介绍:
My husband and I are Danish. As a matter of fact, many of my ancestors were English. I was born in England and was originally of British nationality. My parents were killed in a car crash when I was a baby, so I was brought up in Denmark by my grandmother and educated in Danish schools so that Danish is really my native language.
We arrived in England last February at five o’clock on a Wednesday morning after an appallingly rough crossing. Waves which seemed as high as mountains rocked the boat from side to side. We were both sick on the journey and a fine drizzle met us as we got ashore. To make matters worse, Klaus, my husband, left his camera on the ship; I lost a gold bracelet, and we nearly forgot to tip the taxi-driver, a bad-mannered person, who grumbled about our luggage and seemed to be in a thoroughly bad temper. Few visitors can have experienced such an unfortunate beginning to their stay， and we certainly felt like going straight home again.
We stayed for a week in a hotel, and were then lucky enough to find a furnished bungalow in the suburbs of London. It is not so convenient as our flat in Copenhagen, but it is less expensive than some we saw advertised. Klaus is studying at the local Technical College and, in addition, he often attends public lectures at the University of London on as many subjects as possible, chiefly to improve his English. He is qualified engineer who has been employed for several years in a factory. Our two children have joined us, and they are being educated in an English private school. I am working as a part-time nurse in a hospital, and I have so much to do that I have almost no leisure time.
Most of the neighbors are kindly, but not so sociable as people at home. They tend to ask dull questions, such as: "What is the weather like in Denmark" or "What kind of games do you play" I remember the time when a well-meaning old lady told us, "You have such delightful manners. I always think of you both as quite English." I think she meant this as the height of flattery.
We have made a few close friends, who often invite us to their homes. One of them, who is a widower living on the other side of London, even fetches us in his car on Sunday mornings and brings us back in the evenings. Little Kristina, our small daughter, calls him Uncle Sunday. He speaks Swedish and has an elderly Swedish housekeeper, who has been looking after him for more than twenty years, so we chat for hours in a language that is m some ways similar to our own.
Our children can already speak English more fluently than we can. They obviously feel superior to us, and are always making fun of our mistakes, but spelling causes all of us many headaches.
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