SCHOOL'S IN

Miss Gledhill frowned at the letter she was reading. "There will be changes in the school next term," she told her assistant. "They are sending a man here."
Irene Anderson looked up. She was busy preparing her work for tomorrow, but she wasn't quite sure what to say to the older woman.
"Of course I haven't any certificate, and this Education Board of 1922 is getting fussy about that. You were lucky your people could afford to send you to Training College," Miss Gledhill said. "And at least they are transferring me, not just "Terminating my employment" as they do to many of us older folk who have served faithfully when times were hard."
"Does it say what the new headmaster's name is?" asked Irene.
"Yes. A Mr Ogivie. And he's married, so you'll have to get out of the school-house."
Privately Irene thought it would probably be a good idea not to be living in the same house as the head teacher.
"I wonder if Bessie Parfitt would like to have you as a boarder. The store is close enough to the school, and Bessie and Georgie are fun, even Old Lady Parfitt is a bit of a dragon," said Miss Gledhill. And so it was arranged.
For a while the two teachers talked of the change it would bring to the school, and then Miss Gledhill said abruptly, "Nine o'clock. Bed time." Without giving Irene time to put away her books, she turned out the kerosene lamp, picked up her candle and marched off to bed, expecting Irene to follow at once. In a few moments the school-house was in darkness, though Miss Gledhill did not mind if her young assistant, shielding her candle carefully from the curtains, finished reading her book.
In May Mr. Ogilvie and his family arrived. Irene returned to Gordontor on the Saturday morning, and was soon settled in her room in the house attached to the store. "I'll go down and meet the new headmaster," she said after lunch, "there's lots I want to tell him."
When she greeted Mr. Ogilvie, Irene said, "I hope you are not too dismayed at the condition of your new school."
The two strolled over to see and Irene told him of all the work that needed doing.
''These desks are a disgrace," she said, "Can't something be done?"
"The big boys can plane them," decided the headmaster, "if the committee will pay for the varnish.''
He had already met the school committee and felt that he would have their backing in anything he attempted.
So, much to their delight, the big boys spent quite a lot of their time working on the desks. The Kauri tops were planed and sandpapered till most of the ink marks and initials were removed. It wasn't an easy task and Mr Ogilvie was rather concerned at the time that had been taken.
"These boys can't afford to waste too much time," he said. "They've got to sit Proficiency at the end of the year and they won't get it unless they work very hard indeed."
So most of the varnishing was done by the two teachers themselves, after school was over for the day.
"The children should have a hot drink in the middle of the day during this winter term, but where ever is the money to come from," Irene told the new headmaster during that first week.
"In my last school we used to have a concert to raise money for things like that." suggested Mr. Ogilvie, and at the next committee meeting he told the men of his idea.
Everyone was enthusiastic. Children and parents worked hard, and the School Cocoa Concert, arranged on the first night when the moon was full, was a great success.
"I'll lend my big kettle for boiling the water," offered Mrs. Morgan. "It can be boiled on top of the stove in the Infant Room."
"I'll send some milk when Mr. Watson comes down to the factory," suggested Mr. Drummond, and so it was arranged. With the help of the bigger girls, Irene made the cocoa and gave it out.
The Committee did not really need the teachers to point out to them how dingy the walls were and letters flew to the Board asking to have the school painted. Eventually, the Board agreed if the Committee could find a suitable local man, and Mr. Saxton was asked to do the job, so with the willing help of the two teachers the school really did begin to look more attractive.
A garden was dug too. Something had to be done to try to combat the terrible loss of life, mostly young people, and especially young Maori people, through T.B. and the schools were instructed to teach the growing of vegetables, which some authorities thought might help. So Mr. Ogilvie introduced spinach, and soon everyone could sing:
"I'm Pop-eye the sailor man.
I fight to the finish
For I eat my spinach.
I'm Pop-eye the sailor man."
The value of tomatoes as food was stressed too. Of course, tomatoes had been grown for quite a while, though they were called 'love Apples' and not eaten much, but now some scientists had discovered how good they were.
One day one of the Committee came to admire their work.
"Is there anything else you need?" he asked cautiously, and was promptly shown the torn and tattered library books. "I want to burn the lot! And all the plasticine too,'' said Irene. "I'rn sure that is why we have so much scabies in the school. Why, even I caught it."
