September Poems: School Days
My first years of school, kindergarten through third grade, were in Pittsburgh, where school didn’t start till after Labor Day. My earliest memories associated the start of school with September, autumn and sweaters. I’ve spent most of my life in the South where school starts in August; it’s broiling and the kids are in flip-flops and shorts. But I offer this collection of school-related poems in September. (Please see my blogpost "Newspaper Poetry: Loved and Scorned," published in June 2023 for an in-depth look at this long-lasting phenomenon.)
People love to reminisce about the “good old days,” and think that things were better in the past. The first poem has the opposite message. Written in 1857, it credits better funding and changed expectations for vastly improved schools of ‘57 compared to the days of yore.
The poet mentions blackboards as an improvement, and incredible as it seems now, they were an innovation in their time. Before the blackboard teachers had no way of presenting freshly written material to the whole class simultaneously. Invented in the early 1800s, they finally existed in most schools in the U.S. by mid-century. Not everyone was convinced of their usefulness, however. The school superintendent in Lancaster, Pennsylvania wrote a report on blackboards in Lancaster County in 1858. He reported that, “We have some men who disbelieve in the utility of the black-board and call it a crochet of new-fangled humbuggery.” He suggested that at Teacher’s Institute, the professional development of the day, there should be a presentation on the practical uses of the blackboard.
The District School
Chorus:
The love of study,
Not found in days of yore,
Has made the school a different place
From what it was before.
It then was thought to be all right
To idle time away;
And teachers too would flog and whip,
Yes, forty boys a day;
And when a boy had cyphered quotes far as ‘Rule of Three,’
They thought he was so talented
That president he’d be.
(Chorus)
But now we cypher through the book,
And then go through again.
And think to learn Arithmetic,
Requires but little brain;
Then algebra we next dispatch,
And think the task but small,
Of other books we have so many,
We cannot mention all.
(Chorus)
Our teachers now but seldom whip,
Or use the ‘beechen rule;’
They never scold or fret about,
But keep a quiet school;
And when a lad will not obey,
We think he’s quite a clown;
The teacher calmly takes the rod
And smooths his temper down.
(Chorus)
The schoolroom, too, is not the thing
It was in days of old;
With hats to fill the broken panes
And cracks to ‘catch the cold;’
The benches now are not too high
For several pairs of feet.
The desks are never whittled sharp;
They’re sanded smooth and neat.
(Chorus)
Our patrons, when they come to see us now,
They bring their friends along;
They cheer us with their pleasant smiles,
We greet them with a song;
The school they find a pleasant place,
Where boys behave like men;
And girls! There’s not an idle one,
Where once they counted ten.
(Chorus)
Now we presume you all will ask,
How has it come about,
That we’ve so changed the district school
And altered it throughout;
We answer that t’was brought about
By blackboard, chalk and scholars,
By teachers, too, and parents you
Have helped it with your dollars.
(Chorus)
Today, the "Rule of Three" mentioned above is considered seventh-grade level math. It's encouraging to read something from the point of view that things have gotten better rather than the usual opposite.
As a former teacher, I know how exhausting and discouraging teaching can be, and how low-paying relative to other jobs requiring college degrees. More than once principals reminded us to think of the seeds that we were planting….for a harvest we may never see, but that would come to fruition. Back in 1884, in the following poem, Edward T. Barber, a teacher in Allen County, Kansas, had the same message for his fellow teachers.
The Teacher’s Reward (1884)
As I sat in my schoolroom one evening,
Careworn by the toils of the day,
Musing o’er the results of my labor,
And the pittance received as my pay;
A spirit entered my doorway,
In the form of a fairy queen,
And, approaching she thus addressed me:
“Why dost thou so sorrowful seem?
Grieve not; for if thou hast been faithful
To the trust committed to thee,
The harvest of thy sowing is more
Than the dull human eye can see.
Time hangs like a curtain before thee,
Whilst ye walk through this vale of tears,
And if thou couldst see through the curtain
Out into the future years;
And see there the fruits of thy labor,
In the prime of its harvest time,
Thy sorrow wouldst turn to rejoicing;
I’m sure thou would cease to repine.
The poem continues with the fairy magically parting a curtain enabling the school teacher to see his students as adults. One has become governor of the state; another is a congressman. They were the best and brightest of students, but what about the class dunce? He has become a man of good sense who others turn to in times of trouble. There were also doctors and farmers and ministers.
And what about the girls in the class? Ed Barber in 1884 could imagine nothing more for them than being good wives and mothers, the only really acceptable role for women. It was success – she was not the dreaded “old maid.” Women were regarded as the noble keepers of morality and gentle, sweet enforcers of the same. Nothing was more important to build up a moral, Christian nation than good mothering.
