3. Rosebush – 1941 to 2019

Desks were screwed to the floor with two students seated side by side. Small desks occupied the front of the room. Larger desks were set in the back half. The surfaces of the larger desks were interesting – a heritage feature perhaps or an early form of graffiti – perhaps the original being the work of some of our trustees when they were callow youngsters. Our forties Twitter was pretty mild and usually covert finding its way into the insides of the desks, X loves Y ,or Z is a pig, etc. The tops were less verbal and frequently adorned with intricate geometrical designs – lovingly retraced – deeper and deeper each year in spite of annual varnishing. I was once caught running my pencil absent- mindedly (while concentrating on an assignment, of course) “But” said I, “I didn’t make it”. “If the shoe fits, wear it”, said my teacher unsympathetically. I’ve never forgotten that. I think of it every time I go into a shoe store and grab the first shoe that fits. I have a large foot and finding a nice shoe that fits isn’t easy. But that is not the lesson I learned that day.

Water was hauled daily to a “water fountain” at the back of the room. Health inspectors of today would have had a field day there– grimy fountain, grubby cups, surely a great opportunity for all sorts of bacteria, impetigo, hepatitis, beriberi, and ‘Lord Knows What”. The school nurse visited once a year to check for nits and to inspect dirty finger nails. One year she sent me home for one day because I had a temperature of 100ᵒFahrenheit. I felt fine and had a pleasant day reading on top of a comfortable haystack. Yet there was a small sense of guilt. I “never missed school”.

Be aware that the following story may contain material that could be offensive to some readers.

Visits to toilets were regimented. You had to disclose your intentions – one finger for pee – two for poo. Presumably this was so the teacher could estimate the proper length of your stay in these aromatic closets. But who would have wanted to stay very long? In fact it is nothing short of miraculous that there weren’t more trails of unfinished business, as occupants fled prematurely. In the summer, with no ventilation, inhalation was devastating. In the winter, olfactory sense somewhat deadened by the cold, we coped with the risk of freezing vital parts and destroying our chances for immortality.

We kept charts of bird sightings, and brought in samples of flowers as their season came. We collected birds’ eggs, and in the fall reams of leaves for tree recognition and art projects. We learned to read by the phonics method and were rehearsed mathematically through drill. We could pass or fail and there was no summer school to help us avoid repeating a grade. We could be strapped and our parents would not lodge a protest with trustees. To mention the event at home was to invite a repeat performance.

Every year there was a Christmas concert. I don’t remember much about these – except one – in Grade Two. There was another kind of drill for concerts – the kind you performed all dressed up in crepe paper costumes. This one was called “Alice Blue Gown”. Inevitably I was incapable of the steps and manoeuvers needed to perform in this presentation. My teacher was undaunted. No would be left out. She found a place for me in the centre of the circle and then I, too, was bedecked with tiers and tiers of light blue rustling crepe paper. I sang the title song. The opening line trills “In my sweet little Alice Blue Gown “ – very humorous – I was a large child and here I was bundled in crepe paper singing about sweet little Alice blue gown. This should have led to a great operatic career. Didn’t though. I never made it to The Met.

No doubt every Rosebush graduate can think of numerous adventures that played out in the small, unpainted, clapboard, one room school of my childhood. Rosebush taught me many important lessons many of which were not in books and sometimes the lessons were unintended.