English Cinderella

Vivian had "signorinas" too. Hers came from the United States of America; mine from Ireland, England and from Australia. That is the reason why our english, being good for both, was ever so different. I thought that she miaowed hers, in a roller coaster sort of way that sounded, to me, unfamiliar; mine had and has, even if cooked under the sun of the Anthipodes, all in one, the grace of the old world, a flavour of european home, the touch of the past, in the line of the Daffodils of Wordsworth. It is as if, crossing the wide, dangerous Ocean, the language of Shakespeare, which was not that of William the Conqueror, had melted in the waves of the high waters and flowed to an ever so different rythm, a sort of mellow merrygoround, good for another shore, a paradise regained...
I had Ann, who came from Limerick; Vivian had Saranda, who was american, but indian all the same in her purple hair and black, wizzing eyes. Ann, blond and freckled, helped me in the search of Fairyland. Saranda could draw like an angel. I still remember her Snow White waking up surrounded by the lovely looking dwarves. Like Vivian and I - Saranda said - Snow White had to cross the woods and toil for her living and, finally, become a queen. In her words, my reverie, broken down, in an instant by the twins, my brothers and my mother, calling me to set the table for dinner.  Me, an english Cinderella...