A Day in the Life of a One-Room School Student
My name is Charlie Watson. I am 11 years old, and this is my story of a day in the life of one of us one-room school students. It may not be such a typical day, but then, what day ever is?
I guess the beginning is as good a place to start as any. This morning I awoke at 5am like usual, before the sun's heat had really got going. It's better that way, see, because doing the chores before school takes quite a bit of elbow grease. But I'm used to it, and anyway, it's what's needed in order to keep the farm on an even keel. Mother doesn't have much help since Father passed, and last week our hired hand simply up and quit without so much as a goodbye - so now I suppose it's up to me, my four brothers Harry, Gord, Herb and Danny, and my twin sister, Mary, to make sure everything's okay (although Danny's only little, so he doesn't really count). I've suggested quittin' school, but Mother is having none of it. She says I need an education so that I can get on in life, and that grade 6 is no time to be giving up on a future. She's not like other kids' folks - I know a ton of them would be more than happy for their boys to stay home during the day and lend a helping hand. Maybe one day I'll thank her for that, I guess.
So 5 am it is, and there's plenty to do before school. We don't have much in the way of fancy things, so I normally get dressed in the same clothes most days - those old pants of mine have sure been stitched up a few times and they're covered in old patches. I think they were my brother Gord’s before me, and my brother Tom's before him. I sure miss Tom - he's off fighting overseas with the Canadian Army and it's been a year now since he left the farm. Mother was beside herself, and I must admit I was sad to see him go - but he looked mighty smart in that uniform of his and boy, was he a hero in this small town. I was so proud; we all were, and we just can't wait to see him again. Last I heard he was off somewhere in Europe - France I think, but no-one's really sure.
Where was I? Oh yes - so this morning, I got dressed, put my boots on (more hand-me-downs) and got straight on with the day's business. First, the cow - she needed feeding and milking so Mother had fresh milk for the day. Good old Daisy - she never puts up a fuss and I was done within the hour, which gave me plenty of time to muck out the stables before breakfast. Harry chopped the wood and Gord pumped the water from the well, while Herb swept the ashes from the fireplace from the night before. My sister Mary helped Mother get the table ready and cook breakfast, and then the seven of us sat up and had a hearty helping of eggs, sausage and bacon, washed down with a big glass of milk. Little Danny's only six years old, but he eats more than any of us!
After tidying up the kitchen, I grabbed my lunch pail and set off with Danny, Herb, Mary and Gord to school. Harry finished Grade 8 last year and did well at that - he was never really one for school, so he stays home to lend a helping hand, although it's too much work for one - we'll need to get someone else in soon, otherwise I'll have no choice but to quit school despite what Mother says - it wouldn’t be an easy choice as it sure is hard work at home, but sometimes that's what growing up is all about I suppose. The trek is quite a way; I'd say about two and a half miles, so what with us gallivanting around it normally takes nearly an hour to walk it. Classes start at half past eight on the dot, and if we're late, there'll be trouble from Miss Pringle, so we always leave in plenty of time - a quarter after seven at the latest. This morning was no different and I could tell already that it was going to be a hot one.
On the way to school, we walked across the lower end of Farmer Macgregor's field, but the old bull wasn't interested in us today. Even so, Danny held my hand tightly and stayed well out of the line of sight, and even Mary kept her head down. She didn’t look up until we reached the creek on the other side which we crossed without any trouble; it’s down to a trickle after the long hot summer we've had. In the spring, we have to be careful not to fall in, otherwise it makes for a very uncomfortable day. Today we took a shortcut through the cemetery, and stopped for a short while at Father's grave to lay some flowers we had picked on the way.
Sometimes we meet other kids from one of the other local schools; the encounters are always good natured - maybe some light teasing about a recent ball game, but it's all in good spirit. There's not much to fight about when life is so simple. Today we didn't see a soul though, and it was nice to have the time to ourselves while we ambled on our merry way. Gord tried to hurdle a gate and took a tumble, tearing a hole in the knee of his pants and grazing his head, but he didn't mind. I sometimes forget he's two years older than Mary and me; he's always fooling around and acting up, and out of all of us he gets into mischief the most by far. It's a shame because he's so clever - he always talks about becoming a doctor or a lawyer, and I've no doubt if he put his mind to it he could be either. That's probably why Mother and Miss Pringle get so mad. Still, it makes life interesting for the rest of us, and the other kids at school love him because he's not scared of anything. Last winter, he climbed on top of the school roof with his buddy Walt Smith and stuffed the chimney with burlap sacks. The whole school filled with smoke and Miss Pringle made us all go outside in the freezing cold while the caretaker came to fix the 'problem'. It didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened and then there was hell to pay. Miss Pringle kept the whole class in for an hour and a half after school while she tried to find the culprit, but even though we all knew who it was and it was just as bitterly cold inside as it was out with all the windows open and no heating, no-one snitched. We forfeited a week's worth of recesses for that prank, yet everyone still loves crazy Gord.
