Did you know I like reading? You probably are aware, as I seem to have been defined for most of my life as a bookworm, booklover, avid or voracious reader, etc etc. (Just quoting from memory from old school reports. They made their mark!)

Anyway it is true, and over the years many people, family, friends, students, and even some fairly distant aquaintances know that their way to my heart is through books or book related items.

Bookmarks stand out of course. But the first time I was really made aware of the power they had on me was when I was on one of my gap years in Poland – I had finished University, but was not yet sure what I was going to do with my life – I knew I wanted to be an English teacher but my family were unhappy about it – (Those who can do, those who can’t, teach, was the unkind mantra levelled at me by all and sundry) and so being a people pleaser I tried to find something else to do. Unsuccessfully, thankfully, but that’s another story.

Anyway, summer of 77 I went to Poland at the behest of a delightful friend of my mother’s, who was a Geography Professor at Warsaw University. She promised that if I went for three months she would find me enough private tuition to feed and clothe me well, and that the students would indulge me with coffee and theatre tickets on top of my fees. Well, who could want for a better offer? I arranged to stay with another friend of my mother’s and her daughter, and arrived in Warsaw full of enthusiasm. And no teaching skills whatsoever.

Professor Alinka Falkiewiczowa was as good as her word. She persuaded most of her elderly colleagues that they needed to improve their English, and made them pay me 200 zlotys an hour for the privilege. They were all fascinating and most didn’t actually need my help, but we all pretended. She herself insisted on taking lessons three times a week, after which she would invite me to lunch, which was a wonderful performance in itself. She and her husband Bohdan, who was in his eighties, (she was 59 at the time) lived in a one bedroom studio apartment together with their ancient servant (communist Poland!!!) who lived in an alcove in the kitchen. The woman would cook delicious meals which were served to us on a low coffee table, always accompanied by a glass of whatever wine Bohdan was able to acquire. I remember the best being some sort of Cyprus sherry. Alinka’s English was surprisingly bad. She finally admitted she had always been a very resistant student. In fact, she said, she had met her husband before the war, when he had been the legal adviser to the English embassy in Warsaw, and was giving English lessons as a little sideline. Anyway they got married and I presume the lessons stopped. Hence her eagerness to improve with me.

I can’t say I was successful, but she introduced me to one of her youngest colleagues, who lived the other side of Warsaw, but who actually wanted to learn. Apparently he was very good looking, but he held no charms for me. But he did make me coffee, and he did take me to the theatre. several times. At that time Polish theatre was excellent – still is, I believe, and I thoroughly enjoyed our outings. Maybe he thought there was more to my teaching than I realised, because one day he arranged a fantastic treat for me. At least, he thought it was fantastic. Knowing my love of pierogi, he had asked his mother to make me some. She was a a stout, fierce looking woman in her seventies, and terrified me. Normally when I arrived in their apartment she made herself scarce. But on this particular day she brought in a platter of my favourite food, beaming proudly, and sat down with me, ready to enjoy my enjoyment.

Disaster, I looked at the plate, and realised that these were fruit pierogi – I am strictly a potato and cheese fan – and then she proceeded to smother them with sour cream.

What was I to do? Even thinking about it now sets off all sorts of unpleasant reflexes. But – I was well brought up – I smiled my thanks and started to wade through them. Finally I muttered an excuse and was allowed to leave some on the plate. That was a big ordeal. Robert looked on, happy that he had made me happy, but sad that he was going away for three months, to Ulan Bator, where he was going to do something important in an oilfield. (He was a geologist) Our lessons were coming to an end, and then he handed me a little gift.

This beautiful bookmark. I have kept it ever since, as a reminder of him and his mother. Sadly he was killed in a road accident soon after he reached Mongolia, and I remember being very shocked at the time, because I had never before experienced the death of someone I had somehow got to know quite well in quite a short time.

On a happier note here are some more bookmarks that I have received and treasured. The ones below were a lovely surprise from my goddaughter a couple of years ago.

And yes, I did become a teacher. The bookmark on the left is from avery close friend and the one on the right is from the mother of another close teacher friend. She gave it to me when I finally got a job at the special school where her son taught.

Do I use them? Very occasionally. Usually I just remember the page number!