Homework!

 

Homework!                                              

 Almost the first homework task we had when we started grammar school was to cover our books. All text books for every subject had to be covered with brown paper – such a cheerful look. Of course, it was to preserve the books, which had to do duty for many years, in school, in school bags, at home; there were many opportunities for damage or loss.

Although I’m convinced we covered our text books, it occurs to me to wonder how we knew what subject they covered underneath the paper. Maybe the books were issued to each girl for each subject for the year.  Maybe my recall is completely shot!                

Harmony, a book on the theory of music, was somehow never returned to school. There are no helpful or interesting scribbles in it,  no little mysteries to unravel, nothing to prompt the imagination.

 On the fly leaf of each book was a library checkout card, indicating the user and the date of usage, much as public libraries used before the advent of computerisation. Sometimes, notes had been written in the books, though that was strictly forbidden. Occasionally, the scribbled notes would be useful.  

 We also had to number all the pages of our exercise books, to discourage us from tearing out pages. No-one explained why.

There were other rules we had to obey. No bottles of ink were to be carried around school. That was a rule I disobeyed, to my shame. The ink bottle I was carrying dropped to the parquet floor, spreading inexorably far and wide. I don’t know who saw or reported it, but the next morning I was summoned to the headmistress’s office to be reprimanded. My punishment was to scrub the floor. I can’t remember if the ink stain was removed – I rather doubt it, but I didn’t carry ink in school after that.

We had to change into house shoes when we arrived at school. They were unflattering, bulbous-toed black affairs and we hated them. Our skirts had to be knee-length, neither above nor below the knee and when we were out of school, we had to wear hats, velour in winter, straw in summer. We were left in no doubt that we were representing the school and it was our job to be good ambassadors. It was considered a grave misdemeanour to be seen without the school hat, though, of course, some risked it, crushing their hats into their bags as soon as they were out of sight of the school. One sixth-former cut a hole in the crown of her hat so that her pony tail could swing free. We thought that very daring. How innocent it all seems now.

Some were more knowing than others. One girl appeared in school one morning in full, heavy make-up, claiming she had mistaken the day and had been getting ready for her Saturday job. She was made to scrub it off. Bearing in mind the amount of orange foundation, it must have been quite a task.

Another girl in my year became pregnant and was suspended from school. She was allowed back to take her public examinations but we were not permitted to socialise with her. Perhaps they thought she would corrupt us, or that pregnancy was catching! Poor soul, she must have felt very isolated and scared. She was only 15 or 16 at a time when unmarried mothers were viewed with, at least, disdain and more often, condemnation. I don’t know what became of her.

Today’s secondary school students are more mature, more aware, but the world they have inherited and must inhabit is more difficult and complex than the one my peers and I had to navigate. I look at my youngest great-grandchildren, the three who are 3, 16 months and 1 year, and wonder and sometimes fear what manner of world will become familiar to them.