Charlie Clark knew that Irene had had to have a fortnight off school the previous term with "the itch". The trouble usually starts between the fingers, but Irene had developed a patch on her shoulders and when Miss Gledhill had applied a sulfuric acid ointment very liberally, the cure was worse that the complaint, and the teacher had been very ill. No wonder she wanted something done.
"But young lady," he said, "We've already spent 15 shillings on varnish and an extra one Pound 2 shillings and 6 pence for disinfectant. The Education Board only grants us 47 Pounds 2 shillings and 11 pence for a whole year, and we have to pay cleaning and everything out of that."
Irene sighed. It always seemed to be a question of money when she wanted something done.
But Charlie Clark smiled at her. "There is 8 pounds 3 shillings and 4 pence left in the cocoa account, I think," he said. "Everyone was very generous at the concert you know. Next committee meeting we will see what can be done."
So Irene was offered the eight pounds three shillings and four pence for her new reading books. "You can buy them yourself when next you go into Paul's," she was told.
Irene's eyes sparkled. "Eight pounds will buy a lot of books," she said. "The children will be pleased, and the teachers are grateful too."
.........................
A few weeks later as the teachers were having a cup of tea Mr. Ogilvie observed, "Those two new May kids are a miserable looking pair. Did you notice their legs? They look as if they have never had a good wash."
Irene shuddered. "They are a mass of scabies. I'm sorry for the poor youngsters and I wish something could be done to help them. They don't look as if they get enough to eat either."
"Probably not," observed the headmaster. "They are 'Pommies' and just aren't used to New Zealand conditions."
"I'll ask Mrs. Riddell to go and see them," suggested Irene. "She might be able to help."
So a few days later, Mrs. Riddell and her daughter, Lizzie, with their two smart ponies in the buggy, trotted down the road to the house where the new immigrants lived. As Lizzie was tying the ponies to a post, the woman opened the door to look out. One crying baby, its little face streaked with mud and tears, was on her hip, and from behind her skirt peeped a toddler, also with a runny nose and breakfast jam still on her chin. Mrs. May looked as if she had been crying too, and she certainly felt like shutting the door in the faces of the two visitors.
"Come in," she said grudgingly, "Though there's nothing except boxes to sit on."
For a moment Mrs Riddell did not know what to say. Poverty was common in Gordonton houses, but not dirt.
"Boxes make good chairs, observed Lizzie, "but they are better with a cushion."
Mrs. May leaned against the bench where the dirty breakfast dishes were piled in an untidy heap. "I hate this place. They brought my husband out to work in the flax mill, but they haven't even got the right machinery. He's a highly qualified man and he's just working as a navvy. They said there was a house for us and look! Look what the earthquake did last week!" She tried to shut the window, but it wouldn't fit.
"The door won't shut either. Next earthquake the whole house will fall down, I guess. There is no water and no coal for the fire, and anyway there is nothing to cook because I can't go all the way to the shop with these two little ones. I'm used to a shop just round the corner. And I haven't seen another woman to speak to since came here." And she started to cry.
Mrs Riddell put her arm around the sobbing figure. "No water!" exclaimed Lizzie, "What's wrong with your windmill?"
"I don't know," replied Mrs. May through her sobs. "This horrible country where one is expected to be able to do everything."
"I expect it just needs priming since it hasn't been working for a while," said Lizzie. "I'll go and look."
After a minute the older woman said briskly, "We'll see what we can do. You know, nothing is so bad that it can't be improved! It wasn't actually an earthquake that affected your window and doors. It's the peat sinking unevenly and all the houses on the swamp have the same trouble. My boys will come along tomorrow and show your husband how to fix the blocks underneath. Water is always a worry here. When the boys have straighened the house, the rain water will probably go into your tank again, though if you didn't look at it when you came, I expect the spouting is blocked, because this house has been empty for a while."
"The windmill is working now, but it needs oiling. I'll go home and get you a can of drinking water," said Lizzie, looking in at the door, "while Mother stays and talks to you." And off she went.
Mrs. Riddell said, "If you go to Hamilton you can buy baker's bread, but out here it is cheaper and more convenient to make your own," and she told the other woman how to make bread, using the water the potatoes had been boiled in for yeast, and promising to send a starter. ''There's no need to buy coal, you know. There's plenty of manuka in the corner of the section and that makes the best fire there is."
"My poor husband," observed Mrs. 1ay. "He isn't used to doing all those sorts of jobs."