Of course the school teacher in the poem feels inspired by this vision, and is ready to go and do battle in the daily grind of teaching. The fairy had a parting word: “Faint not by the wayside, dear teacher; though the road may be weary and long. Remember the faithful are victors in the battles of right versus wrong.”
School-Days
This poem begins on a snowy night as the poet sits by the fire, thinking back on his carefree youthful days. We pick up the end of the first stanza:
Those were the happiest days of my life,
So free from care and pain!
I wish that I were young enough
To go to school again.
Oh schooldays! Happy schooldays!
How we enjoyed each day!
From Monday morn till Saturday night,
The moments sped away.
The joyous walk at morning,
When nine o’clock was near,
The warm and cheerful greeting of friends
And school-mates dear.
The merry games at recess,
The laughter and the noise,
The pandemonium let loose
Of gladsome girls and boys.
The chats with older comrades,
Too dignified to play –
The memory brings them back to me
As ‘twere yesterday.
Too gay to dread the future,
Or dream of life’s hard rule,
We did not half appreciate
Those happy days at school.
The next stanza speaks of the time actually in school - rather than the described joy of greeting classmates and enjoying recess. It was dull; they watched the clock till they could be released. They came not to learn, but to recite their memorized lessons; the tests were stressful. But what golden opportunities had been wasted! How much more they could’ve learned if they put in more effort! Little did they know - these were the good old days.
The last stanza is depressing. Life is nothing but hardship, toil and disappointment. The poet quotes Job 5:7, “ Man is borne to trouble, as the sparks that upward fly.” Humans only find true happiness when they are in their grave. But if only he had appreciated his school days in his youth!
The next poem is completely different, with a happy theme. The poet was a woman who was a nationally known writer, although the majority of her writing appeared uncredited in newspapers, Margaret E. Sangster. Newspapers ran original poetry and “borrowed” from other published sources. This one presents an idealized vision of a beloved school teacher.
The Little Schoolma’am
Speak of queen or empress,
Or of other ladies royal,
Not one of them has half the power,
Or subjects half so loyal
As she, the little schoolma’am,
Who trips along the way
To take the chair she makes a throne
At nine o’clock each day.
Her rule is ever gentle,
Her tones are low and sweet;
She is very trim and tidy
From her head unto her feet
And it matters very little
If her eyes be brown or blue;
They simply read your inmost heart
Whene’er she looks at you.
The children bring her presents,
Red apples, flowers galore,
For all the merry girls and boys
This queen of theirs adore.
The darling little schoolma’am,
Who reigns without a peer,
In a hundred thousand classrooms
This gaily flying year.
Baby boomers may still remember the chorus of a popular nostalgic song written in 1907 by Will D. Cobb and Gus Edwards. Although it was long before our time, it was on a children’s song album by Little Golden Records, keeping it alive for another generation. It was also used in television skits and ads. Even though it wasn't a newspaper poem, I'm closing this selection with a sample. Are you old enough to remember it?
School days, school days
Dear old golden rule days
Readin' and 'ritin' and 'rithmetic
Taught to the tune of the hickory stick
You were my queen in calico
I was your bashful barefoot beau
And you wrote on my slate
"I love you, so,"
When we were a couple of kids.
Sources:
Humphrey, Hank. “The District School,” The Indiana Herald (Huntington, Indiana), 23 Sept 1857.
Crumbaugh, Jonathan S. “The Common Schools,” Lancaster Intelligencer (Lancaster, Pennsylvania), 13 July 1858. p. 1.
Barber, E.T. “The Teacher’s Reward,” Allen County Courant (Iola, Kansas), 4 Dec 1884, p. 4.
“School-Days,” The Galva Times (Galva, Kansas), 4 April 1890, p. 4.
Sangster, Margaret E. “The Little Schoolma’am,” Missouri Valley Farmer (Atchison, Kansas), 1 Nov 1905, p. 23.
“E.T. Barber Is Summoned - Deceased Was Prominent Educator and Newspaperman in Idaho,” South Idaho Press (Burley, Idaho), 31 Dec 1931, p. 1.
Other:
Fryxell, David A. “School Blackboards: A History Timeline,” Family Tree Magazine, amilytreemagazine.com/history/timelines/history-matters-chalk/#:~:text=The%20Blackboard,-Across%20the%20Atlantic&text=Baron's%20innovation%20supposedly%20took%20place,in%
Copyright by Andrea Auclair © 2023
Comments
Post a Comment