More School Days

This is a foggy old picture, but I have so few. Obviously someone left me alone at the table to grab the camera. I'm sure this is where my love of cooking, baking, preserving, my love of old dishes all came from. Also, I'm probably making a huge mess.

My next four school years were spent in the "new" school. Not all my memories are bright and shiny, but some sure are.

Just walking in to the new building is a memory I'll never forget. Up that concrete walkway we marched, pushed along by other students, full of curiosity. No more muddy feet here. You jumped off the bus on pavement, and headed for the walkways. Never touched the grass. Mr. Francis (Willie) White was our first Principal and he was greeting us at the door and inside, everything was so bright! Long rows of lights everywhere, and a wide shining corridor, if you don't mind. Outside every classroom door was a row of hooks for our coats and a shelf below for our boots. After we got off the bus and herded in to the school, we all became separated from our siblings and some of our friends. Only one grade to a room? Wow! Was that really necessary? Each classroom could have easily housed our entire student body in the old school. But of course, we were forgetting that there was three or four new districts that were all going through the same upheaval. Everything was so confusing. Where was Mrs. Chaisson?

School bus rides! Every day, no more walking in the snow, rain or cold. And my first bus driver was Walter Burke, our next door neighbor, driving a shitty little second hand bus we called "The Bread Basket" because it was so small. But it fit all us Lower Road kids, and that was all we needed. And I wasn't nervous, since I knew Walter and by now Butch was now in school too, so I wasn't really alone. But it sure looked funny parked in the lineup outside the school beside all the other bright Bluebird buses.

Of course, I was assigned a new teacher, it was Mrs. Kay MacIsaac for Grade 4, and we loved her. She was so gentle and patient. But even the teachers had to get used to doing things a new way. The classroom was so smartly appointed, lots of lights, big huge windows that opened to let fresh air in, and Mrs. MacIsaac believed in fresh air! Lots of it! Bulletin boards in every room. That was something new for all of us, including the teachers. There was a teacher's closet in the corner, a globe on her shiny new desk, and of course maps everywhere. The heat came out of something called "radiators" that were under the windows and were controlled from a little box on the wall. Was this Starship Enterprise? Oh wait, that probably hadn't been invented yet, if you had a T.V.

When class started, after "O Canada" on the PA system (where was that coming from?) and saying the Lord's prayer, the door was closed, with just the long narrow window to see the rest of the school through.

Even using the bathroom was an experience. There was a boy's bathroom and a girl's bathroom side by side, separated by the Janitor's closet, and no one knew how to figure out how to wash their hands. There was a row of beautiful stalls, very private (but of course, the outhouse was too) and painted pink, but this huge metal bowl in front of the mirrors. What was that? Until someone stepped a little too close and warm water sprayed out, we didn't realize that it was a communal sink. You stepped on the pedal, water came out at the proper temperature, the liquid soap was handy, and away we go. I can only imagine how much soap, paper towel, and water was wasted in the novelty of it all. Talk about "hands off" convenience and cleanliness. This was way before all that touchless automation came into play in public buildings. We were country before country was cool! But this was 1966 or so, lots of people didn't even have running water in their houses yet, let alone a set up like that!

Oh my god, what a cute kid!!

There were so many new people to meet; a lot of us kids were pretty shy and kept to our old friends at first. We soon made new friends, lots that we've kept to this day.

And other districts did things differently, but we all learned from each other. The following year, several more communities agreed to send their kids to the nearest consolidated school and that was in Rollo Bay. Amalgamation was a touchy subject, as it still is, no one wants to give up their way of doing things, whether it be a school, a church or a community. But in order to move ahead and give their kids better opportunities, the government of the day consolidated school districts to house numerous areas, but wait a minute. Rollo Bay Consolidated Elementery was full, where were these new students going to go? These additional districts had to be housed in the new school, so by now we were chocablock and cheek-to-jowl. To get us over that bump, mobile classrooms were brought in to house the overflow, some classes were in the gym, and some even in the church across the street!

We had a music teacher, whose only job was to teach us music, reading sheet music, learning a little theory, and it was her job to design and organize the concerts! That alone was magic.

We had a physical education teacher, who taught us all kinds of sports, I was in heaven! Gymnastics. Track. Orienteering. I loved them all, including basketball and volleyball. If I remember correctly, David Mullally was my first phys ed teacher. And he was busy with this school full of country kids who really never had had enough players all the same age to field a team of any kind. Well, he had them now!

We had an art teacher, and I can't tell you what that does to a child, to have someone foster art. I didn't even know what crayon pastels were, or pads of colored sheets of paper. Did someone let me off the bus and I entered a new world? Sr. Carol McManus was my art teacher, and she was so sweet.

There was even a library, albeit in it's infancy at the new school, and it was supplemented by the highly anticipated "Bookmobile." I loved jumping on that bus, taking my turn to choose a book that I could take home and read and then trade for another. It was another idea way ahead of it's time. For someone like me that loved and lived to read, I couldn't believe it. Even today, to step into a library, the smell just forces you back to that childhood experience. It's such a strong recall.

The buses took us to the rink in Souris once a week in the wintertime to expose us to that facility and I'll add more about that later.

Sometimes the nuns presented slide shows in the gym from countries all over the world that they had visited and taught. It was thrilling.

It begs the question: how far have we really advanced when a lot of schools either have no structured art, music or phys ed programs, or struggle to keep the ones they have? I would be the first to agree that all subjects taught are essential. Math, Sciences, Computers, shop, all these are what we've come to expect. Art, Music, Phys Ed, and Home Ec shouldn't be considered extras, in my mind they are essential too.

It didn't take us long to get settled in, and little Nova was nine years old and full of curiosity. I was never the top student, but I was always close because I loved learning. I loved reading. I just soaked it all in. My grandmother was a voracious reader who believed that if you could read, but didn't, then you were no better off than someone who couldn't read at all. Wise words indeed.

It wasn't long before the inevitable. Having to figure out a way to answer that dreaded question. "Who is your father?"

The teachers had to identify us of course, they didn't know us. Those first few weeks, it kind of took me by surprise. Row after row, the teacher, whether it was Mrs. MacIsaac in the home room, or any of the other teachers, each had to identify us until they knew us. How I squirmed in my seat, dreading my turn. I never felt so lonesome and alone as in those moments. I was just a kid, but this was such a trauma, having to speak up in front of a room full of strangers. I kept my eyes to the window, trying to shrink in my seat, hoping they would pass over me.

Beverley Chaisson was always just before me, alphabetically, so I knew exactly when it was coming.

"Next, Nova Chaisson. What is your father's name?"

If I could have gotten any smaller, I'd have disappeared. "My father isn't living." would be my pitiful reply.

"I can't hear that, would you speak up?"

So I'd have to repeat it. Somehow I felt ashamed. I don't know why. I often wondered, as an adult, if my mother had been part of my life, some of this misery could have been avoided. Wouldn't a trip to the school to speak to the Administrators have been sufficient to keep kids like me from having to go through that evey day for weeks? They say that stuff makes you stronger. I don't know. But it makes you a survivor.

One other student who was in my class had to endure the same questioning. It was Ronnie MacDonald, who had also lost his father at a young age, and he too, was called on with the same question, and he answered it the same way. Except his questions ended with his mother's name. Mine continued with "Okay, what is your mother's name then?" I would have to answer with "Jeanette. But I don't live with her."

"Well, who looks after you?" And I would have to explain Momma, and give her name. Thank god it finally stopped. Even as a kid, you can only endure so much pity and adults shaking their heads.

I wonder did all adults back then assume kids had no ears or feelings?