Di.Poppitt
GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
The war was three years old when I started school, so I'm not sure what normal would have been. we had to know where to assemble should there be an air raid, and at one point we carried our red 'mickey mouse' gas masks with us. No matter, I loved it from the word go; I came down with measles on the day I should have started, so it was all the sweeter when I finally took that walk along The Broadway in Witton, arriving at Canterbury Road with my mom and a fair number of other moms too. There was a procession of us daily walking the route. You knew you had clinched it when you were allowed to go on your own. 
Mrs M was waiting to welcome me, I was the only new girl that day. She asked a girl called Pauline to look after me, but I wasn't listening as usual, and thought I had to look after her. Bit of a mixed up day really, ending with me taking a coat from the cloakroom that was identical to mine, but three sizes smaller. I walked into the house with the sleeves up to my elbows and my frock traliling six inches below. Mom had forty fits, as was her wont. I hadn't noticed.
It was all very non U in those days, if anyone was naughty, heaven forbid, they were stood in a waste paper basket in the corner of the room. One red haired little chap spent his days there. I soon learned to read, I think I had been born knowing my alphabet, I loved books so much; and we said our tables by rote, a different one each day until they were seared into our minds.
The next teacher I remeber was Miss J - Junior, there was apparently another Miss J in the senior school. It was she who first introduced me to Worzel Gummage. We each took it in turns to read a passage, and I picked up the West Country accent, the performer in me is inate. I got to read often after that. Miss J was the teacher every kid should have, she instilled in me a love of History, she described the Battle of Hastings so vividly that we were there, we saw the arrow fly, and poor Harold fall.
Mr B was next, he was probably a youngish chap but I was a bit in awe of him at first, he was a MAN. Time passed uneventfully though in the year I spent with him. we seemed to spend a lot of time 'reading quietly'.
It all went pear shaped after that, Miss C was sharp nosed and sharp tempered, she took one look at me and I cringed. She scared me and I couldn't do anythng right. There was a shortage of paper and so we had to make our own exercise books from any that the education department could get hold of. We cut and cobbled the bits together with big tacking stitches, or paste made from flour and water, until the day came when we got our first proper writing books, they had red covers and were ruled with blue lines.
'Open them carefully, write your name, leave a line and then write numbers one to ten' was the order from Madame C. Pencils were licked, heads bent, deep breaths taken, best handwring - lovely. But I had forgotten to leave a line before writing out the numbers, so she took a ruler and brought it down edgewise on to my hand. I didn't write for a while, my hand welled up like a baloon, and my mother threatened to lynch her.
I would gladly have called it quits then, but the next class loomed and with it Miss P. She had an aim that had to be admired I have to say. When she threw the blackboard rubber at you, if you didn't duck quickly it hit you, as did chalk, keys, anything that came to hand she hurled. But she knew her stuff, no one left her class wanting. If we were capable of learning she was more than capable of teaching us.
In between all this education the nit nurse and the dental nurse came and went with awful regularity. The school was in disarray when we all had to have a medical, there were white coats everywhere, and screens put up in the hall in front of classrooms where the examinations were to take place.
Mr C was our kindly headmaster. There is a photo' of him on the Friends reunited site, and I was five years old agan when I saw it.
In 2006 the school is holding its Centenary celebrations. I guess I'll be there looking for the past.
Mrs M was waiting to welcome me, I was the only new girl that day. She asked a girl called Pauline to look after me, but I wasn't listening as usual, and thought I had to look after her. Bit of a mixed up day really, ending with me taking a coat from the cloakroom that was identical to mine, but three sizes smaller. I walked into the house with the sleeves up to my elbows and my frock traliling six inches below. Mom had forty fits, as was her wont. I hadn't noticed.
It was all very non U in those days, if anyone was naughty, heaven forbid, they were stood in a waste paper basket in the corner of the room. One red haired little chap spent his days there. I soon learned to read, I think I had been born knowing my alphabet, I loved books so much; and we said our tables by rote, a different one each day until they were seared into our minds.
The next teacher I remeber was Miss J - Junior, there was apparently another Miss J in the senior school. It was she who first introduced me to Worzel Gummage. We each took it in turns to read a passage, and I picked up the West Country accent, the performer in me is inate. I got to read often after that. Miss J was the teacher every kid should have, she instilled in me a love of History, she described the Battle of Hastings so vividly that we were there, we saw the arrow fly, and poor Harold fall.
Mr B was next, he was probably a youngish chap but I was a bit in awe of him at first, he was a MAN. Time passed uneventfully though in the year I spent with him. we seemed to spend a lot of time 'reading quietly'.
It all went pear shaped after that, Miss C was sharp nosed and sharp tempered, she took one look at me and I cringed. She scared me and I couldn't do anythng right. There was a shortage of paper and so we had to make our own exercise books from any that the education department could get hold of. We cut and cobbled the bits together with big tacking stitches, or paste made from flour and water, until the day came when we got our first proper writing books, they had red covers and were ruled with blue lines.
'Open them carefully, write your name, leave a line and then write numbers one to ten' was the order from Madame C. Pencils were licked, heads bent, deep breaths taken, best handwring - lovely. But I had forgotten to leave a line before writing out the numbers, so she took a ruler and brought it down edgewise on to my hand. I didn't write for a while, my hand welled up like a baloon, and my mother threatened to lynch her.
I would gladly have called it quits then, but the next class loomed and with it Miss P. She had an aim that had to be admired I have to say. When she threw the blackboard rubber at you, if you didn't duck quickly it hit you, as did chalk, keys, anything that came to hand she hurled. But she knew her stuff, no one left her class wanting. If we were capable of learning she was more than capable of teaching us.
In between all this education the nit nurse and the dental nurse came and went with awful regularity. The school was in disarray when we all had to have a medical, there were white coats everywhere, and screens put up in the hall in front of classrooms where the examinations were to take place.
Mr C was our kindly headmaster. There is a photo' of him on the Friends reunited site, and I was five years old agan when I saw it.
In 2006 the school is holding its Centenary celebrations. I guess I'll be there looking for the past.
