Lucy of the Mountains - Part 2

Continuation of July 16, ’07 post:

My teacher at Sulfur Springs School was Miss Wilma. It’s funny I remember her name, because I usually have trouble calling my grandchildren by the right name. I remember her because of her looks. She was very blonde and wore one memorable pair of shoes that I adored. They were like Roman sandals with pastel colored laces that she twined around her legs to just below her knees. I think that was the beginning my fascination with shoes. I found out later that Miss Wilma was only about 19 years old and that she had only completed two years of college. I guess back in the 50’s in a country school, degrees weren’t necessary to become a teacher.

Even though her duties included teaching 3 grades simultaneously, I think my education didn’t suffer much. I learn to read and spell quite well, but my math skills were sadly lacking. She would write the numbers from one to one hundred on the blackboard and tell us to copy them. I would lose my place and never got beyond 40. She never checked to see if we had completed our work. My dad had to teach me to add and subtract because she never explained the concepts so that I could understand them. She taught us to add and subtract on our fingers.

I was a good speller though. In spelling books (at least back then) each lesson was supposed to cover a week. There were exercises to be completed before the final test on Fridays. Miss Wilma didn’t quite follow the lesson plan. The first day, she read the word list to us; that night we had to write each word fifteen times. The next day we would have a trial test, and that evening we had to write each words we had misspelled ten times. The next day was the “big” test. She never fooled around with the exercises, but I turned out to be a whiz at spelling.

In truth, I think my dad taught me more than Miss Wilma did.

We had three breaks during the day; morning recess, lunch, and afternoon recess. There was no playground equipment. For the girls, the school did furnish two lengths of clothesline for jump rope. Most of the time we played hide and seek, but once in a while Miss Wilma would come out with us and play a rousing game of Drop the Handkerchief.

I didn’t learn to color properly. We never colored. At the next school I went attended, I think the teacher was surprised that I couldn’t stay in the lines and my choices of color were not always appropriate. All the other kids had their coloring displayed, but mine never made it to the wall. I was always so embarrassed.

I was taught one other important skill that helped me in later life. One day we were all gathered in the lunchroom that was seldom used for eating for lessons in table manners There was a place setting for each of us. We were taught to put our napkins in our laps, elbows off the table, one hand in the lap unless two were needed, how to break our bread and butter it properly, how to eat soup (tip the bowl away from you when trying to get that last bite), and how to cut meat properly. There was no food; we pretended there was. I wonder if these basic rules stuck with the other kids as they did with me.

I attended school there for the first grade (there was no kindergarten) and twelve weeks of the second grade. The next school I attended had one room for each grade, a working cafeteria, and playground equipment. I was thrilled except for that coloring thing.