Reminiscences of a Sole-Charge Teacher Fifty Years ago _____________________________ By Iris M Reed (Nee Parker) Although half a century has passed since I was appointed to teach (for only eighteen months) in the Hoe-o-Tainui School and my memory is dimming with age, one feature stands out very clearly in my mind: that I had been very happy working with such good and co-operative children and parents. School opened later than the usual appointed date probably because of an epidemic prevailing. The school building and furniture was new and fresh, the children new, even some to one another, and I was a new teacher, fresh from Training College in Wellesley Street, Auckland, and I was bursting with the youthful enthusiasm of one facing a new venture. I was fully aware that those youngsters were somewhat at my mercy and I was determined to do my utmost for their good in every possible way. I had every standard from 1 – 6 and four grades of primers, which of course necessitated long hours after school, preparing work for the next day. It took quite some organising but the working spirit of the school was excellent. Probably over half of the children were Maori and some beginners could not speak English. However, by forbidding the speaking of Maori (only in the school grounds) we soon resolved that problem. I also forbade Pakeha children from speaking “broken English”, a custom very prevalent at that time, even among adults. Now fifty years later, some Maoris speak such perfect English as to put many Pakehas to shame, but alas on the other hand, they have forgotten their own language. I think that, with a little prodding, I can remember most of the children. I fondly remember Waki Kiri, a big senior lad who one day, long after school had dismissed, came back into the school to offer me a choice “tit-bit” he had earned by helping Dick Powell in the new store next door. Another time a bright and lively li8ttle Maori girl named Lucy Simon and others brought to me a big Hu-hu grub, about two inches long, which they had found in a large rotting log close to the school. When I recoiled at this living "monstrosity" Lucy animatedly assured me. "“food to eat, sweet, Miss Parker, sw-e-e-t."” Often after school, some of the children used to ask me to trim their hair and I enjoyed doing it. I used to get the Herald paper which always arrived at least one day late. On one particular occasion when the Drapery Stores in Hamilton were holding their Sales, Mrs Clothier (with whom I happily boarded) and I decided we would go, children and all, to do some shopping. In those days Saturdays had late night shopping. Mr Clothier drove us in his gig to a huge was-out in the road, which we walked across, joining my brother waiting at the other side in the Essex. Cars were anything but pleasant in those times. Bumpy and draughty, even when the celluloid and canvas shutters were threaded on to steel rods to keep them stiff in place. Carrying a spare wheel had not come into use. We had decided to spend Friday and Saturday nights with my parents in Ngaruawahia. All went off according to plan until on Sunday we were compelled to return via Morrinsville. In winter the roads were always in bad order – ruts full of water covered, in varying depths of mud, and were traps for an unsuspecting driver who often needed fascines of ti tree tied in bundles and laid in the ruts as well as a good old draught horse to help pull the car out. This happened sometimes even when people had chains wrapped around the wheels. There may be some old timers who remember the dreaded “Rangiriris” and broken axles. When we were coming towards Morrinsville we had a “darling” of a puncture which had to be mended on the spot. Generally a kind passer-by would give assistance. Eventually, we arrived home very late, miserable and tired. Kind-hearted Mrs Clothier wouldn’t wake me next morning and I over-slept. In a great flurry I bustled off to school feeling very guilty for being so late. “Who was looking at me??” I imagined the children still shouting around the school so advertising the fact. When I was approaching the school all was silent. Worse still I thought, “The children have returned home.” When I reached the school I found the door open and then happily discovered the big girls teaching the other classes, and no misbehaviour – Tui Turnbull, Phyllis Bidlake, Vera Paton and maybe others. WHAT CHILDREN!! The biggest children and I kept the school clean and saved the money allotted for that task, enough to pay our fares to Rotorua. Only eight were allowed to go, and we had enough money left over to buy gifts for those not able to come. Some children had never seen a train before. We all took a rug each and slept on the cTech Cookery Room floor like a row of sardines. The one boy Arthur Blackburn slept on the best bed, a doormat in an adjoining porch. We stayed over Easter holidays and enjoyed all the sights. I have heard that the watermill which Mr Blackburn used for power to work his milking machines still exists but is now derelict. He showed it to me in action. Electric power in general was not used in New Zealand at that time. We still used kerosene lamps and candles. I think Mr William Massey, Premier of New Zealand, died about that time and I seem to remember someone trying to reach either North or South Pole. I must mention too, by our savings we bought a second-hand Singer sewing machine for the school. Only too soon, the school grew to two-teacher proportion and I was transferred elsewhere. He parents and children gave me a beautiful leather suitcase to wish me “Goodbye.” Privately, a little Maori child pushed into my hand a piece of paper with a farewell poem on it – a sure sign of Maori affection. I wish I had kept it. I could write a great deal more but then it would be a book. Amazing, so much in so short a time.
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