Eleanor Townsend

 read by Sharon Clay

                                                     

                                                         

 

                                            The Lighter Side of Teaching

 

                                                   

 

 

 

     Teaching was not always a serious business.  During my 31 years at Montreal Street School, spent largely in the Grade One room, there were many moments of levity.  I have tried to pinpoint some of them.

     I remember teaching twins—a boy and a girl.  The boy was shy and left most decisions to his sister.  I asked him a question one day, upon which he fidgeted in his chair, then pointed to his sister and blurted out--”Ask her, her knows every thing!”

     We spent some time learning about farm animals.  In an attempt to help them picture life on a farm, I said that the cow was the mother animal, and the bull was the father.  I later heard one of the pupils remark “The farmer was milking the bull's wife.”

     In those days we had Bible readings every morning and the Lord's Prayer.  I heard a little Chinese girl say “and deliver us from eagles.”  When I read that Cain killed Abel, one child asked “how”.  I replied “with a stone”, whereupon one little boy said “No, he just gave him a slap and he fell off the tractor and was dead.”

     We had completed a study of dinosaurs, and I asked the children how we know that they had existed. One little girl beamed at me and said, “Because you and my mother saw them when you were little girls.”

     I recall having a pink and white striped dress, of which I was very fond.  I wore it proudly to school one day, and was greeted with, “Teacher, your dress is just like a circus tent.”

     One little round Humpty Dumpty of a boy always wrapped both arms around my waist and hugged me before leaving for home.  One day I asked “why do you always hug me, Larry?”  His reply was, “because you're so nice and fat.”

     I taught one little boy who was Mr. Malaprop. One morning, he came running excitedly across the playground, shouting, “I've got two racoons in my pocket”, upon which he produced two cocoons.  On another occasion, he asked when they would get their supports.  The word “support” conjured up visions of aids to help the aged.  Then I realized that he meant “reports”.

     Christmas concerts were always exciting affairs, calling for much practicing before hand.  One year I chose three pupils for angels, three for shepherds, and three for Wise Men.  The shepherds were to say, “We are the shepherds who our watch did keep, out in the fields over our sheep.”  The Wise Men were to say, “We are the Wise Men who travelled afar, over the desert, lead by a star.”  On the day of the concert, the shepherds said the lines of the Wise Men, and the look on the Wise Men’s' faces was anything but benevolent.  I was so shaken up by the event that I can't recall how the Wise Men dealt with the dilemma!!

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                           Chalkdust Memories by Paul Nederveen

 

My chalkdust memory isn’t from the classroom.  As many of you may know, I taught school in the small town of Irvine for 33 years.  For the first thirteen of those years I lived in a teacherage across from the school.  There were six teacherages in Irvine and I truly feel that the loss of those teacherages, in so many small towns, has led to the decline of their communities. 

 

In any case, living across the street from the school made me a perfect candidate for “opening the school” in the evening.  Many a time I would open the school for a group of boys wanting to play floor hockey.  Although I was often invited to participate, and there were often dads who also came to play, I usually ended up taking my marking and my planning book and set up doing my work in the gym.  I know that the rapport created by supervising those boys stood me in good stead in the classroom.

 

That rapport also led to me being called upon to chaperone the boys’ volleyball team when we went to the provincial finals one year.  In those days teachers used their own vehicles and with three or four cars we headed off to Eaglesham, north of Edmonton.  We left early on a Friday morning and made our lunch stop in Red Deer.  After finishing the meal I headed to the washroom and inadvertently walked in our best spiker, a tall strapping farm boy, who was putting his money into the machine that dispenses protection for males in intimate encounters.  The young man turned bright red and quickly left while I was at a total loss for words. 

 

The young man wasn’t in my car but I’m sure each of us pondered how we would deal with this incident after the next leg of our journey.   I mentally prepared the lecture that I would deliver.  When we arrived in Edmonton, I was surprised to see him come up to me, but he boldly announced:

            “Mr. Nederveen.  I put a whole dollar into that machine and it was the worst and toughest bubble gum that I ever bought!”

 

                                                                     And that’s my chalkdust memory.

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