The author, a teacher and principal, remembers her school days in Crewe during and after WW I with the total recall of one experienced in savoring and refining personal anecdotes replete with those staples of British humor--endearing eccentricity, and the abrupt incidence of the unexpected in the normal course of events. Throughout the account of her early scholastic career--in a faltering ""Academy"" run by a bowler-hatted Scot, and in a grammar school--there is a parade of classmates (formidable and loutish, marvelous and wicked); teachers and their burdens (the art master sadly confronting a still life: ""Well, at least the carrots are on the move. . . . The onion's lights are good. . . ."") And of course the family at home: thunderous Aunt Emma, who extracted her own vaccine from the cows and vaccinated ""terrified"" help; Auntie Holt of dreadful vegetarian practices; and Mother, fond of lingering at Valentine movies and oblivious to pleas that Sister Gertrude would worry (""Blow Gertrude""). In those days sex was a word used to ""discriminate between certain hazel catkins or the underwater activities of the bladder-wrack."" Leisurely, faintly donnish, but supplying enough diverting recognitions to please mature Americans with memories of similar childhood milestones-and-millstones.