schoolroom – derrickjknight

Some time after arriving back home, I was to experience my first day at school. There was, of course, no such thing as pre-school in those days.

This was probably my greatest horror. My grandfather had taken me to school, and, cock-a-hoop, I strode in, waving him goodbye. I had a new set of clothes and was embarking upon a new adventure. Then I turned the corner into the playground……………. It was full of screaming children, including girls, and most of them were much bigger than me…….. I got home to Raynes Park before Grandpa. There are no words to describe the absolute terror represented by these dotted lines. I was off like a shot. I suppose I must have ridden on the bus, but I really don’t remember. The next image I have is of bashing on the front door until Mum came down to me.

Naturally Mum calmed me down and returned me to the torture chamber. She may have fed me, may have accompanied me on the bus. It’s all a blank, not even a blur.

I was presented to Miss Mulvaney. Miss Mulvaney smiled, took my hand, and led me into her classroom. ‘We are having plasticine this afternoon, and here is Maureen Potter to look after you’, she said. I was flabbergasted. There, beaming in her half of our joint desk, sat the most angelic creature I had ever seen. She had a lovely round face, the image of which I cannot conjure up, but the impression of which has remained deep in my heart. As this motherly child took my hand my stomach leapt. Not for the first time that day, but this time it was a wholly different sensation. I was in love for the very first time. Miss Mulvaney knew what she was about.

We enjoyed the plasticine too. Why is it, incidentally, that however bright the original colours are, this material always turns brown?

This photograph portrays the school with extensions, as it was in 2012. Note the traffic calming additions on the road. Nick-named ‘sleeping policemen’ they were unheard of in the 1940s.

There is a modern main entrance, above which lies a bas-relief in memory of Father Rankin S.J. who was, in my day, an influential Jesuit and possibly Auntie Gwen’s favourite priest.

The schoolroom in The Priest’s House Museum in Wimbourne which we visited on November 23rd 2013 reinforced my memory of that first day of my formal education.

As we will see in good time, the cane hanging over the blackboard was an authentic touch. The previous day’s date, in fine copper plate handwriting, was inscribed on the blackboard. The plastic pencil container on the teacher’s desk was perhaps an aberration. What fascinated me was the pairs of desks, which enthralled two small children who, having visited earlier in the week, had brought their parents back for a second visit. Their eyes opened wide when I told them I had sat beside a lovely little girl in one of those very same desks when I had been but a little boy.

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED.

This morning, Aaron and Sean cleared space for the anticipated greenhouse. Holly and Bay trees were cut back and Jackie’s old work corner dismantled.

The sun danced over Jackie’s head as she contemplated the opening.

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Tyneham in Dorset and back.

Now uninhabited for the last 73 years, Tyneham was a thriving village from a previous age, until the villagers were ordered to leave their homes as part of the war effort in 1943. They were never allowed back. Today the remnants of this community were swarming with visitors.

The story of its century of change is fixed to a wall near the telephone box. All will become clear when this photograph is enlarged.

The replaced telephone box bears it own story,

as does the shell of the Post Office.

Most of the buildings are now ruined husks

revealing such as fireplaces,

and vacant windows fitted with stout wooden supports.

Exceptions are the school and the church. Jackie waits for me in the shadows outside

the schoolroom where there is a permanent exhibition. Here are the children’s desks.

The teacher’s faces down the classroom. Note the cane.

Queen Victoria and King George V hang on the wall.

The school photograph from 1912 features, third from right on the front row, Fred Knight.

We met a man who had worked with this former pupil some twenty years ago. Apparently, after Fred’s wife died, he often returned to the village to sit and think. In the second of these rows of coat hooks, young Frederick’s coat hanger is clearly labelled.

Did this lad and his classmates gaze through the schoolroom window and contemplate where they may be laid to rest one day? If so, this was not to be.

One gentleman who had grown up in Tyneham did come back to be buried there in 2010, to be joined by his wife five years later.

Beyond the churchyard, as from anywhere else in the village, can be seen the Purbeck Hills.

The Century of Change board pictured above tells us that it is Evelyn Bond who pinned the notice to the church door on the day the village died.

Priests first washed their hands in the piscina behind the font more than 700 years ago.

With their own little dog straining at the leash, a couple ascended the slope beyond this tethered collie

which was unperturbed as they loomed into silhouette.

Beyond the Military Firing Range on Povington Hill

we can see how close the sea is to the low-lying village. If you examine these pictures carefully, you should be able to distinguish between hay bales and sheep in the fields.

As we approached Wareham on our return journey it became apparent that the road home was very busy. There was therefore only one course of action.

We turned off into this very attractive town and sought out The Rajpoot Indian restaurant. It was not yet open, so we dropped intoThe King’s Arms next door for drinks. The restaurant itself was first class. I enjoyed king prawn naga, as Jackie did her chicken shashlick. We shared the chef’s secret spice rice, an egg paratha, and an onion bahji. We drank small bottles of Kingfisher.

Tag: schoolroom

A Knight’s Tale (22: But A Little Boy)

The Village That Died For D-Day