The following is the second part of a new column from Chemainus author Robyn Gerland that features excerpts from her writings.
Continued …
From: All These Long Years Later – a novel by Robyn Gerland
Inside of the room, we had been introduced to the children who had been in Mrs. Monroe’s class since early September. We had been assigned to real desks, something we had not had in the young group’s classroom. And, as that pivotal day and alphabetical order would have it, I was seated behind Herbert Waylon, who for many of my years at Lord Kitchener, would be my nemesis.
There’s Something Hanging on You
Unfortunately, I had not realized that umbrellas, like coats and hats, were kept outside of the room on the special hooks …
“Teacher, teacher!” Herbert began waving his hand. “That girl has an umbrella!”
I froze. Umbrellas were, obviously, not allowed. What would happen?
“Herbert,” said Mrs. Monroe, as she came down the aisle toward us, “we don’t call out. If you have something to say, please raise your hand and wait for me to answer you.”
“But,” said Herbert, “She …”
Mrs. Monroe cleared her throat in a clearly aggressive manner.
“Chauncey,” she said much more gently, “we leave our umbrellas outside with our coats. You put it up on the shelf. Come with me and I’ll show you.”
My first catastrophe had been diverted.
As the day wore on, I was gently demoted from the blue reader, which Mrs. Monroe assumed I could manage, to the yellow – the sub-primer consisting mostly of pictures.
The month of colouring, the assessment period of the school-readiness of the younger children entering grade one had, it seemed, deemed me ready for the blue reader.
Strangely, they had, however, made this decision without realizing that I had had no reading experience, whatsoever. I had asked my mother to teach me but the prevailing belief of the day was that if parents began instruction, it made it much harder for the child, as the school would then have to undo all the learned bad habits before starting anew. My mother had obeyed, carefully explaining her refusal to me while, she told me later, secretly wondering how anyone could learn to read the wrong way.
The following day, the rain continued, I removed my coat to the correct hook, placed my umbrella on the shelf and lined-up at the door.
I took my seat, bowed my head for the Lord’s Prayer, stood and sang God Save the King and was very carefully following all instructions when, once again, up popped Herbert’s hand. “Teacher, teacher, that girl is chewing gum!”
Mrs. Monroe looked at both of us, sighed, and reminded Herbert not to call out.
She said nothing to me as I, in a sudden panic, wedged my chewed gum into the corner of my desk.
Now, it was October in Vancouver and not overly cold but wet rainy days can be chilling and so my mother had decided that one of the best ways to avoid this chill was for me to wear bloomers rather than briefs, as they were called.
The day continued with emotions transporting me in and out of tentative enjoyment and despair but nothing more like the earlier panic. That was until the last few minutes of the day.
Mrs. Monroe finished the chapter she had been reading and announced that our day was done. “Please make sure that you have a tidy desk and then stand and put up your seat.”
Our desk seats were hinged and folding and when lifted, leaned back onto the desk behind. I checked for tidiness and stood, but as I did, I felt a very slight tug and looked down. Sometime during the day, the traitorous gum had slipped out of my desk and fallen onto my seat and I, not noticing, had sat upon it in my flannel bloomers. A long, nasty strand stretched from me to the wad of grey and pink firmly squashed onto my seat. “Herbert!” was my first thought. “He’ll tell the teacher.”
Up went my bench and I stood at strict attention. “Please let me escape!” I prayed.
“You may leave,” said Mrs. Monroe to the class.
“What’s that? There’s something hanging on you. It’s more gum!” yelled Herbert.
Paralyzed, I waited for the last straw, but all that broke was the teacher’s voice, “Please go home, Herbert. We’ve all had a long day.”
To Be Continued …
Robyn Gerland is an award winning author of four novels and a book of short stories and a regular contributor to Chicken Soup for The Soul. For more information, she may be contacted at: bythebeach@shaw.ca