We arrived at school just before eight with a good half hour to spare before classes begun, so we hung out under the big elm tree to keep out of the sun. Mary pushed Danny on the old rope swing while Herb and I talked about Tom and when we might see him again. Gord got bored, and went over to see Walt who had also arrived early, but came back laughing five minutes later; apparently Walt had smoked too many of his old man’s roll ups on the way to school and was feeling none too good. Gord said he looked as white as a sheet and thought he would probably be sick in the outhouse before school even started.
I chewed on a long grass stem and had a look around. You really can’t get a nicer place for a school – there is hardly a building to be seen apart from Farmer Peterson’s farmhouse in the next field, and it is so quiet you can hear the crickets chirping all day. I can’t imagine what one of those big city schools must be like, but it’s certainly not for me. So many children and so little space – it must be difficult for the teachers and strange not to know all your schoolmates. I hope our little school goes on forever; it’s only got one big room but that does the job nicely. There’s one door in the whole building and the sides are built from wooden slats painted white, or shiplap as they call it. The windows are high up in the sides, and the bell tower on top makes it look like a church, which it becomes on a Sunday morning when the community congregate for the weekly service. You might consider it odd that the school has more than one function, but really it makes a good deal of sense since there aren’t many large buildings, if any, in smaller rural towns. The school is the linchpin and social centre of the community, hosting movie nights, local dances, and even council meetings on a regular basis.
I was woken from my shady morning slumber by the sound of the school bell. Miss Pringle had arrived on her bicycle and looked stern as ever as she stood waiting at the door. She can’t have been much older than Tom – they were in the same class in high school come to think of it they got along pretty well. Occasionally she asks the class if we have heard anything of siblings who are fighting in the war, and she seems more interested in our news of Tom than anybody else’s. Maybe they will marry when he returns.
Danny jumped from the swing and ran to the front of the line with the three other grade one kids. There were only 15 of us today – on a good day there could be as many as twenty, but often boys stay home to help with the farm work, especially in the summer. Only five families make up the roster – the Watsons (that’s us), the Smiths (Walt and his two sisters, Jenny and Sarah), the Purdy’s, the Franks and the Wilsons. Gord and Walt are the only two in Grade Eight, Mary and I are the only two in Grade Six. There is one Grade Seven girl, but no Grade Five students at all this year, so I was sandwiched between Mary and Herb, the only one in Grade Four. With two in Grade Three and three in Grade Two, Miss Pringle has her work cut out trying to cover all the bases on the curriculum. But that is just how it is; teachers are organised almost beyond belief, although I wouldn’t realise how much so until later in life. My biggest concern is what is for lunch.
After a cursory inspection (although she did spend a little longer at the back end of the line than was usual), we were marched inside. Cleanliness, although next to Godliness, is generally hard to enforce when bathing at home is reserved for Saturday nights so that we are clean for Church on Sunday. In the summer, it gets even less frequent, as swimming in the creek usually suffices. In the winter time though, having a bath is a real drag – there's no hot water, so it has to be heated on the stove and poured into the tiny tub in which we hardly fit ourselves. Mother is always complaining that we could grow potatoes under our fingernails as they are so filthy. That sounded like a great idea – I quite fancy harvesting my own crop.
We all stood at attention behind our desks, with Danny and the younger ones at the front of class next to the pot bellied stove. In the summer months the stove is hardly ever on; it is way too warm, but during the winter the school caretaker arrives early to get the fire going so we don’t freeze to death. We’re all jealous of the first graders when it’s really cold (sometimes -45C) until we see their hot, red, sweaty little faces by the end of the afternoon - so generally the summer is a welcome relief for everyone. Miss Pringle stood by her desk on the raised platform at the front of the class, and we sang God Save the King with our hand on our chests. Gord sung the loudest as always, and as always replaced `Happy and Glorious` with `Happy and Goriest`. He does the same thing, every day, without fail, and it is all we can do to keep a straight face or else we`ll be for it. Miss Pringle doesn’t have a clue.
