Silence by Anne Armstrong
It wis a warm Friday efternoon in 1953. The war wis finished, the country wis lookin forwards tae the coronation, the economy wis boomin: men in full employment, women back in the kitchen, everythin jist as it should be.
I wis five, sittin at my desk directly in front ae the teacher. Soon we wid be free. The weekend stretched ahead, full ae peever, peeries, scraps, statues, an cowboys. I fair loved the school. Up till noo, I’d had nae pals, naebdy at aw tae play wi; noo I had aw these mates an best friends. An the teachers gied us whit we didnae get at hame - attention, praise, and sweeties oot ae a big jawr. They were trainin us like puppies. Learnin wis great, even if it did rot your teeth.
In oor classroom, silence. Under the coloured pictures roon the waa; a; apple, b: bat and ball, c: caterpillar. Miss wis daein the Register. Yin big page for the week, wee pencil; for the absences. On Friday afternoons, she totalled the ‘o’s for each pupil, an added the totals. If this figure matched the totals she’d reported for mornins an efternoons, she could gae ower the lot in ink, close her register wi a slap ae satisfaction, an get a trusty messenger to run wi it tae the school office. Then we could all relax, an Miss wid read us stories till it wis time tae gae hame.
When I say ink, that’s ink fae a white wally inkwell set in a hole in her desk, ink that you had tae drag an coax intae letters and numbers wi a metal-nibbed pen. If Miss had tae chainge onythin efter it wis inkt in, it wis a performance, scrapin it aff wi an ink rubber or a wee penknife, watchin no tae rub a hole in the paper. If there wis a problem, say somebdy had been marked absent on Tuesday, come in late, an had their ‘o’ rubbed oot but the total hadnae been chainged, Miss wid have tae fin the error, while the classroom clock ticked away the minutes, an the class fidgeted. The register had tae be sent to the office afore three. If Miss wis havin problems, things could get gey fashious.
By the time we were seven or eight, we were auld hauns, we aw kent the rule, silence on Friday efternoon, till the Register wis done. But in oor first year at the school, we sometimes needed gently remindin. Silence didnae come natural.
That efternoon, tae keep us quiet, the teacher had gied us boxes ae widden blocks, aw different shapes an colours, tae make patterns or build intae waas an towers. In silence. I cannae help thinkin noo, this wis a mistake. Weans playin wi blocks, quietly? Obviously, we must hae been ower young tae read by oorsels, but wis there nae picture books? Puzzles? Or wis paper too scarce tae wiste on infants? I seem tae mind we had slates, an wee squares ae duster tae clean them.
Miss must ae been strugglin. Mibbe she wisnae very good at addin up. Maybe she’d pochled her results, inked them in, and then had her register flung back at her, tae fin the mistake and get it sorted it afore three. Mibbe it wis the end ae term, and she wis haein tae search for an error through a hale term’s worth ae ‘o’s.
I wis enjoyin my widden blocks. It must ae been the first time she’d gied us them. I suppose she thought the novelty wid keep us amused. Efter takin the blocks oot my box, I realised I mind the shock ae recognition still the pattern inside the lid exactly matched the shapes an colours ae the actual blocks. I had tae tell my neibour. Whispering wis yin mair skill I hadnae got the hang ae yet. ‘Look!’ I yelled tae the girl next tae me, ‘It’s the same!’
I suppose Miss had warned us no tae talk. I wis never good at listenin, I spent a lot ae time away in my ain wee dwam. Mibbe a few ae us had talked already, mibbe we had been warned whit wid happen tae the next person that talked.
She obviously had tae make an example ae me, tae show us aw she meant whit she said. Mibbe she wis yased tae dealin wae aulder weans an bad-behaved boys, no an expert in infants; that yased tae dishin oot violence that she didnae stop tae think that it wis aw new tae us. Mibbe she wis an auld crabbit spinster, hauled back oot ae retirement tae help cope wi the baby boom. Or mibbe that wis just how it wis then.
Afore I kent whit wis happenin, I wis staunin oot the front ae the class, haudin oot my haun as I had been telt. Everybdy watching. It wis no real. The pain wis sudden, an outrage.
Whit really hurt wis the shock. The shame, the public humiliation. Everybdy lookin at me staunin there, face aw ridd, too shocked tae greet. The teacher had tae manhandle me back tae my seat. I sat there, oblivious. My neibour had tae pack up my blocks for me. If there wis time for a story, I doot I heard a word. When we were let oot, my pals raced away. I headed for hame, yin foot in front ae the ither.
Ye’d think that wis it, the end ae my love-affair wi education. Ye’d expect that I started doggin it, smokin, shopliftin, or at the very least, wis psychologically scarrt for life. Well, I’m no sayin gettin belted never did me ony herm. I went on tae get my money’s worth, a good traditional Scottish education - Highers, the Uni, Jordanhill. I sat up the back ae every class, in silence, the perfect pupil. Nae discussion, nae questions, well, no by me onywey. I’d learned that lesson early. No talking.
