Later that morning my father came out and told me to come in for a drink and to get changed as we were going to meet his neighbor.
I did not know why my mother was not coming but father told me that she would meet George another time.
A few minutes later I was walking up the path to the front door of the house attached to ours with my new father holding my hand.
Uncle George, as I was asked to call him, appeared even older than my new father.
He led us thriough the hosue to the back room where there were two comfortable easy chairs and two high backed dining chairs. Uncle George sat in one of the easy chairs and looked at me closely. I was a little embarrased at his stare. Daddy stood next to me.
''Well...lets see the boy then'' Uncle George spoke up. Daddy lifted my arms and pulled off my teeshirt.
''Too many ribs....we will have to feed him up'' was all that uncle George said. then... turn around Christopher'' how did he know my name?
I turned round with my back to Uncle George and all he kept saying was ''very good....very good''.
I was given a glass of orange juice and told to sit on one of the dining chairs which I did. Father sat in the other chair and they both started to talk.
I only opicked up some of what was being siad as they spoke quickly. My english was good. I came top at school in my old country but they spoke quickly and softly.
After a few minutes father rose and went to a cupboard. He shuffled some papers and came across to me with a single page.
He handed the paper to me and I saw about twenty english words typed on it.
Uncle George spoke up again ''see if you can remember these words Christopher''
Daddy went and sat down again and began talking to Uncle George.
After some time Uncle George told daddy to collect the piece of paper from me. I sat with my hands on my knees wondering what was going to happen now.
I can remember being told that I did badly at my very first spelling test, and feeling guilty about that.
Daddy explained to me that I would be coming to Uncle George's house every day, in school and holiday time at 3.30 until 6.00 pm. Uncle George, a highly respected retired headmaster, would tutor me in some subjects and other teachers he knew would teach me other subjects.
I was shown the school room which was at the very back of the house in a room with a high window. There were two desks, a small one with a wooden chair but with no back, a larger desk with a high backed chair and an old brown leather chair with a low back. In an old wooden umbrella stand were many thin canes like the ones I had found in my closet that morning and an old slipper hanging on a brass hook on the wall behing the larger desk.
Neither Uncle George or the other 'teachers' I grew up with over the next few years were qualified teachers but they all knew how to make me learn...and how to make me cry.
Uncle George believed that how ever bright a boy was or how hard he worked, excellent results could only be achieved through liberal discipline.