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.

Phyllis M. Brawn
Written September 24^th, 1973