Chapter 33: St. Anne's

St. Anne's School. Photographer unknown

 
Not clogs, like Henry wore to work! Not boots, like Gordon's!
No, "A nice new pair of sturdy, leather-soled shoes for our Michael to go to school in," said Gordon. "Make sure you buy him good ones!"

As ever, "Only the best for our Michael!"

Margaret took Michael up town to buy them. That evening Gordon sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire. He hammered extra bits of leather onto the soles and heels of the shoes. He sighed with satisfaction when he'd finished. Gordon was always meticulous when it came to doing a job. "If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well,"he'd say.

"There son," he said proudly, passing the shoes to Michael. "They should last you a while. Try them on!"

Michael tried them on.

"Are they comfortable?"
"Yes, Dad."
"Good! Now Margaret, let him try on the rest of his stuff. I want to see what he looks like."

Michael simply hated trying on new clothes or changing into or out of his best on Sundays. Reluctantly, he allowed his mother to adorn him in his new grey shirt, navy-blue jersey, short, worstead trousers, grey socks and finally a tie. He'd never worn a tie before. His mother tied it for him.

"Just right!"declared Gordon. "You look like a real schoolboy. All grown up and ready for action! Apart from your coat. You'll need that this weather. Don't forget it in the morning."
Michael was filled with apprehension, "Not the blue one Mam!"

"Why ever not? That's lovely and warm. It's a good coat that is."

Gordon had the message, "All right Michael, wear your black raincoat instead."

Margaret frowned but didn't argue.

Instead she said, "Oh dear, look at his stockings, they're slipping down his legs. I forgot to make him any garters."

While Gordon read Michael a story, Margaret found the old biscuit tin where she kept bits of elastic, scissors, spare buttons, pins, needles, cotton and thread. She selected some black elastic and cut off two strips after testing for the right length just below Michael's knee. Within minutes she'd finished the job. Michael had to take his shoes off. His mother put the garters over his toes and pulled them up his legs. They weren't too tight.

"That's it then,"said Gordon. "All ready for action in the morning! Time for bed! I'll finish reading to you upstairs."

It was cold in his bedroom, so Michael undressed downstairs and put on his pyjamas. They were lovely and warm because Margaret had left them hanging over the fireguard.

He climbed into bed and said his prayers. Dad said it was all right because it was too cold kneeling on the lino. Gordon read him the rest of his story, then he went straight off to sleep.

The next morning, they left the house at ten minutes to nine. Margaret carried Gwyn and held Michael's hand. They walked down the road to the school, which was on the opposite side. The playground was under the shadow of Mitchell's Brewery and filled with excited children.

St. Anne's was a church school. All the local kids went there except the Catholics, who had their own school. Most new pupils for the 'baby' class started at the end of August. The Monday Michael started was in January and there were only two other newcomers, girls from neighbouring Alfred Street.

Most of the kids were enjoying themselves on the school playground. Michael and the two girls stood outside the gate, round the corner from Edward Street in Brewery Lane. Their mothers stayed with them. Mothers weren't allowed inside the gate. There were two others there, gossiping and watching their kids play. All of the other children had walked to school on their own.

Headmaster Mr. Joy appeared from inside the building and the three newcomers were pushed inside the gate. Michael Watson was on his own! Michael Watson was out in the world!

"Do what you're told!" urged one of the mothers.
"Behave yourself!" snapped the other.
"I'll be here to meet you at dinner time," said Margaret.

Mr. Joy rang a hand-bell. It was just like the Muffin Man's. The children stood froze. Standing perfectly still they listened for instructions...

Mr Joy paused, making sure that there was complete silence. Then he commanded, "Lines!" The children all walked smartly, arms swinging, faces serious, and formed four double lines.

The three newcomers did not know what to do.

"You new children, go to the end there." An imperious finger pointed to the back of the double line of the smallest children. Michael and the two girls did as they were instructed. All of the other children watched them as they did so. Michael tried to march like the others had, but he got his arms and legs out of synch. There were audible giggles.

"Be quiet!"

The laughing ceased.

