By Nan Donovan, columnist
Do you often think back over the years to memories that astounded you and chuckle when the memory is a bit silly today?
Recently I was researching ancestors for my children — where their relatives came from, what was their occupation and everything that would interest them. I was searching for the name Smith when a memory I hadn’t thought of in a long time crossed my mind.
Her name was Clara Smith, no relation, but a teacher I had in the first grade.
Talk about a long time ago, the year was 1945. I started out in a one-room school, most of the schools were one room in those days. Eight grades in one room. There were only two students in the first grade, none in the second and four in the third. The total for the eight grades, 19 students. The seventh grade had no students and the eighth had four students.
Why, you ask? Through my many conversations through the years, I’ve gotten some answers that seem to answer this. You were only required to have a sixth grade education. Even if you enjoyed school, sixth grades, that was all.
If you were ambitious and wanted to go to college, you had to go through the eighth grade.
I liked school. I would listen to Mrs. Smith as she taught the other grades and I was curious. I would stay after school and ask her questions, which apparently weren’t of any concern to a first grader and if the questions were explained to her, she probably wouldn’t understand them anyway.
But Mrs. Smith always seemed tired, washed out. When her husband came to pick her up after school, there was never any conversation between them. Why?
I found the answer to that question by “snooping” in on the conversations of my parents and some of their friends. Mrs. Smith and her husband, I don’t recall his name, never spoke to one another. Never!
They were about middle age, her with her very serious look, never smiling, never laughing. In school if she had to punish someone, she would tell them to write “I WILL Not Do It Again” 50 times, or if the deed was really critical, 100 times, and it had to be done in school. I don’t know what her idea of that was. Did she think as much as they hated writing it over and over, they wouldn’t do it again? As far as I could see, it didn’t work. Thing was, her students respected her.
So the only thing that interested her was school. The summer months? Who knows. But there was a constant interest in her and her husband. All summer the neighbors kept their eye on their comings and goings. Three times the whole summer she got in the car with him and off they went. Where? The rumors were mainly laughable so I won’t mention them, but after all this time I’ve had a reasonable excuse.
They went to the bank to cash her check, and to my way of thinking that was their problem. He did nothing, she had to work to support them. Imagine being in a room with 19 kids all day. It probably got to her.
Well this is good stuff to write a mystery. If the right person could put it together, who knows, they could make a good piece of change. I think I’ll look into it.
Till next time, be safe.
“The Right Age” is a weekly column written for senior citizens by 84-year-old Nan Donovan, who has lived in the Shenandoah Valley for 45 years. She has worked for newspapers, as well as radio and television stations, including WLCC. She moved to the Valley from Pennsylvania.
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