"Please Teacher!"

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 66, 19 March 1938, Page 5 (Supplement)

"Please Teacher!"

—By Nona Curie

TEN past nine, and there's the bell! I hurry to the lobbv of my classroom. There they are—as they were yesterday, and as they will be to-morrow—over seventy squirming, scrambling youngsters whose ages range from five to seven years. Of them all, I watch the five-year-olds most closely. What treasures they are, these little mothers' darlings; yes, and what trying little demons they can be, too By now the whole number has pushed and jostled into line, and the march to the classroom begins. As far as the five-year-olds are concerned it is not without interest. There's young Tommy D , for instance. I am perfectly certain that if I take my eyes off him he will jab an elbow into Dick T 's turn my. Further down the line, winsome Betty L is laying down the law to Doris K , and Danny B is yelling angrily because someone has kicked his ankle. But we are in school at last, and I begin to call the roll. "Jack Jonee." "Present, Miss." "Davey " "Please, teacher, Leon is pushing me offen the seat," tearfully interrups five-year-old Micky M . Peace is restored, and the roll called at last. With a class of over 70 it is hard to do much real work, but we manage to keep each other occupied. This morning the infants seem very intent on duty, and I look forward to a successful time with my older pupils. The primer class is reading, and all seems to be going smoothly, when a loud wailing comes from among the "weans" at the other end of the big room. Fearing something dreadful has happened I rush over and find Jimmy S proclaiming at the top of his voice: "Please, teacher, somebody's gone an' tooken my chalk, an' I want it!" "Please, teacher," informs Millicent M primly, "no one's took it. I saw Jimmy eat his chalk. He allers does." I rock on my feet and seize my buzzing head. The chalk incident satisfactorily disposed of, and the morning half gone, we go out for the pre-lunch play recess. I am "on duty" in the grounds to-day, and the five-year-olds take full advantage of my presence. "Please, teacher, will you find me someone nice to eat my apple with? It's a good apple." "All right, here's Douglas. He should be a nice little mate for you." "Please, teacher, my mummy gave me a scone, but I hate it 'cause she cooked it too hard!" Poor mummies. If some of them only knew! A milling group of my youngest charges attracts me. In the centre Billy P and Dugald Mc are almost at blows. "Anyway, teacher, he's a dirty

A Day With The Five-Year Olds

rat," exclaims irate Dugald, as I pull them apart. Five vears old. The joy of it! In class again, and the room fairly quiet. I aim to clean up some of my backward recording. Just a few precious minutes of uninterrupted time, just— "O-o-h! O-o-e-r! P-p-please, t-t-teaeher, I want to go out." The heartburst conies from a five-year-old's desk. "Very well, Lex. off you go." "But, p-p-please, 1 c-c-an't go by myself. O-o-o-h! Alum my always comes wif m-m-me!" Teacher, perhaps from a sense of duty, perhaps responding to some hidden memory of her earliest school days, takes mummy's place, and the fears and trouble of a little child are overcome. Luncli hour! Seventy-five minutes, 60 the rules say, free from teaching work. If I am lucky 1 get about 50 of those minutes'to myself. Gooduess knows I need the whole lot, and try hard enough to get them, but these five-year-olds as yet know little of the value of time. As I try to hurry from the grounds, little Alargaret K pranevs excitedly in front of me. "Pler.se, teacher, mother cays I mustn't eat by my lone. Will you find someone nice for me to have my lunch with, please?" William's Problem Several minutes pass in finding someone "nice," but I am a bit nearer the gate —I'm through, and—no, here's Willie S now. "Well, William ?" Willie rams a grubby fist in his mouth, and scrapes the back of one leg with the bare toes of the other. "Please, teacher, someone's took me hat, an' I might be sun struck." A quick investigation, and I find the missing hat stuffed down inside his trousers. He doesn't believe in taking chances with possible thieves! Afternoon, and a temperature approaching 90 in the shade. If the infants feel as slack and uncomfortable as the heat makes me feel, I don't wonder they are restless. But even the heat will not stop Leslie W from talking. If that boy doesn't grow up to be a lawyer— or worse still—a politician, it will be a wonder. I threaten to pull his ears off if he doesn't stop chattering, and the clatter ceases for a while. But we get through the afternoon hours without much trouble, beyond the happenings that are a part of the lot of wee ones during their first days at school ... As I prepare to let them out for the day it conies to me more forcibly than ever that I am very fond of these five-year-old pupils of mine. They come from all kinds of homes, from all kinds of circumstances; but here in class they are mine to guide, and, to a certain extent, to mould to my will. One learns to love them for themselves, and also for what they will be.

Hail to the five-year-olds! They come ue an army with banners, and their inarch is irresistible.