Poor Peter, straight from Oxford with his gown, made all the mistakes that could be made, and each time they called his bluff! They knew perfectly well that he couldn’t keep them in indefinitely, so when he announced that they must be absolutely quiet for at least five minutes before they could go, they just went on rioting. He tried setting them lines, but they didn’t do them! Many were responsible for the care of several small brothers and sisters so if not let out more or less on time they had hysterics. Most evenings he would walk back through the East End trying to work out how to manage them. He couldn’t bear to be beaten, so when the permanent job was advertised, he applied for and got it. Meanwhile, he enjoyed teaching the little ones – the eleven-year-olds, and the Sixth and to some extent the Fifth form enjoyed him.

Gradually he learnt his trade, and within a year had become an excellent teacher, but that particular Fourth form always made him uncomfortable.

My mother found her new lodger very congenial. She could see I was very happy and could understand why.

Peter’s brother Bill had become friendly with a very large and interesting family in Bexleyheath, the Serebriacovs. The father could remember sitting on Lenin’s knee as a small boy in Russia. Now all his children were over fourteen, the school leaving age, and were working. Bill’s particular friend, Victor, drove a lorry. They were all intelligent and lively and most weekends the family held a party. Those who, like us, could not get home afterwards were invited to share a bed with one of the young ones. It was my first experience of a really intelligent working class way of life and the first time I realised I had been brought up with different values – money spent on education, books, theatres, clothes of “good” quality that would last, and a healthy diet. The Serebriacovs lived from week to week, drew their pay on Friday and blew it on a wonderful party every weekend, and their bedding was thin and I thought inadequate.

When Easter came round Peter, of course, had school holidays, whereas I as a secretary had only the Bank Holiday weekend off. Victor and his girlfriend invited Peter to spend a week with them in Cadgwith, as we had raved about the place. I felt really envious as they drove off, and the wonderful photographs of spring flowers and birds they brought back were no real compensation for not having been one of the party.

When war came we lost touch – but Victor was given an intelligence test when he joined the army and was astonished to learn he had an IQ of over 160. When the war was ended he founded MENSA and became a company director.