THAT WAS THEN...

I love leather... I would have walked on hot coals to have a  

leather satchel like the one that I saw in the second hand shop...

such stuff as dreams are made of. 

I always longed to go to a solid brick school, with lots of timber and surrounded by  

beautiful gardens. Instead, I simply had to put up with quaint timber  

schools, lots of light and open spaces and surrounded by huge Moreton  

Bay figs, some literally hundreds of years old, which we were  

forbidden to climb. 

I would have taken notice, I really would, but  

it's very hard to hear a yelling teacher calling out "ChrisTINE, for  

the last time, come down from that tree, or ELSE!!" Hard, because the  

branches I liked to sit on were a long way up. One hot afternoon, the  

grade teacher went marching into battle, at least that's what she  

looked like, straight down to my parent's shop, and demanded that my  

mother do something about me climbing trees as "she is setting a bad  

example". My mother got her Irish up and asked if I had ever fallen  

out of a tree, or if I ever pushed anyone out of one, or even up  

one...   "Well, no, but..."

"No?" said my mother, and gave her her best glare, "Well you had  

better get about your business and let me get about mine."

"Well, I never" said Battling Bertha, as we called our dear teacher....  

she really was ok. " Maybe you should" said Mum. The teacher left, Mum  

took a deep breath and I came out of the back room, all smiles.  

Whack. Through tears, I asked why.. when she had stood up to the  

teacher. I was told in no uncertain terms that Mum letting the teacher  

know that she thought it was ok, was one thing, but me causing  

problems and then the teacher needing to come see Mum was another.  

From then on, I never climbed the trees, in school hours. I know I  

digressed, but it still brings a smile to my face when I think of that  

day and I reminded myself when I mentioned the trees.

Crissouli (c)

...BUT TEACHER SAID......

School days, school days

Dear old Golden Rule days

'Reading and 'riting and 'rithmetic

Taught to the tune of the hick'ry stick

You were my queen in calico

I was your bashful, barefoot beau

And you wrote on my slate, "I Love You So"

When we were a couple o' kids.....

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/School_Days_(1907_song)

They are/were the best days of your life... haven't we all heard or used that?

I was one of the lucky ones, I loved school, for the most part... sure there were some days/lessons, etc. that I didn't like, but on the whole I loved learning, I still do, so school was a great place to be...I was fortunate enough to live in a small village, a country town if you like, beside the sea, called Urunga, on the north coast of New South Wales. Way back in the times of inkwells in the school desks, but we weren't able to write with ink till Grade 4.

Before that, we used a slate with pencil... I still have my slate, though haven't seen a slate pencil in awhile. Of course, we could also use chalk. Funny, the slate seems very familiar... you could turn it any way you wanted, just like an iPad really.

Our pens had nibs and a wooden handle, which often became very messy.

The boys would fight over the job of ink monitor, which meant they had to refill the wells after mixing the powder with water. Eventually, we had premixed ink, a great less mess... though as I had long plaits, I had to tuck them into my collar or the boy behind was sure to dip them into the ink well.

(http://museumvictoria.com.au/collections/items/1242477/nib-pen-wooden-metal-green-circa-1930s-1940s)

(http://www.zazzle.com.au/old_wooden_school_desk_and_chair_post_card_postcard-239003894798367049)

This is a single desk, there were few of those, mostly double desks and in rows of four. My father and his siblings had gone to the same school and he assured me that not much had changed...

Dad's class above...

mine below... lower photo...

(Please click on images to enlarge)

I loved knowing that my Dad and my Aunts, Uncles and cousins had gone to the same school...

Today, my grandchildren go to the same school where their great great great uncle, who was a chorister, sang at the opening, way back in 1916. Different school, different traditions... but children still enjoy the friendships if not always the classes... that never changes...