"If he wants to be a good New Zealander he'll have to learn to turn his hand to everything that needs doing," said Mrs. Riddell.
Just as Lizzie came back with the water, the two little boys came in from school.

Windmills Were The Only Way To Obtain Water

"However did they get such a bad attack of scabies!" exclaimed the sitor."The poor little mites."
"They picked it up on the boat coming over. It was crowded and dirty and we were all sick most of the way. I'd go home tomorrow if it wasn't for the thought of another trip in a boat." answered their mother.
On the following day a dozen or so neighbours arrived to straighten the house. With laughter and team work the task was done and at last the doors and windows would shut. Meanwhile the women helped to boil the copper.
"All the blankets and everything must be washed properly to get rid of the scabies," Mrs. May was told, "and every night you must bath the boys nnd put the ointment on."
All the neighbours had brought something to help the new immigrants; bags of wood already cut for the stove and copper, vegetables, and among other things, Mrs. Riddell had brought a big jar of "itch ointment". And, of course, everyone had a favourite recipe.
In a box was a speckled hen with five little chicks. Before the "working bee" had left, a little pen had been made for her, and the English lady had been told how to cook up the potato peels, etc. to feed her. Other men began to dig the garden to put in the seeds they had brought.
"The kiddies must have plenty of vegetables," said Will, "and there's not much chance of buying any here."
The ladies promised Mrs. May plants and slips from their own gardens. Everyone realised the necessity of the beauty and fragrance of flowers in an otherwise restricted and hardworking life. They showed her, too, how to make a padding for a benzine case using old socks. Covered with a piece of material and a gay frill round the edge, a box was converted into an attractive and comfortable stool.
"We used to use the pollen from the raupo to make bread, and the roots of the fern are good to eat too, "observed Mrs. Puhipuhi, one of the most welcome of the "working bee " visitors, "but it was hard work preparing them, and now they are only used to stuff matresses and pillows but they must be properly dried first."
...............................
It was Friday afternoon. The infant class had been busy folding salt-cellars in coloured paper. Miss Irene Anderson was good at devising all sorts of interesting things to make with the limited equipment that was available, and the kiddies loved Friday afternoon handwork lessons.
"Shut your eyes," said the teacher. And suddenly Tira Henry started to sob. Somehow her salt-cellar wouldn't go right and now she had torn it. "The fairies couldn't put anything in a torn salt-cellar," she thought.
"Ssh!" whispered her friend Edith in the desk beside her. "You've got ticks all the week for clean hands and face. The fairies might remember that."
Edith kept her eyes tightly shut. "What would it be this week ? A peanut? A blackball? A boiled lolly? Oh, what would it be?" Her mother was very particular about making sure her nails were clean each morning, and her hair was carefully brushed, so she seldom missed out when there was a special treat.
As Miss Anderson tip-toed past Tire's desk, she thought of the merry brown face that greeted her each morning, scrubbed so hard that it looked as if the cheeks had been polished, and she smiled as she dropped a sweet into the crumpled hand work. "Open your eyes," she said as she went back to her desk. The childeren did open their eyes wide. Most of them had never seen such a big round, changing ball before, and their bright eyes sparkled.
"It's nearly too big to go in my mouth Miss Anderson." said Sybil. "Thank you very much." And all the little ones said "Thank you Miss Anderson" as they walked quietly out of the door. Standard one and two children had another half hour of school before they could eat their lollies.
"Race you," -shouted Sybil, as she and Beryl and Edith grabbed their bags and scrambled through the back 
fence and down the steep track to the pony paddock. Taking their bridles from the pegs, they ran off to look for the ponies. Sybil easily caught her little black Shetland and swung onto his back; Monty was standing under the pine tree swishing his tail, and he obediently put his head down for Edith to put on his bridle, but where was Beryl's white pony?
"She's on the other side of the pussy willow." said Sybil at last, but when the little girls went near, the pony put back her ears and ran at them. Beryl twirled the bridle and the pony kicked up her heels and ran to the end of the paddock. Determinedly the little girls stalked her through the cutty grass and patches of pussy willow until they surrounded her. Beryl managed to get the reins around her neck, but no one was tall enough to reach her head.
"Lead her up to the fence, "suggested Edith. Beryl did so and while she held the reins tightly, Edith climbed on the wires and was able to put on the bridle.
