Junior School

 

My junior school was across the road from the Infants school I attended. A two storey brick building with a small playground surrounded by a huge brick wall. To be honest it was more like a prison yard than a playground. It was dominated on one side by the toilet block used by both boys and girls and it smelled absolutely awful. I came to dread those toilets as I spent so much time in there when I became the target of a bully and it was my only refuge. The other side had a mighty iron fire escape coming down from the upper block so there was not really much room left to play.

The headmistress was Miss Ross. I remember we all adored her. She had beautiful dark curly hair just touched with grey at the sides, wore bright red lipstick and was always immaculate. She daily wore a pale green silk dress tightly belted at the waist which showed off her slim figure. Thinking back, she must have had several of them made for her, all the same, because we never saw her in anything else. She always had a beautiful embroidered handkerchief tucked into her belt and wore a delicate perfume. If we got sent to her for any misdeed, she would tick you off in the nicest possible way. I had been there for around two years when we had a shock. She did not come into school one day and we were told that she had died suddenly of a heart attack. Of course, we did not know what that was, we only knew she was gone and we were all so very sad. Until I left, we had a succession of short time head teachers.

 It was Miss Ross who tried to brighten up our playground and introduce us to nature. There was no room for a garden but she came up with the idea of stacking car tyres one on top of the other, painting them light green, filling them with soil and having plants throughout the year, whatever was in season. They were a little oasis of paradise in that grim yard.

My favourite teacher was Mrs. Mansell who took us for needlework and English. She had that wonderful totally white hair and it fell in soft waves. She had a beautiful gentle and melodic voice. She told us stories whilst we worked and was really more like a Grandmother than a teacher. She adored children and it showed. If only all teachers could have been like her. I loved her dearly.

 

Mrs. Mansell.

I remember the nature tables. Every classroom had one and we collected things and brought them in to be displayed. Maybe a conker, some wild flowers, caterpillars in a jar, catkins, bird's eggs. It was all so fascinating. I remember watching the development of tadpoles into frogs for the first time.

No television or computers in schools in those days. We had the radio and I well remember “Music and Movement” a fifteen minute broadcast. We had to pretend to be trees swaying in the breeze, squat down and walk around like ducks or prance like fairies. I would like to see me prance these days and as for getting down like a duck, it would take two people to haul me up again!!!!

I made a friend in the first couple of days, Jean M. and we are still in contact all these years later. Alas, it was her next door neighbour and “friend” that became the spectre at the feast. As I have mentioned in this journal previously, I was painfully shy, unable to stand up for myself. I think I was a great disappointment to my mother who was so outgoing and bubbly. I took after my Father, quiet and withdrawn and did not relate easily to others. So this Margaret N. - yes I still remember her name with horror, decided that she did not like my being friends with Jean and set about making my life a misery. Hitting me and punching me or pinching me at every opportunity. Always telling me that she would “get me” either in school or at playtime or on the way home. It got so bad that every break time I would lock myself in one of the toilets and remain there until the bell went for classes again.

In those days, nothing was done about bullying, it was not even recognised. If you said anything to a teacher they would just tell you it was harmless fun or that you should stand up for yourself. I could not tell me Mother because I knew she was disappointed in me already and showed little interest in me until I was around the age of thirteen. To make matters worse, one particular teacher took a dislike to me as well - the dreaded and awful Miss Barnes. Looking back I do not think she was fit to be a teacher. She disliked children intensely and was a most peculiar woman in general. On the hottest summer day she would wear two coats - yes two coats - and thick jumpers underneath, a scarf around her neck, a thick felt hat on her head and Wellington boots.  This was her attire summer and winter. She had a face that looked as if she had sucked lemons and a voice that could shatter glass.

When someone did something wrong in her class, she always blamed me even if I was sitting there paying attention and quietly working. She was always making me stand at the front of the class. I used to stand there, my face burning with embarrassment whilst the boys and some of the girls sniggered.  Once, when she was in a particularly bad mood she locked me in a cupboard and left me there for a whole hour. All the other children thought it was hilarious. However, the damage that was done to me then has remained with me throughout my life, particularly as there were problems at home.

I loved the time when Margaret N. was away sick or on holiday (you could take children out in term time in those days) because then I could emerge into the playground and join in the games even though I was nervous.

So, my junior school was a mixture of happiness, sadness, fear, anxiety and learning. I am grateful that my lasting friendship with Jean came out of it and that somehow I did manage to learn something!

~ To be continued.

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