noses,

all become as red as roses.

And the colour of their faces,

makes me think of orchard places.

Where the juicy apples grow,

and tomatoes in a row.

And to-day the hardened sinner,

never could be late for dinner.

But will jump up to the table,

just as soon as he is able.

Ask for three times hot roast mutton-

oh ! the shocking little glutton.

Come then. find your ball and racket,

pop into your winter jacket.

With the lovely bear-skins lining,

while the sun is brightly shining.

Let us run and play together,

and just love the autumn weather.


I Who All The Winter Through.

By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1895).

I who all the winter through

cherished other loves than you,

And kept hands with hoary policy in marriage-bed and pew;

now i know the false and true,

For the earnest sun looks through,

and my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew.

Now the hedged meads renew

rustic odour, smiling hue.

And the clean air shines and tinkles as the world goes wheeling through

And my heart springs up anew

bright and confident and true.

And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the hue.

White Hart.

White Hart

In the bent and broken grasses where the frost has starched the trees.

Something white and spectral passes through the December days.

With a sun all rouged and lazy as an actor drunk on stage.

Hardly designs to make the daylight now the old year turns the page.

White Hart, captured in a clearing watchful in the forest fern.

With the winter soistice nearing searching for the sons of Herne.

For the moment, nothing's stirring in a birless, silent sky.

Just a breathless camera whirring while the creature passes by.

Vanishing beyond the trees in December days like these.