For the last month my mind has been filled with end-of-summer stuff, like harvest, canning and all things farm-like. That is until I see the school buses & the kids on their way to, what many would term as, their own private slice of Hell. That wasn’t the case for me when Dad made his last army transfer to London, Ontario & the wonderful public highschool of Sir Adam Beck. Before that it was Catholic elementary in Cornerbrook, Newfoundland & my first (& last) introduction to schooling with nuns.

I have a clear memory of registration day. My sisters & I were almost at the fenced-in playground in the school yard when the morning bell rang out. All the uniformed students filed neatly up the stairs & disappeared behind the huge ominous wooden doors. One nun stood outside the entrance portal. We walked swiftly towards our destiny, looking oh-so prim in our crisp new identical attire (long-sleeved white blouse under a navy-blue jumper, loosely sinched at the waist with a matching buttoned belt – I remember this well, for a reason which will become apparent shortly).

And then it happened. A young lad ran by us & stopped dead at the bottom of the steps. The nun walked down to greet him, gathered her ‘habit’ belt (made of large wooden beads resembling a rosary, complete with a cross dangling at the end) and started swinging her modified whip at the young boy as he scampered up the stairs & made his escape through those heavy wooden doors. Lesson #1 – NEVER be late for school.

And my second lesson soon followed. After being introduced to my new class & classmates I was asked to sign my name on the board. I picked up the chalk with my left hand…wrong. I was asked to go out into the hallway, the nun following close behind me. What had I done wrong? I was asked to raise my right arm & leave my left one by my side. The nun then undid my belt & retied it so my left arm was pinned down, forcing me to start to use my right hand for everything, absolutely everything. This happened every day thereafter for me & other lefty classmates. Now I was never clear on this one because even back then I knew that lefties were not evil. After all, my one sister & my Dad were left-handed. Possibly it was because when you write on a chalkboard with your left hand, if you try to brace your hand with your pinky pad, you end up rubbing out everything you write. The nuns never realized just how useful it was that they tried to change my dominant hand. I am now quite ambidextrous. I can actually write with both hands at the same time; of course I have to write the same thing. This really came in handy when I was in detention (often) & had to write my ‘lines’ before I could be excused. Took me half as long to write ‘I must not talk in school, I must not talk in school’.

For the first time in my young life I was totally happy that my Dad’s transfers were every 3 years. Don’t get me wrong; I loved Cornerbrook – my friends, neighbours, nature’s beauty. But although I did meet some wonderful loving nuns there, overall that 1907 School Days ditty rings true: “reading, ‘riting & ‘rithmatic, taught to the tune of the hickory stick”!

Things really changed when I hit high school though. London seemed decades away from Cornerbrook. As always, the transition year was hard for me (shedding the Newfie wardrobe, the accent, upgrading topics like Math & French) but it was the addition of extra-curricular activities that made school a wonderful memory. I became a cheerleader. So much fun & I got to go to all the games – basketball, volleyball, football. They let us out early on game days so we could get ready, and for pep rallies too. And we had the first male cheerleaders in the city. High school zipped by in a happy instant.

I still laugh when I see back-to-school commercials. My favourite used to be the Christmas song ‘it’s the most wonderful time of the year’ with a parent smiling widely going up & down the isles picking out paper & pens & all manner of supplies. But by far the best one, possibly because it’s in my particular era, is Alice Cooper in the back-to-school Staples commercial. Google it. Still a classic after 20 years. A classic forever.

So my advise to you folks out there is this: when you have to slow down in a school zone, take a look at those kids and do a wee trip down your own memory lane. I do & each & every time I do, although I loved high school, I continue to be thankful for being just a farmer thinking of harvesting peaches, pears, plums, apples, grapes. Done like dinner! But one question remains: anyone out there wanna make quince jam? Hint, hint, nudge, nudge, wink, wink!

Jackie Moad is often reminded in autumntime of her interesting school days (daze) in Alberta, Saskatchewan, Germany, Newfoundland, & finally Ontario, reminiscing away as she continues to farm that 20-acre organic slice of Paradise in Cedar

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