The temperature was 18 below that morning as I set out from Rattleyrow to go to ‘The Ole Brigus Academy,’ up the harbor, next door to the Court House, the post office, the jail-house, and the town’s police residence.
The snow made my ears happy to hear the crunch beneath my feet as I crossed over ” Kings Bridge.”My warm mitts designed to keep my fingers from freezing, today served the dual purpose of preventing icicles from forming on my running nose. My steps became slower as I approached Aggie Spracklin’s house on the left. The big tin ice-cream advertising Dickey Burke’s newsstand and variety store shivered in the frosty morning air. Just a couple of hundred yards remained. …and then, and then, the school! And today, of all the other challenging days of the week, this was Wednesday, and that meant the jumpin’ spelling-bee!
With a concerted effort, I forced myself deeper into my extra long stocking cap, knit for me by my dearly loved older sister, Louise, my commiserator in chief on all such occasions. From deep inside my stocking cap I tried to recall all the instructions she gave me the night before. Then I heard the be lying sound of the School Bell, wanting me to believe it was as far away as it sounded inside my stocking cap. But a quick peek confirmed it, Murray Moores was standing one side of the open door, shaking that brass colored bell that I hated like nothing else!
A sharp turn to the right brought me into Miss Irene Bartlett’s classroom that housed grades five, six and seven. The pot-bellied stove was blushing red, and the kettle on its top was already singing; thereby announcing the promise of hot chocolate ( Cocoa Malt) later in the morning! It was kind of comforting gesture, like that a prisoner receives just before his execution! I knew this pattern well. As soon as the last dregs of “cocoa malt” were drained, and the mugs tucked away for household cleansing, came the dreaded announcement. ” Grade five class will now come for their spelling-bee. The perky ones, who bristled like roosters making ready to crow, pushed themselves to the front of the line. I was not one of them! Miss Bartlett identified my position as number seven. Not bad I comforted myself, there are eight others below me! The only thing is; anyone who drifts south of his present location was blackballed and relegated to the realm of the less popular among his peers! There were scarcely any changes in positions in the upper half as the trial proceeded. Then Number SEVEN is on the witness stand. ” Spell “RECEIVE” came the command! I froze! What was the rule Louise rehearsed with me last night? Was it “i” before “e” or was it ” e” before “i”? The agony was palpable, and the perky ones just above me began to twitch and shake and excitedly wave their hands in the air! The silence was excruciating! ” RECEIVE” Miss Bartlett’s voice insisted! With determination, I began ” R-E-C-I-E -V-E.” Before the last vowel was out of my mouth, the girl next in line spelled it correctly. And slowly I moved to position number eight!
This childhood memory finds a most eloquent expression by one who shared a very similar experience in his childhood. John Greenleaf Whittier’s poem “IN SCHOOL DAYS”profoundly moves me still.. An audio version of that poem follows.
EDITORIAL NOTE
1. The Poem ” In School Days” is written by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45487/in-school-days
2. I apologize for the quality of the audio presentation. As is plainly evident, no technical assistance was sought!