International Incident at the Chalet School

[RueDeWakening]

Hear ye, hear ye! Gather ye hence, all angels (be-costumed with slightly tacky silver halos and suchlike) with your lark-like notes and prepare to dazzle us all with your charm.

No, not you Joan. Shop bought cake and cheap looks for you, my dear. See Matron for some milk on your way out.

O little School at Briesau
How still we see thee lie
Beneath thy deep and cosy plumeaux
Thy wholesome dreams flit by
For none hath dined on sardines on cake
Nor yet on special milk
No burglars hath been locked in cupboards
By Tom or by Jack Lambert
No cats have climbed onto the roof
Con is not sleepwalking
A deep peace reigns o'er Gentian and Yellow
Who have been stitched into their cubies.

I am mixing my Chaletian settings and characters wildly there!

O come, O Chaletians
From Miss Annersley through to Margot
O come ye, o come ye
To Freudesheim
There will be lemon in the biscuits
And Anna will have plucked lettuces at dawn
O come let us adore Jo
O come let us adore Jo
O come let us adore Joey
Spirit of the School

Joey was that Mother mild
Len, Con, Margot, Stephen etc etc

Away in a Chalet,
Next door to a San,
Up high in the mountains
Was where it began,
The stars in the bright sky
Looked down where we lay,
A-humping our kapoks,
Till close of the day.

The doctors are looming
Come to rescue us all,
From flood and from snowstorm,
And a stray thunderball,
I love thee, little kapok,
I'll hump thee right sound,
And I'll stuff my wee plumeau,
And I'll dance round and round.

Be near me, Oh Chalet,
I will always be true,
I will wear brown and flame,
And get a lime green tattoo,
Bless all the dear children,
Of the lady in lime,
And fill all our plumeaux
With stuffing sublime.

Ah right thanks Nell

Love those Morning and Emily.

As I survey my ironing pile and beds that need changing and Christmas cooking I feel I need an Anna, Maria and a Rosa as well as some special milk and a sleep the clock around.

Too that's more mixed than EDB gets!

Mornington, that's awesome!

God rest ye merry Chaletians
Let no Saints you dismay
For Joey Bettany our Saviour
Is here with us this day.
To save us all from lakes so cold
When we are gone a-skating
And Robin will sing the Red Sarafan (Red Sarafan)
And Robin will sing the Red Sarafan

That is brilliant Mornington. Love the lime-green tattoo.
It has just occurred to me how unwise it was to call your daughter Con, with French speakers in the school.

PMSL at Con in French. Mind you, perhaps in 1939 the word was used less frequently than it is now?

Maybe it still had its original meaning?

I just found this - I wrote it years ago so it's not specific to our thread, but I thought you might like it anyway.

God rest ye merry, Chalet girls, let nothing ye despair,
Not even when you’ve boiled the clock or tilted on your chair,
Or dressed as noble savages and made the locals stare.
Oh tidings of powder in the bath
(Didn’t we laugh?)
Oh tidings of powder in the bath.

Remember, gentle Chalet girls, work hard and play the game,
And when you’ve Vaselined the board, stand up and take the blame,
Strive every day to be a credit to the brown-and-flame,
Oh tidings of boiling up the clock
(Terrible shock!)
Oh tidings of boiling up the clock.

And ever speak, ye Chalet girls, in tones so soft and low,
For gentlewomen do not shout (or shriek or screech), you know,
Pray think about what Shakespeare said so many years ago,
Oh tidings of writing out those lines
(Millions of times)
Oh tidings of writing out those lines.

Dream sweet, oh blessed Chalet girls, of work and rest and play,
Of arguing effect to cause and back the other way,
Of romping 'round the mountainside and sleeping ‘midst the hay,
Oh tidings of cloves in apple pie
(Give it a try)
Oh tidings of cloves in apple pie.

And when at last it’s time to leave, take memories galore,
Of walks and talks and lakes and cakes, and doctors by the score,
So send your children to the School – ‘twill thrill them to the core,
Oh tidings of countless of sets of twins,
(Triplets and quins)
And whiskies, brandies, wines and double gins!

Ha! I had to google 'con' in French. I thought at first it meant 'with', but of course I was muddling it with Spanish. I suspect EBD had absolutely no idea!

mornington! You have a great gift my lamb.