There was a bigger boy in the next line next to Michael. He was wearing clogs and a jersey. The jersey was miles too big for him. He had an ugly face. He hissed at Michael, "Mummy's boy!" Michael stared back at him. "I'll get you later,"whispered the boy.

"Silence in the lines!"shouted Mr. Joy.

You could hear a pin drop. He kept them standing there a bit longer and then shouted, "Top Class forward!"

The oldest children stepped forward, wheeled and disappeared into the school.

"Next!" he bawled.
"Next!"

Finally, "Infants forward!"And Michael's line moved, with Michael following.

They went straight into a classroom and all of the other children began to hang their coats up. There were hooks on the wall at the back of the room. They did this without any pushing or shoving and in complete silence.

Michael and the two girls stood just inside the door, wondering what to do.

Quite quickly the pupils made their way to the desks which had been allocated to them. They stood behind their desks staring at Michael and his two companions.

While all this had been going on, a rather stern-looking woman of about forty watched everything. She stood behind a shoulder-high desk at the front of the class. She looked at the children with her bright, beady eyes. She had dark, greying hair, a white blouse, long dark-grey skirt, down nearly to her ankles. She black, flat-heeled shoes. In her right hand she held a short, thick stick.

She tapped on her desk with the stick and instantly all eyes were on her.

"Good morning, children."
"Good morning, Miss Perfect!"
"Sit!"

The children pulled their hinged seats down and sat. Some were together at double desks and some desks had seats for four.

"Fold your arms!"

All of the kids folded their arms.

"Register!"

One by one she called their names in alphabetical order. Each in turn answered, "Yes, Miss Perfect!"

When there was no reply, she asked, "Anybody know why he's not here?"

"No, Miss Perfect!"

When she'd finished calling the register, the teacher turned and looked at the newcomers. Not unkindly she said, "Now you three go and hang your coats up on those spare hooks -- the ones at the end. Then come back here and see me!"

Michael led the way. All of the class were watching his and the two girls every movement. They hung up their coats.They returned to stand in front of the teacher's desk.

"What's your name young man?"
"Michael Watson, Miss Perfect."

She sniffed, "Ah yes the one with the Welsh mother! She's given me a few instructions about you. If I remember rightly, I'm to see you wrap up warm at playtime. I'm to make sure that you drink all of your milk. I'm to make sure that the big boys don't bully you. Is that right, Michael Watson?"

"I don't know, Miss Perfect."
 "Well, you'd better remember it now! In case I forget! We wouldn't want me to be getting into trouble with your mother would we, Michael Watson?"
"No, Miss Perfect!"
"Right Michael -- you go and sit down there next to Millie Doyle. We'll have our Welsh and Irish friends sitting together. That will be nice for you won't it, Millie?"
"Yes, Miss Perfect!"Millie answered.

Michael went and sat down. Millie didn't lift the seat which they were going to share but he managed to squeeze between it and the desk.

After she had dealt with the two new girls it was, "Hands up those who have milk money." About half the hands went up. It was five pence for the week or tuppence-halfpenny for mornings only. She called out the names and the children took their money to her.

When that was done, she closed the registers.

"Tommy!"
"Yes Miss Perfect?"
"Take the registers to Mr. Joy!"

All the children sat still with their arms folded. After a while Tommy returned. He closed the door behind him very quietly.

"Class stand!"

They all stood.

Jimmy, open the door!"

Jimmy opened the door.

"Forward!"

The front row led and they all filed into the adjoining room, which was much larger than Michael's classroom. Mr. Joy had a low table with drawers. He was sitting behind it at the front waiting for all of the school to come in. Everybody came in quietly and stood in long rows in front of him. The teachers stood at the side alongside their pupils. The infants were right at the front. When Mr. Joy stood up Michael found himself staring at his waistcoat which was at the same level as Michael's head.

Miss Perfect sat at a piano near Mr. Joy.

"Good morning, children!"
"Good morning, Mr. Joy!" they all chanted.
"All things Bright And Beautiful," he announced.

These early morning routines never varied, apart from the milk register being taken on Mondays only. There were five hymns, which the children knew off by heart, one for each day.