The National Anthem was followed by the Lord’s Prayer, and I always give a thought to Father, and more recently to Tom; that he might never come back is never far from my mind, and this morning I prayed with all my might that if He had any kind of mercy, Tom would come through this terrible thing unscathed and return home to the farm and Mother, and make everything all right again. I opened my eyes just before the Amen, and saw that Mary next to me was praying just as hard as I was; she needed Tom more than anyone since Father had gone, poor girl. One day she’ll be happy, I hope.
We all sat at our desks, except Herb, whose turn it was to stand and read the daily passage from the Bible. Mary and I sat next to the piano, which Dick Purdy’s Father had generously donated to the school two years ago. That is the way it is – the school is a community venture, and people invest in their children’s future by contributing whatever they can, and generally, that isn’t money; the new teeter-totter outside was made by Sam Wilson, our uncle and the local carpenter, whose daughter, Lisa, is in Grade Two. He comes from out west, and married Mother's sister, Aunt Emily, 8 years ago. Across the front wall of the school behind Miss Pringle’s desk are blackboards on which she had prepared the day’s lessons, freshly painted just the week before by our caretaker, Howard Purdy, who is a year older than Gord, but left in Grade 7 to go work the family fields. Gord told me he is paid 25c a day, which is more than Mother ever has in her purse. It sounds like a pretty good deal to me. On the other side of the room near Herb is a cupboard which acts as the school library. There aren’t many books, so we have to share during class, but a travelling library visits once a month which gives us some variety. Next to the cupboard there is a table with a Globe, an abacus, and some measuring jugs, and at the back of the class a large, moth-eaten Union Jack hangs from the ceiling over an old piano. On the walls are pictures of King George V, Queen Mary and Queen Victoria as a reminder of everyone’s allegiance to the monarchy. There are four rows of double desks, with enough room so that the teacher can walk up and down the aisles to keep an eye on what we’re up to. The only source of light is what pours in from the high windows on either side. When the place is used for social events in the evenings, oil lamps brighten it up no end; but not during the day.
When Herb finished reading, Miss Pringle thanked him and asked him to sit down. She then went over the day’s schedule; it was mostly routine – spelling, penmanship and arithmetic in the morning, then lunch for an hour at noon followed by story-time, science and music with Mr. Dan McEwan, the itinerant music teacher with the 1941 Ford. He is a cool cat. The only surprise was that Dr. Frank Goldstein (or Dr. Frankenstein as we call him) was coming sometime after lunch to give us our inoculations and check us over for general well-being. He didn’t stay longer than half an hour at most – a quick swab with alcohol, a shot in the arm, then onto the next kid. He has plenty of schools and families to visit in the surrounding area, and is always a busy man.
After talking about the plan for the day, Miss Pringle got on with the business of teaching. While she attended to the first graders, the rest of us began the exercises on the blackboard. I turned to the appropriate page in my speller - this week the older grades have been working on the spelling rule “i before e except after c”, although it seems to me there are a hundred words that don’t follow the rule, which I’d say makes it not much of a rule to begin with. The younger grades are learning words with double vowels such as ‘feeble’ and ‘bootlace’. On Fridays, we have a weekly spelling bee, where we are called up one by one to the front of the class to spell the words we have been learning. If we make a mistake, we are out of the competition. Gord has won for the past five weeks, but this week I think it’s my turn. Inconceivable, maybe, but we shall wait and see. I saw Miss Pringle helping Danny, and she called me over to his desk so that I could teach him while she attended to someone else. The older kids assisting the younger ones is common – it helps reinforce what we have learnt previously, and also improves communication. Anyway, Miss Pringle would be struggling to keep everyone organised if we didn’t.
After spelling came penmanship. Miss Pringle says good penmanship is the sign of an educated man. Everyone warmed up by writing each letter of the alphabet four times followed by numbers one through ten in our scribblers. The younger grades worked on block letters using pen and ink from the inkwell, while grade four and up worked on cursive with fountain pens. Until Miss Pringle arrived last year, Walt had a terrible time of it because he always wanted to write with his left hand, and the teacher before Miss Pringle used to punish him his impudence. I think it was because she didn’t know how to teach it. Miss Pringle seems to understand the problem, and since she’s been here Walt has gone back to writing with his left hand and has come on in leaps and bounds. He probably is the best writer in the class.
