Ah, Those School Years

Ah, Those School Days
Memories: “The library of the mind.”--Francis Fauvel-Gourand;

And so it is. What a library we have in our head! Just think of it--our entire lives are stored there, what has happened to us, what we’ve thought, everything we’ve seen, heard, felt, and done. The trick is to access it. I’ve read that each time we retrieve something from the archives of our mind, that memory becomes more accessible in the future. Not so buried by all the rest, I suppose.

School day memories are among my favorites these days--I’ve noticed that events the most remote in time are the most delightful to recall. At first one thinks one can’t remember much, but once you get started reminiscing, one thing leads to another . . .

My first year of school, at age 6 (kindergarten had not been thought of yet), was dominated by the accompaniment of my big sister Gail. I felt so privileged and protected! When we entered the school building in the middle of our small town, I went down the hall to my room in the elementary section and my big sister climbed the stairs to the high school. After a few steps I always looked back, for one last reassurance I suppose. I was then on my own, but I knew she would be there to walk me out when the day was over. Our sister Melba was married that year.

My father worked as pumper for an oil production company, and we often moved, usually spurred by the possibility of a better house or cleaner water in the new place. Pumpers maintained a section of oil wells, and when another section was available, could request a move. After that first year of school, we moved quite a distance away. My sister rode the bus to high school in another small town, and, weather permitting, I usually walked the mile or so to my country 2-room school.

Although it was two rooms, all students, first grade through eighth, were in one room. Perhaps we didn’t have enough students, or maybe they could only afford one teacher. I feel we younger ones benefited from this arrangement, as we could hear every lesson that was presented by the teacher, no matter what grade or subject it was. I looked forward to the time when I too could officially study some of those fascinating things.

When the weather was pleasant, the walk to school was most enjoyable. I wanted to get started early, so I’d have time to throw rocks in the creek and watch the circles, or try to see the songbirds I heard, or pick wildflowers off the road a bit. Sometimes a cottontail rabbit would run across the road, and I would try to see where their home was. I never seemed to get to school late, which now seems astonishing, what with all I did on the way.

Lunches were not provided by the school in those days, so we carried our own. I felt I had the best lunches, as most kids had rather plain lunchmeat sandwiches, and while I occasionally had my favorite chicken salad sandwich with crisp leaf lettuce from our garden (wrapped separately from the sandwich), more often than not I’d have leftover fried chicken, or potato salad and a hard-boiled egg. Peanut butter sandwiches were a special treat, especially when a banana accompanied it, to be sliced and added. Sometimes there was a small sliver of apple pie or a brownie. I had lots of offers to trade lunches, but I don’t think I ever did.

Winters were not much fun, as Kansas weather could not be depended on to rain or snow only on the weekends. If the weather was really bad, I was to wait at school until Daddy could come get me. One particularly nasty snowstorm came in one afternoon when I was 8 or 9, and the teacher decided to let school out early so we could get home before the snow got too deep. I bundled up and headed confidently out, as there was only a couple of inches of the pretty stuff, and I disliked causing extra work for my Daddy. I could surprise him by getting home by myself.

Well, the best-laid plans, as they say. The snow was blowing and coming down in what no doubt was a true blizzard. With my head down to keep the snow out of my face, I kept walking, occasionally wandering into the ditch before I realized I wasn’t keeping a straight line up the road. But I very determinedly continued. About halfway home, there was a small hill, and as I struggled up it, I would slide back a couple of steps with each step forward. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was beginning to get a little scared.

Then I heard a strange muffled noise, and I raised my head to see what it was. Wonder of wonders, there was my Daddy on our horse Brownie, clipping along at a pretty good gait. Daddy was a little upset at finding me knee-deep in the snow, when I was supposed to be waiting at the school. He got me on the horse behind him, took off his coat and put it around both of us, and Brownie got us home in good shape. Mother had homemade soup steaming on the stove, with fresh-made warm cornbread, and it was hard to remember I was in trouble for disobeying orders.

I attended that school on the prairie into the sixth grade, when we moved again, to a farm and house of our own. I finished school through high school graduation at the same town school where I had begun first grade. But those years are another story.

Top Photo: Sisters Gail on left, Melba on right, little Carol front center.

Second Photo: My parents, Clarence and Ruth McGhee

Story ID:	1421
Written by:	Carol J Garriott (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Organization:	home/retired
Story type:	Family History
Location:	Madison Kansas USA
Year:	1943
Person:	Carol McGhee