Loving all the songs.

In the same place as my Chalet Girls carol was this Christmas story which I wrote at the same time. I'm not sure whether it quite belongs on this thread. Let me know if you want some more - I won't be offended if not!

Frau Habermann hurried to the door. Who on earth could that be, outside on this terrible night? It had been snowing for hours, and the wind was still howling. Her home, deep in the woods of the Black Forest, lay nestled in the snow. She hadn’t even tried to get to church, though it was Christmas Eve and she didn’t relish spending the evening alone. Who could be knocking so late? Whoever it was, they evidently meant to be let in. Wrapping her shawl more tightly around her, she opened the door just a crack, trying to keep the warmth in. To her surprise three young men in the Allied uniform of British soldiers stood huddled in the doorway. The enemy! Only the most extreme fear and cold could have brought them to her door, for they had no way of knowing what their reception would be.

Frau Habermann’s thoughts went to her young husband, far away on the Soviet front. She owed it to the Fatherland and to all the brave soldiers of the Third Reich to turn these enemy combatants from her door. Who cared whether they lived, or perished in the snow? As a good German she could hardly sabotage the war effort by helping them. Quite apart from anything else, her punishment would be severe if she were caught helping the enemy: people had been executed for less. And yet, looking at these men, the same age as her husband, she could not help wondering whether some other woman, deep in the heart of some Russian forest, was at this very moment considering whether or not to give shelter to her beloved Wenzel.

The words were out of her mouth before she barely knew it. Frau Haberman’s English was careful and halting, but no former pupil of the Chalet School ever completely forgot her languages. ‘Please, come in, come in, do not stand in the doorway. I beg you, come and sit by the stove and close the door that we may be warm.’ If George, Tom and Lucas were surprised to hear their own language, they did not show it.

More, more, more! (Please.)

Oooh, more, please! I want to know which pupil of the Chalet School it is. I am loving the name Wenzel, too.

Ooh yes more. Can it be Thelka?

OK, next installment (don't worry, it doesn't go on forever). I should also have acknowledged my other source of inspiration which was a story in my French textbook from 3rd or 4th year of secondary school - it made a huge impression at the time and has stayed with me ever since. Anyone else use Cours Illustre de Francais? The story was called something like Treve de Noel dans la Hurtenwald (I could well have the spelling wrong). I've no idea whether it was based on a real event.

If George, Tom and Lucas were surprised to hear their own language, they did not show it. Indeed, their wits were so close to being addled by cold and hunger that they were almost past noticing anything. George and Tom, half-carrying Lucas between them, made their way to the stove.

Tom thought wistfully of his family back in Warwickshire, and imagined them sitting by the fire, getting ready for the Christmas festivities. Mother would be preparing vegetables for tomorrow’s meal and they would all be looking forward to Christmas Mass. Tom was so homesick it hurt. But he pulled himself together. Such thoughts were no use to anyone. The minutes ticked by. Good Frau Haberman gave them hot chicory coffee – the taste was on the bitter side, but the drink was warming, and gradually the three young men came back to life.

At last, they told Frau Haberman of all that had happened to them since leaving England. Four days ago they had been part of a daring raid on the Ruhr valley. They had become disoriented in the moonless night, their planes had been shot down, and only the three of them were left alive. They'd been making for the Swiss border but the weather was against them, and they had wandered, cold and fearful, until desperation had brought them to Frau Habermann’s door.

George brought a picture out of his pocket. It was his best girl, Fran, from Colchester in Essex. Frau Habermann showed the picture of her dearest Wenzel, proudly displayed on the mantelpiece. She was just about to tell the story of how they had met, and what had taken them to the pretty house in the Black Forest, when more knocking came at the door. The four looked at each other in horror. Who could that be, and what, oh what, would happen to Frau Habermann if she were found to be helping the enemy?

Oh no!! Who was it?

Bloody hell mornington you are awesome.

It's bloody Thekla in the SS!

We used Tricolore in French.

Is this a sad Christmas story, mornington? Is it Thekla, about to be shot/taken away for sheltering the enemy, and that's why she disappeared during the war?

Or can it be Gertrude Steinbrucke, or someone, and a happy ending instead?

Please tell us some more.............we will give you extra helpings of special milk..

Careful - don't sedate her til she's finished the story hels!