Sybyl's brothers had ponies of their own, but both Edith and Beryl had to share with their older sisters. They did not always have the ponies ready before the standard children were dismissed but today they were lucky. They rode around to the front of the school to wait for their older sisters.
At three o'clock Mr. Ogilvie came into the primmer room.
"My, how hard you work your childeren," he said. 
"Why?" asked Miss Anderson, startled.
"Look out the window!" commented the headmaster. Three ponies were grazing by the gate. Two little five year olds were sitting drowsily on the grass, but the third, lying on Monty's broad back, was fast asleep.
.........................
It was a bitterly cold winter morning, and now, just before nine o'clock, there was a stinging shower of hail.
"There won't be many childeren at school today." said Miss Anderson.
"No" replied the headmaster, as he looked out on the desolate playground. "Just look at those two."
Coming across the playground from the pony paddock were two bedraggled little girls. Both were barefooted and their legs and feet looked blue with cold. Mary's ringlets hung in "rat's tails" under her sou'wester, but the younger gir1' s hat had fallen off, and the rain from her wet hair was dripping down her neck.
"Their mother's in hospital." said Miss Anderson. "They do look rniserable don't they?" The teacher met them in the porch where the water fell in rivulets from the soaking oilskins.
"My, you are wet." he said. "Did you fall off, Edith? Your coat is so dirty."
"No, sir," answered Edith, shivering, "my legs were so cold they wouldn't hold me when I got off, and I fell over in a puddle."
"Where are your gumboots?" asked the teacher.
"They got full of water yesterday..." began Edith. Mary frowned at her sister. Little girls of five and seven should look after their things, especially when their mother is in hospital.
 She was trying to undo the studs on her oilskin, but they were stiff and her frozen fingers wouldn't work, when the teacher said, "Look, you are both so wet, especially Edith I think you had better go home."
"We'll help them catch Monty again." said two of the bigger boys eagerly.
"But Monty's easy to catch," answered the teacher.
"Yes," said Archer, "but even the best pony doesn't like being out of its routine."
The two big boys put on their oilskins and gaily splashed through the freezing puddles in their bare feet. No boots for them! The two little girls trailed back to the pony paddock, too cold and miserable to care that they were getting a holiday. Soon Monty was caught. "Your sheepskin is wet through," remarked Archer. "I'll put the sack on top." And they helped the girls on, giving Monty a whack to hurry him on the way home.
About an hour later as he was coming into the the house after feeding out, their father was astonished to see the school pony turn in at the road gate. Astonishment turned to consternation when he saw how cold and wet his little daughters were, and lifting them from the pony, he hurried them inside.
"Monty must have his cover on and his reward." they insisted and Mary got a sugar lump for Dad to give to the pony before she would get into the warm bath.
"We must have been cold - the water's gone blue," said Edith a few minutes later, but the father was grateful that the new cylinder worked so well, and that there was plenty of hot water about an hour after the stove had been lighted.
Before they could enjoy the unexpeceted holiday, Mary and Edith found their gumboots and stuffed them full of newspapers.
"Change the papers two or three times to-day, and your boots should be dry enough to use by tommorrow," said their father.
Oilskins had to be hung carefully so that they would drip, but the sheepskin took several days to dry, and they had to ride on a sack by itself for the rest of the week.
With the sitting room fire lighted for them, the girls soon forgot they had been so cold, and gladly played Happy Families and Snakes and Ladders. Mary tried to teach her sister to play draughts, but she won easily every time, till after tea her father played with her and she found she had to think out her moves much more carefully.
Next morning it was still raining, but by gettting up earlier and leaving the other men to finish up in the shed, the father was up at the house when it was time for the girls to leave for school. He made sure that the oilskins were buttoned properly (even if your fingers were not cold they were dificult to do up) and sou'wesiers tightly on.
"Don't take Monty's cover right off." he said, and leaving it fastened round the horse's neck, he put it over the girl's legs.
"Don't fall off though," he warned, "or you might get caught in the straps."
He went with them across the paddock to open the gate into the road. It's not easy to lean down and open a gate with a stiff, wet, horse-cover round you.
"Good bye, Daddy," they called cheerfully as they set out on the long ride to school. "It is so nice to have Daddy looking after us when Mummy is in hospital." commented Mary and both the girls started to sing one of their latest songs, as they cantered through the rain to school.

Ready For School

References:
Rushes ‘an Raupo, To cows an’ Clover by Edith Williamson