When you are
out on a road trip travelling a familiar highway – say where you used to live
as a child, you tend to get excited or most people do because it brings back
memories.
Highway #10
going into Orangeville is an especially touchy run for me since I lived in two
houses along the way – a farm house and a bungalow. On this stretch I also attended two different
schools which I also point out while checking mailboxes to see if names still belong
to my old neighbours. People travelling in the car with me know them by heart –
yah, yah they say not understanding my nostalgic drive past memory lane
Among those
most vivid childhood memories would be me standing perched on one leg in the
basement of the old one room school house I attended, with the other leg extended
far behind me and bent upwards at an agonizing angle. In my hand would be a
pointer stick and in front of me trying graciously to strike the same pose,
were a dozen kids of various ages – fellow school mates. On that day it had
been raining outside so we opted to play in the basement as opposed to reading at
our desks upstairs. Our desks were wooden with flip-up seats fastened to the
front of the desk top and wrought iron frame work attaching both to the floor. There
was a hole in the top for a bottle of ink and names and words from decades scratched
into the wood. Depending on how big you were two people could fit on one seat
bench.
Anyway –
back to the dance story. Who died and made me ballet instructor for the day I’ll
never know, but since there were plenty of difficult poses in our outdated Encyclopaedia
Britannica I thought I would take on the lead role. I had plenty of male and
female followers wanting to learn to dance. I was the sort of kid that came up
with ideas of things to do and other kids just fell in with me. It was a
comical sight I am sure with the group of us spinning, squatting, doing pointe
and arching back so far some of us fell on the floor.
The basement
of the old red brick school was a cool place to be and filled with dusty
treasures. There were old broken desks, tools, baseball equipment, old maps, shelves
of old books and boxes filled with papers, ink bottles and chalkboard supplies.
Some of the stuff could have been there from when the school was built one
hundred years before. There was an old furnace too, put in no doubt in more
modern times since schools were once heated by wood fire and water was hand pumped
from the well outside.
Upstairs
there were two entrances at the front of the building marked ‘Boys’ on one side
and ‘Girls’ on the other. There were one-toilet washrooms (that hardly ever
flushed) on the same side as each, just inside the foyer before you stepped
into the classroom area. In the foyer everyone had a hook and shelf to hang
their coat and set their lunch pail. To me and my brother Doug, it was like
another world. We had just moved to rural Orangeville from Brampton where we
attended a large public school with hundreds of kids and every grade had its
own classroom.
At the old rural
school I was in awe of my teacher Ms. McCue, who taught eight grades in one classroom
and walked with a hobble since she had one leg that was shorter than the other –
or at least that’s what I was told by the other kids. She was a really nice
lady and handled her responsibility with patience and kindness. Ms. McCue started
each day with the Lord’s Prayer, God Save the Queen and the National Anthem.
Then she gave lessons starting with grade ones and two’s in the first row and
following along to grade eights in the last row. In some grades there might only be one kid and
in other grades four or five. I think there were only about two dozen of us
total and many of those belonged to one farm family with siblings in nearly
every grade.
I was in
grade two with one other kid named Paul while Doug was in grade six with some
other boys and a girl. Paul had two sisters in grade three because one had failed.
He had brothers in Doug’s grade too. The farm kids were great and welcomed us
with open arms. It was like we were some sort of gift or something. They used to argue over who was going to play
with us and then we’d all play together. Thinking back I guess we were
something of a rarity after having the same kids at school for years with no different
faces. They were hungry to know all about us.
The curriculum
was the same as in other schools - geared to grade, and once a week a minister would
drop by to teach us religious education. It was rare that Ms. McCue would sit
at her desk because teaching eight grades kept her hopping - literally. When
she wasn’t teaching or writing on the board she was helping kids who needed one-on-one.
I remember this kid who sat at the back of the class – his name was Kenneth and
he was as big as a man and needed a ‘special’ desk to fit him. I felt sorry for
the big boy because he was a foster kid they said - with two foster sisters
that attended the school with him - Pauline and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth
was in grade one, a first nation girl and a real handful. She gave Ms. McCue a
run for her money but you could tell the old lady loved her spunk. It was sad when
we had to give a moment of silence one Monday after Ms. McCue announced that
Elizabeth had drowned in a local lake on the weekend.