To Be Continued...
I guess the beginning is as good a place to start as any. This morning I awoke at 5am like usual, before the sun's heat had really got going. It's better that way, see, because doing the chores before school takes quite a bit of elbow grease. But I'm used to it, and anyway, it's what's needed in order to keep the farm on an even keel. Mother doesn't have much help since Father passed, and last week our hired hand simply up and quit without so much as a goodbye - so now I suppose it's up to me, my four brothers Harry, Gord, Herb and Danny, and my twin sister, Mary, to make sure everything's okay (although Danny's only little, so he doesn't really count). I've suggested quittin' school, but Mother is having none of it. She says I need an education so that I can get on in life, and that grade 6 is no time to be giving up on a future. She's not like other kids' folks - I know a ton of them would be more than happy for their boys to stay home during the day and lend a helping hand. Maybe one day I'll thank her for that, I guess.
So 5 am it is, and there's plenty to do before school. We don't have much in the way of fancy things, so I normally get dressed in the same clothes most days - those old pants of mine have sure been stitched up a few times and they're covered in old patches. I think they were my brother Gord’s before me, and my brother Tom's before him. I sure miss Tom - he's off fighting overseas with the Canadian Army and it's been a year now since he left the farm. Mother was beside herself, and I must admit I was sad to see him go - but he looked mighty smart in that uniform of his and boy, was he a hero in this small town. I was so proud; we all were, and we just can't wait to see him again. Last I heard he was off somewhere in Europe - France I think, but no-one's really sure.
Where was I? Oh yes - so this morning, I got dressed, put my boots on (more hand-me-downs) and got straight on with the day's business. First, the cow - she needed feeding and milking so Mother had fresh milk for the day. Good old Daisy - she never puts up a fuss and I was done within the hour, which gave me plenty of time to muck out the stables before breakfast. Harry chopped the wood and Gord pumped the water from the well, while Herb swept the ashes from the fireplace from the night before. My sister Mary helped Mother get the table ready and cook breakfast, and then the seven of us sat up and had a hearty helping of eggs, sausage and bacon, washed down with a big glass of milk. Little Danny's only six years old, but he eats more than any of us!
After tidying up the kitchen, I grabbed my lunch pail and set off with Danny, Herb, Mary and Gord to school. Harry finished Grade 8 last year and did well at that - he was never really one for school, so he stays home to lend a helping hand, although it's too much work for one - we'll need to get someone else in soon, otherwise I'll have no choice but to quit school despite what Mother says - it wouldn’t be an easy choice as it sure is hard work at home, but sometimes that's what growing up is all about I suppose. The trek is quite a way; I'd say about two and a half miles, so what with us gallivanting around it normally takes nearly an hour to walk it. Classes start at half past eight on the dot, and if we're late, there'll be trouble from Miss Pringle, so we always leave in plenty of time - a quarter after seven at the latest. This morning was no different and I could tell already that it was going to be a hot one.
On the way to school, we walked across the lower end of Farmer Macgregor's field, but the old bull wasn't interested in us today. Even so, Danny held my hand tightly and stayed well out of the line of sight, and even Mary kept her head down. She didn’t look up until we reached the creek on the other side which we crossed without any trouble; it’s down to a trickle after the long hot summer we've had. In the spring, we have to be careful not to fall in, otherwise it makes for a very uncomfortable day. Today we took a shortcut through the cemetery, and stopped for a short while at Father's grave to lay some flowers we had picked on the way.
Sometimes we meet other kids from one of the other local schools; the encounters are always good natured - maybe some light teasing about a recent ball game, but it's all in good spirit. There's not much to fight about when life is so simple. Today we didn't see a soul though, and it was nice to have the time to ourselves while we ambled on our merry way. Gord tried to hurdle a gate and took a tumble, tearing a hole in the knee of his pants and grazing his head, but he didn't mind. I sometimes forget he's two years older than Mary and me; he's always fooling around and acting up, and out of all of us he gets into mischief the most by far. It's a shame because he's so clever - he always talks about becoming a doctor or a lawyer, and I've no doubt if he put his mind to it he could be either. That's probably why Mother and Miss Pringle get so mad. Still, it makes life interesting for the rest of us, and the other kids at school love him because he's not scared of anything. Last winter, he climbed on top of the school roof with his buddy Walt Smith and stuffed the chimney with burlap sacks. The whole school filled with smoke and Miss Pringle made us all go outside in the freezing cold while the caretaker came to fix the 'problem'. It didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened and then there was hell to pay. Miss Pringle kept the whole class in for an hour and a half after school while she tried to find the culprit, but even though we all knew who it was and it was just as bitterly cold inside as it was out with all the windows open and no heating, no-one snitched. We forfeited a week's worth of recesses for that prank, yet everyone still loves crazy Gord.
