Mrs Woog posed a question last night, regarding the heat and whether kids should be sent to school.
It reminded me of a time, when I was in around year 4.
It was swelteringly hot at the time. I was in a demountable classroom at my tiny little primary school. I was partnered up with a boy named Luke, and we were learning about invertebrates and skeletons and the like. The teacher had (somewhat foolishly, given the heat) brought in a couple of tins of sardines. We were pulling these oily little fish apart to look at their skeletons, when like a mirage my mum appeared at the classroom door. She laughed about the smell in the classroom and said she was here to take me home early, because it was hot and she’d finished work early.
That was a great day.
I remember another time at primary school.
I’d lost something in the playground, and had pilfered permission to go back to the playground to search for whatever it was I had lost. In a moment of ten year old logic, I climbed up the highest bars we had in the playground. Now, ordinarily I wouldn’t have attempted to climb these bars. They were really high. But up I went. Got to the top, turned myself around, and gazed over the empty playground. Then I realised how high I was. My friend Paul came trotting out of a classroom and asked me what I was doing. I shouted down to him that I was maybe a little bit stuck. He climbed up and then we climbed down together. I can’t remember if I found what I had lost.
The bus trip to and from school was long. I remember we were among the first kids on the bus and the last ones off. But in the morning as we came close to the school, there was a particular hill. And if you were in the back seat, and you bounced up and down and timed it just right, when the bus hit the bottom of that hill you’d get jolted up in the air. Another friend of mine lost her front tooth that way. But it was OK, it was a baby tooth.
This last memory I’m going to share with you is a bit fuzzy. Kind of like the lights are fully turned on in this part of my remembering, but I do like this memory.
It was very early in my schooling career. I think it was my first ever day of school. So I would have been 5. My sister, 9. And I remember her helping me get dressed. I had Strawberry Shortcake shoes. And a lisp. And for some reason I think my clothes were hanging over the grate that surrounded the fireplace, but then logic kicks in and I think but it would have been summer, why did we have the grate in place? Then adult reasoning kicks in, and to be honest I can’t imagine my parents packing up the grating just because the fire wasn’t being used. But yeah. My sister. Helping me get ready for school.
I loved primary school. It was small, it was safe, it was familiar. The wheels fell off a bit in high school because it the high school I went to was freaking huge. But isn’t it funny, how sometimes memories creep up behind you and embrace you and carry you back to a time when things were easier and gentler and nicer.
What was your favourite thing about primary school?