Primary School by Margaret Doull
The shape of my school
one square room
coats and bags
in a side porch
an oblong front porch for lessons
and the headmaster’s large desk
A country school
a small school
a mainly boys’ school
a primers to standard 6 school
a solve your own problems school
Rugby
Seven–aside barefoot running fast our team could win
at practice us girls the opposition learning dummy passes
someone taking a mark with a stinging leather ball
Teasing
You be the patient
just one prick with a holly leaf
you’ve germs on your tongue
your turn in the electric chair
ring the phone to make you startle
Hide-and- seek
some time for being alone
safe-home by the Kōwhai tree
crashing into the wire netting
surrounding the tennis courts
Co-operative Games
games came in cycles
for weeks on end;
marbles, barbadoor,
hopscotch, skipping.
We skipped with a long rope
‘wash the dishes, dry the dishes
turn the dishes over’ at ‘over’
I always flinched and lost track
of the swinging rope
working together moving the jungle gym
helped by girls and little ones
the big boys lifted heavy pieces into place
Fierce Games
Marbles could be quite competitive
but the fiercest game we played was war
stinging blows on bare legs
from the bullet shaped seed pods
of our own magnolia Rustica Rubra
Day Dreams
a different childhood
female company Little Women
real snow not the pure white ball flowers
of the Virburnum tree too fragile to climb
blooms out of reach
Competition
We competed like fury;
climbing along the Lawsoniana wind break without sliding off down to the ground
indoors we raced through maths and spelling no idea that I’d be the only one to go to Varsity
Reading
I always believed I could read
so embarrassed at matching the wrong words to the page
once I’d learnt to attend to the print not the pictures
I heard others reading just telling them the word.
No teaching skills needed.
I helped the primers with circles and posts,
a sentence using the day’s letter;
Elephants don’t ever eat eggs.
Mother
Our pride and our embarrassment
always late driving us to school
if only she were ‘like other mums’
who let their children walk or bike.
If only she weren’t different
she didn’t really belong, played the piano
read and relaxed in the afternoons
wearing an understated fashionable frock
Swimming
Crossing James Bridge as a child
I regularly imagined a swimming
lesson in the river below the bridge but
the school pool was built the Summer
I started school
the pool took days to fill
ice-cold water pumped from the well
we’d dip our hands in to see if the sun
had warmed it enough for us to swim
the pebbles in the concrete pressing into my thighs
as I waited already shivering for the signal to jump in.
Certificates set out the goals; floating five yards, amazed to have reached the wall
grazing finger tips, flicking water from my face, a caul of salty mucus
a starfish with bubbles and open eyes, lying spread on my back.
I enjoyed the steps towards turning my face to breathe
but never got that next sticker for swimming a length
I stayed holding to the bar practising breathing, pulling forward to make waves
ring-a-ring- a- rosy, sitting on the bottom looking up at the teacher
arms stretched forward to the flutter board kicking to make the water bubble
working towards my own goals; eyes stinging with chlorine, nose full of tears
watching the confident swimmers diving and showing off their advanced skills.
practising life saving (Holga Neilson) on the front lawn;
lie the patient on his side, check the tongue’s
forward. Arms under face, press the back;
a combination of clear airways and CPR
a cure for choking, perhaps. Learnt so earnestly
I could still pass on the instructions.
Yes it was a lawn, mown by the boys once a week
while us girls had sewing lessons; hand sewing and hand mowing.
pot holders from sacking cross- stitched in wool,
tray cloths, slips and panties (my mother’s suggestion)
daintily handmade but why not ‘machine them’ the others said.
Beginnings
Vaguely I remember
my first days
the bell ringing, lining up outside
April Fool’s Day
thumb tacks on chairs
‘smack me’ labels on backs
sneaking out to knock
on the class-room door
praise for the cleverest trick
Scrubbing out
a task for everyone; gathering wood
heating the water on a fire out the back
hot water swirling over the wooden floor
older children scrubbing, hopping out of the way
younger ones rinsing with cold water
Equality
I remember vividly the smell, padded
leather gloves tied on although
I only had one turn at the boxing bag.
We all could try new things
knew who was good at what.
Belonging
We looked at everyone because we knew them.
No need to modestly or politely lower eyes
nor need for eye-contact when we recognised
every detail; shirt, shorts, jersey, fresh haircut
or fringe trim. We belonged to Bainham school.
Illustration:
Sampler portrait of Maryrose Doull as a child, stitched by her mother
