My Infant School
Phyllis M. Brawn
Written September 24^th, 1973

I was prepared for my entry to the Infants’ School when I was taught the alphabet before the age of three years, when our neighbour decided to take me with her own little girl. However, for some reason our start was postponed until the ripe old age of five years when I also said the alphabet backwards, whatever advantage that was to my education. It was very early in these infant schooldays that I learned what an unfair world I had entered. The Headmistress one day had a semi-circle of us standing with our reading books open. I don’t know why we were standing, but I know the schools were crowded in those days too. I had noticed a tear on the page of my book which was soon noticed by this very tall mistress who pounced upon me and slapped my arm very hard. I could have forgotten the sting on my arm and forgiven it, but my feelings were badly hurt at being accused of tearing a book. I was careful with books as I liked them so much and possessed one given to me on my First Birthday, the flyleaf said so. I was much too timid to speak up and say I was innocent of this crime, and would I have been believed? Many years later at a meeting of some kind, a small group of friends decided to go to the ‘Pictures’ (second house). My ex-Headmistress was among them and I could see the funny side of things as I remembered her unjust punishment of me, and here we were trotting off to the ‘pictures’ together. I eventually reached the top class of the Infant School where I enjoyed the feeling of being able to compose and write sentences. Our teacher was Mrs Miller, a tall thin lady who wore her hair piled high, and high boned collars to her blouses and dresses, which were fashionable at that time. She ate two-pennyworth of finger biscuits for her lunch each morning; they were fetched from a local small shop and Post Office usually by a boy. We had partners then for our two-seater desks, and being a timid child I was lucky to have a quiet little boy called ‘Bertie’ next to me who also liked to get on with his lessons. Little did I think in those days of Mrs Miller’s class that my partner Bertie would grow up to be the world famous novelist H. E. Bates.

Our first class in the ‘Big School’ was in a room divided by a glass partition through which we could hear noise from the next room, especially when their teacher was aroused to slapping on the desk with his cane. Our teacher was then Miss Source who surprised me one morning by producing the skeleton of a fish she had eaten for her breakfast. I don’t know what the lesson was called or remember what I learnt, but I remember relating it with enthusiasm to my parents, and fancy my mother made some sounds of disgust.

During this period in these classrooms the Royal Welch Fusiliers were around and marched with their band past the school; and all of us were agog to stand up and look out of the window. I believe there were some exciting moments before it eventually died down.

On reading one of H. E. Bates’ short stories many years later, the glass partitioned classrooms, some of their occupants, and doings therein were vividly recalled from the past.

Extract from memories of the 1940s - Mollie Smith (nee Houghton)

I wanted to go to school and loved it. Children in Crabb Street would collect together to walk to school and others from Manton Road and Roberts Street would join in.

Miss Childs was the first teacher and I think we began to learn our letters in sand trays on the floor. We then progressed to slates and chalk. My very close old school friends cannot remember that so possibly my memory is not as good as I thought it was. Next I remember brown paper and chalks. I also remember being taught to use the abacus. We were made to drink orange juice and cod liver oil from recycled paste pots. Some children actually loved cod liver oil; I hated it. Also in the afternoon we had to lay on camp beds for a rest. Some children actually did go to sleep and had to be woken up. Sometimes the air raid siren would go and then it was out to the shelters.

Fifty-one to a class
I attended Newton Road Infants School in Rushden from September 1954, moving to the Junior School there three years later. At five years of age I was so enthusiastically keen to learn, I soaked up knowledge like blotting paper.

It was not only the learning, but the routine and discipline of school life which helped us to have respect and understanding of our peers and elders. There were 51 pupils in our class, and we sat in the position of our examination places. First places sat at the back of the classroom which gave me an incentive to do extremely well in my examinations. Tables were learnt parrot fashion, as were many lessons.

Schooldays seemed carefree, until we reached the age for the 11+ exam. At the age of 11 years in 1960, I attended Wellingborough County High School. The school uniform was bottle green and white, which I felt proud to wear, complete with blazer and boater type hat. We travelled to school in fleets of United Counties buses. The school appeared huge to us first formers. There were excellent facilities for sport, tennis courts, hockey pitches and its own private swimming pool. We were all expected to learn to swim, and to obtain as many 'O' Levels and 'A' Levels as possible. The staff were excellent teachers.

The elderly biology teacher would leave on the blackboard the answers to our surprise tests from the previous class, and would then be so excited when we all obtained full marks.

I am unable to conclude my memories without reference to school dinners. Lumpy cold custard, lumpy mashed potatoes and gristly mince - all for one shilling per day.

Jennifer Tite