School life (1930 - 40)

They were hard working days but mostly happy ones. Dad must have worked hard at the quarries, impressing his employers with his ability to handle all types of machinery, sharpening tools on site without having to send them to a smith as often, dismantling moving and re-erecting cranes etc. and his knowledge of being able to extract the best seams of quality stone. He hadn’t stayed long at Mallinson’s, worked at other quarries and then settled at J. Wimpenny & Co. of Spurn Point.

As each of we three children reached 5 years old, we began attending Crosland Moor Council School. This meant walking from either end of Crosland Hill Road, down Tom Lane at one end, or Hob Lane and The Level at the other which met at the tram terminus junction with Dryclough Road; and thence down Crosland Moor Road towards Town and the school, only about 3 miles there and back but long enough for a child twice a day. We never thought of using the tram as we couldn’t afford the 4d fare anyway. The school was a large stone building set back from the main road, fully surrounded with walls, railings and gates, playgrounds tarmacked, a playing field, and over the wall, St. Lukes lunatic asylum and workhouse as a reminder of what could happen if we didn’t behave and learn our lessons.

At 8.55 a whistle or a handbell signalled us to line up, girls separate from boys, in classes, no talking, backs straight, and march into the main assembly hall for morning prayers, the National Anthem and a hymn or a rousing British Empire song. On “Empire Day’ there would be a large Union Jack displayed and flags of our dominions. On the Royal Silver Jubilee Day we were each given a small mug with the King and Queen pictured on it. ( In those years the first verse of the National Anthem was sung at the close of any public gathering, in cinemas at the end of a show the lights would go up and everyone stood politely and sung before leaving; also when the days broadcasting on the wireless ended, our Anthem would be played. (mind you, that was when the BBC stopped all broadcasts after the evening news for one hour whilst families put the children to bed). After assembly we filed into our respective classrooms, chorused "Good Morning" to the teacher, and were then allowed to sit down while she called the Register.

One of the pleasures I looked forward to at school was the free milk. The glass bottles held 1/3 pint and were sealed with a waxed cardboard disc with a punchable hole central enabling a straw to be used. The teacher was helped in the control and issue of this mid-morning treat by a ‘ monitor ‘. When classmates were being picked for various jobs I liked to get the job of milk monitor as there was a chance that some child didn’t want their milk and I could drink two while others dawdled over one. A job I didn’t like was that of ink-monitor. There were too many risks of accidents and subsequent punishment. Ink was delivered to each classroom in gallon earthenware bottles, and had to be dispensed firstly into an enamel jug then at every desk to carefully fill a tiny inkwell pot in each desk. No matter how much blotting paper you used to remove a spilt drop a stain would remain as evidence. Every fortnight or thereabouts the inkwells had to be collected on a tray conveyed to the sink, washed and rinsed, usually resulting in inkstained fingers and disapproval. The desks, usually in pairs, were wooden boxes on a cast iron framework with narrow seat and backrest. The hinged top sloped towards you from a grooved ledge in which at one end the inkwell sat in a rebated socket. Maybe one still exists with my initials carved in, but back to front to escape detection, neatly done with a penknife I had received as a Christmas present, using its new sharpness to carve neat letters, stained with ink and ‘aged’. Our pens were a pencil sized stick with a metal clip at one end into which a copper or more often steel nib could be fixed. Blotters

came in large sheets which had to reduced to page size pieces and one piece to each child issued. Even with care, blots and smudges occurred and a completed exercise book free of such blemishes would be highly praised.

For punishment each teacher had a slender bamboo cane, but more often minor classroom offences would result in rapped knuckles with a ruler, the preference by females, but male teachers resorted to the cane at any opportunity, delivering up to 6 swipes across the culprits’ outstretched hand.

I once went a whole week without being caned. Mostly it was for playground trouble as I was fairly obedient in class except when nudged, taunted or pelleted by ‘enemies’. Perhaps because I could handle myself fairly well in a playground fight I seemed to be picked on by older pupils, or elder brothers of previous combatants, but even if we avoided detection by a teacher, a cut lip, bleeding nose and such resulted in 6 swipes for fighting.