It wasn’t far to school and I don’t ever remember being taken there. I always went with my sister Doreen and the other kids. Mam just pushed us out of the door into the stream of sad kids heading towards the school and I assumed that’s where we’d arrive. If she pushed us out and the kids weren’t trudging past, we knew it was a holiday so we went back inside. Mam would look out to check and then let us stay. Otherwise it was off to school. On the way to school we passed through a derelict building we called the Mission. Apparently the demolition of this Primitive Methodist Mission Chapel had been started by a mini whirlwind in 1922. Obviously a sign from God that Thornhill Road didn’t need converting. It was here that we often played at night, lighting fires and assisting in God’s work by further demolishing the building. The spirit of Oliver Cromwell was with us. They now call it vandalism.
After passing through the Mission it was an uphill walk to the nursery. The nursery was at the lower end of the junior school. The entrance was at the top of a huge flight of stone steps. With my little legs it was like climbing a huge Ziggurat. Then when we got to the top what did we do? All I remember is, we were given cod liver oil capsules to stop us getting rickets and, I think, a red pill like a ‘Smarty.’ Then we were put on small camp beds and made to pretend we were asleep. Women walked up and down the ranks of beds looking for any signs of cheating. The women then clapped their hands and we all pretended to wake up and they sent us home. The joy of the kids running home with their Mac’s like cloaks fastened at the neck with one button, because we all knew heroes in a hurry always wear cloaks.
From the nursery school we went on to the junior infants in the main school. In the morning when we arrived in the school playground, we’d hang about doing whatever the season dictated; marbles, conkers, dead leg (kneeing someone on the thigh hard enough for the leg to go dead and they’d fall over) or cock fighting (a game which involved avoiding being kicked in the crutch). A teacher would come out of the school furtively and watch silently for any naughtinesses. (Incidentally the word, Naughtinesses, is a crossword puzzle clue for a three-letter word and it’s not SIN, but it is to do with saving souls.)
When the teacher was absolutely sure we were all fully occupied and happy in what we were doing and we had also completely forgotten we were at school, then, and not until then, she blew her ‘Acme Thunderer’ whistle. Instantly everyone froze as if in a photograph. No movement was allowed till the second whistle. We were kept in these poses and watched to make sure there was absolutely no movement, because it could be a while between the two whistles you quickly learnt it was a good idea, on hearing the first whistle, to strike a pose you could sustain. Preferably a pose that was not too exotic with both feet on the ground. Lying down was suspect and was not allowed otherwise when the whistle went, the yard would have look as if a bomb had gone off. I think the whole exercise was originally an early type of health test. If you fell over, you were a possible contagious case. So it was a good idea to spot the sickly before they got into the building.The school didn’t use my Granny’s doorstep Dettol dousing method of preventing germs entering the building so they had to be extra careful.
When the ‘All Seeing Eye’ was satisfied that all had been sufficiently Medusa’d. The second whistle sounded and we all, in absolute silence, scurried to our classes' line. When queuing, usually the idea is to be at the front, but on these occasions the reverse was true. No one wanted to be directly under the eye of the teachers. Much discreet positioning and tactics were involved. Suddenly lots of shoelaces needed retying and noses had to be picked. Kids’ brains went blank and they walked in the wrong direction like the Zombie Dead. These skills came in useful for some later in life, when they used them to avoided being first at the pub bar to buy a round of drinks. Eventually, we would all settle down and we’d look up and there would be Miss Milnes, the head mistress. She liked to tell us about cannibals and talked with relish about eating chubby children’s bottoms. She’d silently emerged from the depths of the school while we were doing the 'great silent pose'. The staff were all now standing like Indians round the rim of the canyon watching over us unarmed cowboys and girls. She’d nod to her lieutenant with the whistle. This meant she was taking over. Then she would address us, “Good morning children.” “Good morning Miss Milnes,” we’d all reply with one voice.