There were prayers. Mr. Joy made "announcements" and then it was back to their own classrooms. Mr Joy could see into the other three classrooms because the partitions at the side and back of his room had glass in them. From his desk, he could see everything that was going on in every room. God was watching. Authority was in charge!

The windows to the outside world were five feet off the ground and no seated child could look out and be distracted by street activities.

You could smell the neighbouring Mitchell's Brewery all day long. Michael did not like that. He did not like playtimes either. If only Rob had been there! Some of the bigger, rough lads teased him when they were outside. His nick-name was 'Mummy's Boy'. Maybe it was because Margaret never failed to take him to school and collect him after each session. Maybe it was because he was a bit too finely dressed.

All the kids had to arrive at school washed, clean and tidy or there would be trouble from Mr. Joy. Most of them had bleached, old clothing; many wore hand-me-downs. Some shivered in the lines or at playtime because of the cold that their poor clothing could not keep out. Michael was frightened of some of them but they never actually laid a finger on him.

No talking in class!
No yelling in the yard!
Nothing allowed to play with from home!

Apart from that, he quite liked school. Miss Perfect was firm but fair. Her lessons were mainly talk-and-chalk but never boring. There was the chanting of tables, the pointing to letters of the alphabet and saying them after her.

They all had slates and pieces of chalk to write with. There was a bit of cloth with which to wipe the slate clean. There was an Oxo tin with ten little shells in it for counting. He had a book, A Child's First Reader and another one, A Child's First Bible Stories. All of these things were kept in his wooden desk which had a hinged lid.

"Make sure you keep your desk tidy!"

Every afternoon, they were told to have a sleep. They rested their heads on their arms on their desks and had a snooze for half an hour.

They had drill in the yard, each child standing about a yard away from the next one, swinging arms, bending, jumping on the spot and so on, all in unison.
Friday afternoons were best. They were allowed to talk to each other quietly. Miss Perfect had a big box of 'Treats'. Those who had behaved and worked hard during the week could go first to the box and choose something to play with.

Michael liked to play simple board games with Millie. Millie came from Northern Ireland. She lived amongst other Irish down Leonardgate but she wasn't a Catholic.

Mam said to Michael, "If you're sure she's not a Catholic, I don't mind you sitting next to her. I won't complain."

One afternoon, Miss Perfect showed them how to put one of their little shells, the ones which they used as counters, close to an ear and listen intently.

"Shh!"she said, "Listen carefully! You can hear the sea whispering as the tide comes in."
And you could. It was magic!

Somewhere deep inside stern Miss Perfect, a poetic spirit lurked. Michael sensed this and loved the way she put feelings into the stories which she read to them if they'd been 'good' all week. This happened during the last half hour on Friday afternoons.

Sometimes she told stories which she had made up herself. All of her men were handsome and brave. All of the ladies were beautiful and wanting to be rescued from a variety of hazardous situations.

It was dark January and then February outside. The lights suspended from the high ceiling were not very bright. All of the little children's innocent faces showed that they were entranced, as enthralled as Michael, by Miss Perfect's gestures, her rolling eyes and resonant voice, by the terrors and joys of the heroes and heroines in her stories. The drab classroom was transformed, the children transported into a make-believe world..

Finally, her voice would drop to a whisper, "And that, children, is the end of this week's story."

Mr. Joy would ring his bell. The children would awake from the trance induced by the story.
"Stand! "

"Hands together!"
"Close your eyes! Say our prayer!"

They all joined in:

"Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me
Bless thy little lamb tonight;
Through the darkness be thou near me;
Watch my sleep till morning light."

"Hands down! Coats on! Stand still! Quiet!"

She let the silence deepen. Then it was, "Good afternoon children!"
"Good afternoon, Miss Perfect."
"File out!"

In orderly fashion, they went out to the cold and dark playground all heading for the gate.
"Hello Mam! We've had a great story just now!"

His Dad asked every evening, "How was school today Michael?"
"Okay, Dad!"

But he still wished that Rob was with him at St. Anne's.



Thanks to Ian Birnie for his location correction