When I was nineteen, I took a gap year and went to England with a friend. We’d applied to work at an all-girls school in a small town near Oxford and had, subsequently, been appointed as assistant matrons in the boarding house.

Incidentally, this school happened to be the sister school to our high school in South Africa. In other words, both schools were started by the same group of nuns back in the day – and, no, the nuns no longer run these schools in case you were wondering.

Now, I should probably admit that I had always romanticized about our sister school in England. In my mind, I had pictured a stately school building situated on a vast piece of sprawling, green land with tall trees and a sense of unparalleled tranquillity.

Hence, I was rather surprised (and somewhat disappointed) to discover that our new home was situated on a main street in the heart of a tiny town. In fact, the school was more of a hodgepodge of buildings with a large, main building and a number of separate, old, eerie houses. These houses were spread out across the upper section of the town and were used as residences for the older girls and staff members.

My friend and I had arrived at the school after dark to be greeted by the French teacher. She then escorted us down the street to a three-storey house where we’d be staying and left us to settle in. After a long journey and having to drag my luggage through a maze of corridors, down a street and up two flights of stairs, I was feeling rather tired.

However, little did I know that the night was just getting started, as the school – and its staff members – turned out to be far more strange and eccentric than I could have ever imagined.

About an hour later, the French teacher returned to take us to meet one of the house matrons. Apparently, the boarding house was divided into two sides and my friend and I would each be assigned to one of the matrons.

In hindsight, I’m pretty sure that this particular matron wanted to have first option between my friend and I, which is why she had arranged to meet us so soon. And I’m rather glad to say that the momentary horror of entering her flat left me mute, which must have been why she instantly took a liking to my friend – that, or it was the look of revulsion on my face, which put me out of the running. I mean, talk about scarring you on your first day.

You see, her entire flat was pink with Dalmatians. I kid you not! It was like walking into a room where a candyfloss machine had exploded and then someone had decided to chuck a thousand milk chocolate buttons into the mix. I’ve never seen anything like it in my entire life! Her flat had pink walls, pink chairs, pink blankets, pink curtains, pink pillows, pink etcetera, pink etcetera, Dalmatian teddy bears, Dalmatian ornaments, Dalmatian pictures, pink Dalmatian slippers… Seriously! Need I say more? It just gave a whole new meaning to 101 Dalmatians – or should I say 1001 Dalmatians.

Honestly, I did not know where to look, where to sit or even what to say. I had just become Alice in Wonderland who’d stepped through the looking glass to meet the crazy Dalmatian lady in candyfloss land. It felt as though I was in a dream – or, maybe, a nightmare.

After my friend and I had squashed onto the couch between all her Dalmatian teddies, this matron (a buxom woman in her late fifties) then proceeded to converse with us for over an hour – during which time, I’m afraid to say, I found it rather difficult to concentrate.

On top of her weird fetish for spots, this matron also had a giant spot on her chin – called a mole – with a long hair growing out of it and a wayward eye. So, you were never quite sure if she was looking at you or at someone else. Talk about confusing and a grand opportunity for a misunderstanding. (Incidentally, I think the fact that I would involuntarily look around whenever she addressed me, before realizing that she was actually talking to me, may have compounded her dislike of me over the course of the year, but can you really blame me for such an honest mistake?)

At the end of this mad ‘meet the matron’ tea party, it was clear that my friend had found favour, while I had done little more than try to keep Pongo’s stuffed counterpart off my lap. So, I wasn’t at all surprised (and only too thankful) when I was informed the next day that I’d be working with the other matron – a woman who was definitely more my cup of tea. Man alive, was I glad I didn’t get stuck with the crazy Dalmatian lady. Besides, she absolutely loved my friend. So, it all worked out in the end even if she did drive my poor friend a bit dotty at times.

© 2017 Audrey Whyte   All Rights Reserved