We arrived at school just before eight with a good half hour to spare before classes begun, so we hung out under the big elm tree to keep out of the sun. Mary pushed Danny on the old rope swing while Herb and I talked about Tom and when we might see him again. Gord got bored, and went over to see Walt who had also arrived early, but came back laughing five minutes later; apparently Walt had smoked too many of his old man’s roll ups on the way to school and was feeling none too good. Gord said he looked as white as a sheet and thought he would probably be sick in the outhouse before school even started.
I chewed on a long grass stem and had a look around. You really can’t get a nicer place for a school – there is hardly a building to be seen apart from Farmer Peterson’s farmhouse in the next field, and it is so quiet you can hear the crickets chirping all day. I can’t imagine what one of those big city schools must be like, but it’s certainly not for me. So many children and so little space – it must be difficult for the teachers and strange not to know all your schoolmates. I hope our little school goes on forever; it’s only got one big room but that does the job nicely. There’s one door in the whole building and the sides are built from wooden slats painted white, or shiplap as they call it. The windows are high up in the sides, and the bell tower on top makes it look like a church, which it becomes on a Sunday morning when the community congregate for the weekly service. You might consider it odd that the school has more than one function, but really it makes a good deal of sense since there aren’t many large buildings, if any, in smaller rural towns. The school is the linchpin and social centre of the community, hosting movie nights, local dances, and even council meetings on a regular basis.
I was woken from my shady morning slumber by the sound of the school bell. Miss Pringle had arrived on her bicycle and looked stern as ever as she stood waiting at the door. She can’t have been much older than Tom – they were in the same class in high school come to think of it they got along pretty well. Occasionally she asks the class if we have heard anything of siblings who are fighting in the war, and she seems more interested in our news of Tom than anybody else’s. Maybe they will marry when he returns.
Danny jumped from the swing and ran to the front of the line with the three other grade one kids. There were only 15 of us today – on a good day there could be as many as twenty, but often boys stay home to help with the farm work, especially in the summer. Only five families make up the roster – the Watsons (that’s us), the Smiths (Walt and his two sisters, Jenny and Sarah), the Purdy’s, the Franks and the Wilsons. Gord and Walt are the only two in Grade Eight, Mary and I are the only two in Grade Six. There is one Grade Seven girl, but no Grade Five students at all this year, so I was sandwiched between Mary and Herb, the only one in Grade Four. With two in Grade Three and three in Grade Two, Miss Pringle has her work cut out trying to cover all the bases on the curriculum. But that is just how it is; teachers are organised almost beyond belief, although I wouldn’t realise how much so until later in life. My biggest concern is what is for lunch.
After a cursory inspection (although she did spend a little longer at the back end of the line than was usual), we were marched inside. Cleanliness, although next to Godliness, is generally hard to enforce when bathing at home is reserved for Saturday nights so that we are clean for Church on Sunday. In the summer, it gets even less frequent, as swimming in the creek usually suffices. In the winter time though, having a bath is a real drag – there's no hot water, so it has to be heated on the stove and poured into the tiny tub in which we hardly fit ourselves. Mother is always complaining that we could grow potatoes under our fingernails as they are so filthy. That sounded like a great idea – I quite fancy harvesting my own crop.
We all stood at attention behind our desks, with Danny and the younger ones at the front of class next to the pot bellied stove. In the summer months the stove is hardly ever on; it is way too warm, but during the winter the school caretaker arrives early to get the fire going so we don’t freeze to death. We’re all jealous of the first graders when it’s really cold (sometimes -45C) until we see their hot, red, sweaty little faces by the end of the afternoon - so generally the summer is a welcome relief for everyone. Miss Pringle stood by her desk on the raised platform at the front of the class, and we sang God Save the King with our hand on our chests. Gord sung the loudest as always, and as always replaced `Happy and Glorious` with `Happy and Goriest`. He does the same thing, every day, without fail, and it is all we can do to keep a straight face or else we`ll be for it. Miss Pringle doesn’t have a clue.
