Thursday 1 March 2012

MY SHARP NOSED IRISH TEACHER

I was seven when it was decided I should be given an English education, hardly surprising since I was London born and lived in Finchley. We were a very middle class french family governed, it seemed to me, by our own and other people’s intake of food, for my father ran a successful business manufacturing and importing high class table delicacies.
 My mother spent most of her mornings discussing the day’s menus with our fat, french, resident cook and, on Sundays, gourmet friends were entertained to luncheon or dinner,  interminable meals during which I had  to sit at the table with the adults in order to learn about life and improve my mind. The educational conversations that I remember from that time,  when not about the last amazing meal consumed or the next amazing meal planned, was centred round the abdication of  Edward VIII because of some American woman sleeping with him, an Italian called Mussolini invading Addis Ababa, a Spaniard called Franco killing his own people and, in 1938 a very important agreement being signed by politicians in Munich which was a relief to all as it meant that my father would still be able to import Foie Gras from Strasbourg and caviare from the Caspian Sea.
 Up till then I had been taught how to read and write in french by a Nanny from Toulouse who had dry hands, wore a starched uniform to impress the neighbours and had the unpleasant habit of hitting me with a hairbrush when I got things wrong.
 One fatal day, despite protestations and ignored bouts of pretended coughs, I was delivered into the hands of a Miss Fern who ran a local establishment of learning. I was made to wear an apple green cap and apple green blazer with a crest on the breast pocket bearing the legend ‘Fern Bank School’,
 The school  was a living hell for me from day one. I had hardly ever mixed with other children and the sharp nosed teacher of my class was a Miss Kennedy from Ireland who had a remarkably short fuse.  She took an instant dislike to me and, to avoid the irritation of my inane expression which signified a total lack of comprehension about anything, she put me right at the back of the classroom. Towards the end of the first hideous term when, I suppose, she had to think of writing  a report on my progress, she made the effort of checking what I might have learnt. Having written a simple mathematical problem on the blackboard to test my multiplication abilities and asked me for an answer, she completely lost it when I remained silent and petrified. Storming down to my desk she pulled me up, shook me violently by the shoulders and screamed into my face ‘ Three times seven is twenty one, you stupid boy, have you learnt absolutely nothing since you’ve been here !!!?’
 I naturally burst into tears.
 ‘Excuse me miss, ‘ the little boy at the desk next to me bravely dared, ‘ but I don’t think he can see the blackboard miss.’
  ‘Can’t see the blackboard? Then why the hell didn’t he say so ?’
  ‘He doesn’t speak our language miss.’ 


6 comments:

  1. By the time I got to the school in 1953 Miss K was in charge of the senior of the five classes, i.e. ages 9-11 approx, and in 1956 she took over as head on the retirement of the three Miss Smith sisters. They were kindly folk but Miss K's temperament was very much as you describe; unnecessarily agressive. I got landed with her for a couple of years c.1958-60 and didn't enjoy her company any more than your father did. She was the final headmistress, and was probably already well into her 50s when I knew her. She was married to a solicitor, Charles Grey, whom we knew about but never saw, and they lived above the school. I guess that the place probably closed {mid-late 1960s}when they retired.

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  2. Wow, Fancy coming across a recent post about Fernbank!
    I have dug out my archives!
    I was there Summer '51 to Summer'54 and well I remember Ms K although I thought she was Miss O'Kennedy . I dont recall her teaching me but she held court at lunch in the basement, Lunch was 2/- a day , Ms K always had something better, I can see a jacket potato, Beans, Butter nad grated cheese. Not for us though. I think Ms K was Irish
    My class size was 7 in year 2 rising to 17-19 later and all reports were signed by Evelyn S Smith, Principal
    in 1952 fees were 7 Guineas a term with an extra Guinea for elocution ( Wasted!)
    We used to go to the attic up a steep staircase for that . All I remember was " Where the bee sucks, there suck I"
    There was the Gym/Hall out back , A corrugated iron building by the back side gate.
    I also recall using tiles with words on in a metal baking type tray to make sentences, This was in an upstairs room
    The House is gone now replaced by a block of flats, Fernbank Court.
    Happy days?

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  3. This is a class photo in 1965 , I recognise the desks

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  4. https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/detail/news-photo/education-london-england-a-classroom-at-the-fernbank-news-photo/78988854

    oops!

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  5. How amazing to stumble across this after 70 years, in the course of writing a book for my grandchildren

    I was at Fern Bank from about 1950-1953, much of it under the care of that seriously disagreeable woman, who, I recall, was actually called Miss O'Kennedy

    As noted by another respondent, she enjoyed special meals which always looked so much tastier than ours....mounds of butter.....and in a time of post-war rationing may even have benefited from an aggregation of pupil ration books. Call me cynical!

    Indeed the only sign of humanity I ever detected in her was one day in March 1953, when I came to school to announce that both my grandparents had died during the night....and a feeble spark of concern for me from her counted, in my infant mind, almost for more than the appreciation of my loss.

    I don't know that I learned much from her but I do recall being belted with a ruler on more than one occasion

    The other teachers were a kindly bunch, despite which my termly school reports were often quite severe. Perhaps that says more about me than it does about them

    I seems extraordinary today , that, living as I then did, almost a mile away, across Regent's Park Road and up the East End Road, I was allowed, aged 7, to walk to school on my own. Safer times?

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    Replies
    1. I don't know if anyone is still reading this, but the names I recall are John Lucas, Peter Carr, Richard Kent, and Andrew Hutchinson. Anyone know what happened to them?

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