Pauline on
the other hand was in grade seven and she was a handful too especially around
the opposite sex. Ms. McCue had to keep reprimanding her because of a nasty little
habit of lifting her top up in front of the boys. In the foyer, in the
washroom, behind the school, in the trees - you name it and out would pop
Pauline’s boobs. It was my first time seeing any so I was looking as much as
the boys and so were the other girls.
Poor Kenneth
never had a smile on his face. I think they lived on a sheep farm and must have
worked hard before and after school. Ms. McCue helped Kenneth a lot. I later
wondered what kind of background those unfortunate kids had come from but at
the time you don’t stop to think that something may be happening to them at
home to impact their personalities and everyday life – you just thought ‘they
are weird’.
Playing outside
for recess was cool at the old one room school house. We had a ball diamond and
mostly everyone took part during season. The great thing about attending a
school where all grades were in the same room was that all grades played
together in the playground. There were no clicks or segregated groups, because you
needed everyone in the school to make a team – big and small everyone was
important. We had wooden swings to play on and I remember the big kids pushing
the little ones. In the winter we all made snow forts together, had snowball
fights and made snow angels.
Winters were
different back then – more severe and with lots more snow. Doug and I walked to
school along an eight foot ledge created by the snowplows along the highway.
When we looked down you could see the tops of the cars and trucks whizzing by.
Good thing we didn’t fall onto the road.
I remember
at the end of one school year we went on a bus trip to Toronto to visit some
military ship – it was pouring rain and everyone got soaked to the skin. It was
a long trip there and long trip back for a grade two student. I can only
imagine what it was like for the teacher with a busload of country bumpkins
that got their thrills going to town on a Saturday never mind spending a day in
the city. She was brave to take us. We survived that trip but I don’t seem to
recall us going too far for a school trip the next year.
I think my
brother and I attended that one room school for about two years and it ended
badly with the school closing down – in fact I heard it was one of the last one
room schools in the province to close. The nightmare began around Christmas
time one year when a few of the kids started turning yellow. Within a few days
over three quarters of the kids had been diagnosed with Hepatitis from the well
water and I was one of them. Sick at home I was quarantined to my bedroom with
skin more yellow than a Chinese girl – even my eyeballs were glowing. Health authorities
stepped in and closed the doors then after the holiday we students were bussed
to a brand new school near Camilla on Highway #10.
Sadly, something
had changed forever, especially for the farm kids who attended that small
school all of their lives. For Doug and I, the change wasn’t so drastic because
we had come from the urban public school system. For the country kids we had
come to know it was a whole different ballgame – new teachers, new environment,
new rules and brand new institution.
Initially after
getting off the bus we filed through big doors with hundreds of other kids. At first
we tried to find each other during recesses but soon our little group split
apart, made new friends and took different paths. It wasn’t cool for big kids
to hang with little ones anymore. It was good in one way and gave everyone more
opportunities for sure. But it was also sad to no longer to have that closeness
at school.
A year or so
later Doug and I moved further north and the next school I went to was an older
one too. It was typical of the three story brick schools with stairwells,
hardwood floors/trim and rows upon rows of windows but was a far cry from the little
one room building and so much bigger.
I will always
be thankful I had the chance to attend a one room school during my childhood because
many from my era did not have the same opportunity. I got to experience a different way of
learning and feel a close camaraderie amongst classmates while going there. The
school setting was much like a family really, where kids of all ages were friends
and looked out for each other. The learning experience in a one room school was
something to be recognized since we learned so much from each other. If you were
done a lesson quickly you could listen to lessons being taught to other
students and pick up on it quite easily.
I got to
witness the old style of teaching where one person taught eight grades all by themself
in one room - unheard of today! One teacher held control over an entire school
with basically just the tone of her voice. She was involved in each and every
student’s welfare – sometimes both school and family issues.
Ms. McCue
was a teacher, a coach, an art instructor, a shoulder to cry on and many other
things – even the person who dealt out punishment when it was deserved. She shook
the bell on her desk to start the school day and when it was over and then
stood at the door to see you out. Ms. McCue deserved a medal – all teachers of
one room school houses did and our parents will attest to that.
Teaching has
changed over the years and so has everything about school. And while teachers
and institutions of today serve their purpose in a difficult time, there’s something
positive to be said about the phrase “old school” and everyone who ever
attended one can certainly appreciate that.