The National Anthem was followed by the Lord’s Prayer, and I always give a thought to Father, and more recently to Tom; that he might never come back is never far from my mind, and this morning I prayed with all my might that if He had any kind of mercy, Tom would come through this terrible thing unscathed and return home to the farm and Mother, and make everything all right again. I opened my eyes just before the Amen, and saw that Mary next to me was praying just as hard as I was; she needed Tom more than anyone since Father had gone, poor girl. One day she’ll be happy, I hope.
We all sat at our desks, except Herb, whose turn it was to stand and read the daily passage from the Bible. Mary and I sat next to the piano, which Dick Purdy’s Father had generously donated to the school two years ago. That is the way it is – the school is a community venture, and people invest in their children’s future by contributing whatever they can, and generally, that isn’t money; the new teeter-totter outside was made by Sam Wilson, our uncle and the local carpenter, whose daughter, Lisa, is in Grade Two. He comes from out west, and married Mother's sister, Aunt Emily, 8 years ago. Across the front wall of the school behind Miss Pringle’s desk are blackboards on which she had prepared the day’s lessons, freshly painted just the week before by our caretaker, Howard Purdy, who is a year older than Gord, but left in Grade 7 to go work the family fields. Gord told me he is paid 25c a day, which is more than Mother ever has in her purse. It sounds like a pretty good deal to me. On the other side of the room near Herb is a cupboard which acts as the school library. There aren’t many books, so we have to share during class, but a travelling library visits once a month which gives us some variety. Next to the cupboard there is a table with a Globe, an abacus, and some measuring jugs, and at the back of the class a large, moth-eaten Union Jack hangs from the ceiling over an old piano. On the walls are pictures of King George V, Queen Mary and Queen Victoria as a reminder of everyone’s allegiance to the monarchy. There are four rows of double desks, with enough room so that the teacher can walk up and down the aisles to keep an eye on what we’re up to. The only source of light is what pours in from the high windows on either side. When the place is used for social events in the evenings, oil lamps brighten it up no end; but not during the day.
When Herb finished reading, Miss Pringle thanked him and asked him to sit down. She then went over the day’s schedule; it was mostly routine – spelling, penmanship and arithmetic in the morning, then lunch for an hour at noon followed by story-time, science and music with Mr. Dan McEwan, the itinerant music teacher with the 1941 Ford. He is a cool cat. The only surprise was that Dr. Frank Goldstein (or Dr. Frankenstein as we call him) was coming sometime after lunch to give us our inoculations and check us over for general well-being. He didn’t stay longer than half an hour at most – a quick swab with alcohol, a shot in the arm, then onto the next kid. He has plenty of schools and families to visit in the surrounding area, and is always a busy man.
After talking about the plan for the day, Miss Pringle got on with the business of teaching. While she attended to the first graders, the rest of us began the exercises on the blackboard. I turned to the appropriate page in my speller - this week the older grades have been working on the spelling rule “i before e except after c”, although it seems to me there are a hundred words that don’t follow the rule, which I’d say makes it not much of a rule to begin with. The younger grades are learning words with double vowels such as ‘feeble’ and ‘bootlace’. On Fridays, we have a weekly spelling bee, where we are called up one by one to the front of the class to spell the words we have been learning. If we make a mistake, we are out of the competition. Gord has won for the past five weeks, but this week I think it’s my turn. Inconceivable, maybe, but we shall wait and see. I saw Miss Pringle helping Danny, and she called me over to his desk so that I could teach him while she attended to someone else. The older kids assisting the younger ones is common – it helps reinforce what we have learnt previously, and also improves communication. Anyway, Miss Pringle would be struggling to keep everyone organised if we didn’t.
After spelling came penmanship. Miss Pringle says good penmanship is the sign of an educated man. Everyone warmed up by writing each letter of the alphabet four times followed by numbers one through ten in our scribblers. The younger grades worked on block letters using pen and ink from the inkwell, while grade four and up worked on cursive with fountain pens. Until Miss Pringle arrived last year, Walt had a terrible time of it because he always wanted to write with his left hand, and the teacher before Miss Pringle used to punish him his impudence. I think it was because she didn’t know how to teach it. Miss Pringle seems to understand the problem, and since she’s been here Walt has gone back to writing with his left hand and has come on in leaps and bounds. He probably is the best writer in the class.
To Be Continued...
Written by W. A Humphries
Editor, Perseverance, Pranks and Pride - Tales of the One-Room Schoolhouse
Builder of websites - e.g. The Torbay Electrician
