Family Of Four: 54 - "Mass Hysteria''
...I so well recall the torrid heat of the summer of 1921, and the scene at Church one Sunday morning. During the first hymn one girl fell fainting, her chair squeaking as it scraped on the wooden floor. Within a short time girls were collapsing like ninepins so that the congregation grew uneasy and restless, and were disturbed by the subsequent movement of the victims of the heat as they were helped to recover, and escorted outside.
At last the Vicar was constrained to call a halt to this form of "mass hysteria" as he called it...
Mrs Viven Hirst recalls her days as a senior girl at a private school in Sussex.
Mrs Hirst's memories were gathered into a book, Family Of Four, by her nephew, Raymond Prior.
One or two incidents linger in my mind. I can still, in memory, quite clearly see a girl sleep-walking. The door of our bedroom burst open and a voice said breathlessly "Winnie is walking along the corridor, Vivien, she looks strange. I think she is walking in her sleep." I was the 'mother' of the corridor and it was my duty to see what must be done. To my relief Winnie was advancing towards me and away from the long window at one end, so there was no danger of her stepping out.
Silhouetted in the moonlight pouring upon her white nightdress, her unseeing eyes were wide and unblinking. With hands groping towards the walls, and with her hair flowing around her shoulders, she appeared to float along, looking so ghostly and unearthly as she approached that I took fright, darted back into my room and shut the door!
Thinking quickly what I must do I again ventured out and ran swiftly in front of Winnie to Matron's room, only a short distance away in another wing. Matron returned with me and taking Winnie firmly and calmly by the arm, she turned her round and led her towards her own room. I
thankfully saw them go and joined the anxious faces hovering in the doorway.
I so well recall the torrid heat of the summer of 1921, and the scene at Church one Sunday morning. During the first hymn one girl fell fainting, her chair squeaking as it scraped on the wooden floor. Within a short time girls were collapsing like ninepins so that the congregation grew uneasy and restless, and were disturbed by the subsequent movement of the victims of the heat as they were helped to recover, and escorted outside.
At last the Vicar was constrained to call a halt to this form of "mass hysteria" as he called it. After the service we passed the girls sitting or lying on the grassy bank, and I thought, a little enviously, that they would now be spared the grinding walk along the front in the scorching sun.
One other occasion I remember. At the time I was sleeping over the long high gym when a fearful storm arose, and one of the little children at the far end of the corridor came running for me to go to comfort them. I had been considering this, but not until I arrived in their room did I realise how alarming the wind sounded as it tore round the three sides of the building, bursting the windows open, the room literally rocking. The three children were very frightened, but I felt it unlikely that the building would collapse, so I said I would stay with them and crept into one of the beds.
What a night we had! Releasing the small child from my arms, I frequently arose, with great difficulty shutting an open window, the wind and rain hissing in my face, shrieking and howling, the wet curtain trying to throttle me. Back into bed again, but no peace, as another window suddenly flew open, and this went on throughout the night. I was not surprised to hear that it had been one of the worst gales ever known, and wondered at my wisdom in allowing the children to stay in the shaking room. However, today it still stands so I was justified.
Southlands was built as a school and we thought it very well planned with the exception of the ground floor lavatory accommodation which was deplorable, only four cubicles for about sixty girls. No one was allowed upstairs without permission from the Matron, or the Horror. The numbers had grown from earlier days, then twenty-five or thirty pupils, but no re-building had taken place in this department.
Mummy and Daddy went each year to the Speech Day at Eastbourne College. They usually stayed at the Hydro and I, and sometimes Mu with me, would joyfully catch a bus to visit them.
Sussex is a lovely county with its wandering, twisting roads, the rolling Downs smothered by vivid gorse scenting the air, little villages hiding in their folds. A smiling county, soft and gentle, shadowed by small puffs of white cloud.
The corn was standing high in the fields, golden and ripe, the Flanders poppies flaunting their brilliant petals in a sea of flame, the skylarks trilling their incessant song, soaring into the vast, blue expanse of the sky.
I remember the gathering of boys in Big School and the school song, which sounded so heavily masculine. I remember the distant cricket match, delighting in the setting of the greensward, and the whites of the boys, and the familiar "How's that?" and the clapping, pleasantly sounding on the ear. I remember the delicious teas in the Head's garden and the mingling among the boys. Very English, very peaceful, secured forever by the "war to end all wars" as was so fervently said at the time.
