"I don't remember my first day at school but it took place when I was four. Dolly Andrews, who taught the infants, used to encourage mothers to send their children early. The village school was a brick-built edifice standing in the 'school field' just off the village centre.
It had two classrooms, one small for infants and one large where the rest of the children, divided by age, sat in two classes side by side, taught by separate teachers. At one edge of the field stood the toilet blocks, primitive seat-and-bucket affairs, which stank to high heaven particularly in summer.
My father was quite shocked by them. London schools of the time, grimy as inner city schools were bound to be, at least had flush lavatories. Dad was invited to sit on some sort of village committee which amongst other things had to decide how to spend surplus church money.
The discussions centred on some enrichment of the church and the vicar Mr Badger and the others were shaken to hear Dad suggest that the money should be spent on providing the school with proper drains and flush toilets! He was accused of being a communist and not asked to attend again.
My days in the school are but a hazy memory. Faint pictures of unconnected events come to the fore when I concentrate my mind. At that time in the twentieth century and in that part of the UK it was a rare occurrence to see an aeroplane but I can distinctly remember the whole school rushing out into the playground one afternoon because a plane could be heard and seen overhead.
When we got back in the classroom (I was in the infant class at the time) Miss Andrews asked if any of us had ever been up in an aeroplane. John Davies put up his hand and not wishing to be outdone I put mine up as well.
Miss Andrews smiled. "Well then, we have two people who have flown. Perhaps you'd stand up and tell us what it is like" she said "You first Bernard". I flushed but felt determined to keep up the pretence. With a flash of inspiration I remembered something I'd heard on the wireless.
"When you look down all the fields look like a patchwork quilt" I said. I don't remember what John Davies said, I was too busy trying to hide my face in case anybody suspected that I'd never been near an aeroplane. It is more than probable that Dolly Andrews told my mother and that they had a good laugh at my expense.
I was off school at one time with a severe rash particularly on the inside of my thighs. Dolly Andrews called round after school one afternoon and my mother insisted on showing her the offending rash by making me bare my bottom half so that she could see. I couldn't have been more than eight at the time yet I remember how embarrassed I was.
Similarly I recall a time when the older boys were charging around the playground flicking up the girls skirts and running away. At the precise moment that I decided to join in by doing the same to Catherine Watkin the headmistress looked out of a window and saw me. The window was flung open and Miss Powell sternly called "Bernard, come in here!" I remember standing in front of her, red-faced and staring at the floor, while she berated me for being such a rude little boy. I remember also the glimpse of Catherine's white petticoat and black stockings....
The same Catherine Watkin went into Newtown hospital to have her tonsils out and died during the operation. Her family were chapel-goers but the whole village, church and chapel, turned out for the funeral. We schoolchildren walked behind the hearse for the two miles out of the village to the chapel cemetery. It was my first involvement with death and I carried the detail of the events of that day in my mind for a very long time."
Article written by Bernard Hodgson
