1958

The third of seven children from a poor family, brought up in a crowded 2 up, 2 down, back to back house, I had sailed through the 11+ and gained a place at a good grammar school. One of my older sisters called me a snob because I was wearing a 'posh' uniform. Those 7 years were no picnic . My classmates were the daughters of doctors, solicitors, chemists etc – you get the picture – whereas my Dad took any work he could get and my Mum worked several cleaning jobs.

Fast forward. It's 1965. I'm 18 (well, almost). GCE 'A' Levels looming, the end of school life approaching . It hadn't occurred to me to apply to colleges or universities – almost unheard of for someone from my background. I had long ago opted to study languages (French & German, with Latin and a little Russian on the side) in order to fulfil my dream of becoming an air stewardess and travelling the world , a dream which was shattered when I failed to satisfy the height(too short) and weight (too heavy) criteria prevalent with airlines at that time.

Slightly deterred but with no clear direction, I knew I had to do something to earn a living.

The local newspaper featured ads for vacancies, one of which caught my eye :

'How would you like to be a Mother's Helper? We are looking for people to work within families in the USA.'

There it was – my opportunity! The Agency was to hold open interviews at a prestigious local hotel on a specified date. Needless to say , I went along and joined the queue of other hopefuls, waiting to find out what it was all about. My turn – I was told what the expectations were and many other details. Paperwork was completed and I was to receive further communications through the post. Though I remember little of what followed, there are a couple of things that stick. I had to have my parents' permission as I was under 21( Dad wouldn't sign so Mum agreedto do it, thank goodness). Obviously, I had to get a passport and also had to visit the American Consulate in Liverpool ( the US Government had my fingerprints)– a first for me, having never been away on my own, or stayed alone in a Guest House. That was an adventure in itself. Eventually I got a letter and photographs from a family who wanted to employ me – a couple with three children and a big house. I would have my own room and bathroom – imagine ! No sharing. My salary would be $125 a month, with one and a half days off per week. Air fare paid and a year's contract. I accepted and preparations got underway. A suitcase was found and my meagre belongings gathered. I had managed to amass £5.All documentation by now in hand, including a plane ticket ( a plane ticket!!), I had my departure date.

0ctober 8^th, 1965

I'm up early, as is the rest of my family, apart from Dad who refuses to come and see me off. The walk to the railway station isn't too long and my train to Manchester is on time.

After the goodbye hugs and kisses, by which time I am sobbing, I board the train. A kind lady comforts me then asks if I'm going far. Between sobs, I manage to tell her – I'm going to New York..