Poetic Memories Of The Wanganui Girls' College Of Yore

Wanganui Chronicle, 21 June 1949, Page 9

Poetic Memories Of The Wanganui Girls' College Of Yore

At the recent jubilee celebrations of the Wanganui Girls' College Old Girls’ Association, a poem, written by Mrs, G. R. Jones, of Okoia (nee Jessie Gordon) recaptured memories of t'/ie school of yore.

It recalled such things as Miss Fraser’s “bed,” of how the matron. Mrs. Wood, was a good “fixer,” of how terrible a thing it was for a girl to be seen talking to a boy, and many more contrasts with the present day, passing incidents, true enough when they happened, of sentimental value today, but, above all, typical of such a school. School days are the happiest, they say, Oh well, perhaps that’s true But though we had lots of fun, We had our troubles, too. So many things we must not do That we were always tempted to, And oft, the punishment in our time Seemed much too serious for the crime. In the passage we must walk, We must not run, we must not talk, Nor must we, however late, Enter by the tradesmen’s gate. We must never cross the hall, That was not allowed at all. From schoolrooms 3 to schoolroom 5 We must not make a hasty dive, But past room one, around the back We trailed through miles of corridor, Past sitting room and dining room, To emerge at last near number four. We must always wear our gloves, When walking in the street; We never knew just who might tell Of all the folks we’d meet, We must never talk to boys, For in the good old time, That was a very special sin, In fact, almost the deadliest crime. Miss Fraser was our principal In those days, be it understood, And her mentor and her friend Was the matron, Mrs. Wood. The garden plot before the school Was called "Miss Fraser’s bed," In summer hot and winter cool It glowed with colour, blue and red, A favourite punishment was set To walk around it, dry or wet, And so, you see, in days of yore punishment was oft a bore. One girl had sinned, to her it was said: “You'll walk around Miss Fraser’s bed Two hundred times, and smartly too, At fifty steps a minute,” The maiden paled, and, trembling, gasped, “Great Scott! Will she be in it?” That’s history, but legend tells That one girl who'd ignored the bells, Sought out Miss Fraser's room, And when she found it, Pulled out the bed, and solemnly Begrn to walk around J. Some little girls, it was suspected, At lunch-time were on mischiet bent, Said Mrs. Wood, “they’ll be corrected, I’ll fix them, some plan I’ll invent. Now Mrs. Wood a “fixer” was. For fixing she'd a flair, But I really think her methods At times were hardly fair. She had a bed of heliotrope Which harboured slugs and snails galore, If you among the plants should £ ro P e > 1 4 U You'd find them luming by the score. She had a brilliant inspiration, Pursued it with determination, She gave us pails, half filled with lime, Bade us eaten snails, one at a time. ... But “best-laid schemes gang ait a-gley’ : Our hunting lasted, but a day, Though first the snails fell last and thick, Ere long I fixed it, I was sick. It really fills me with amaze When 1 reflect that nowadays College boy and College girl, In the dance together whirl. I’ll tell you now' a tale of woe, Once in the days of long ago. Among the boys some spirits bold Decided they'd a function hold. They planned a startling innovation, The College girls should nave an invitatiunTwo boys to our school should go, Receive their answer, yes or no. To Mrs. Wood Miss Fraser said, “To meet these boys I really dread, I do not know what 1 can say, But 1 must somehow tell them' nay.” Said Mrs.' Wood, “Upon my word, Such impudence I've never heard, To answer them would be absorb 1 I’ll fix it, leave it all to me, From pestering boys in future We’ll be forever free.” So when they rang, she went and said, “This is not the door you seek.” And to the backdoor they were sent Before they had a chance to speak. And when they went where they were bade. To that door she sent a maid, Telling her “These boys are meddlers, Just pretend you think they’re pedlars, Say “There’s nothing we require We do not wish to buy or hire, We want neither tapes nor laces. Shut the door firmly in their faces.” They arrived in expectation Mixed with a spot of trepidation, They retired in consternation And that was the end of our invitation. I am sure you’ll all agree That they were treated shamefully. And now, at last, the hand ol time Has turned the pages o'er, And I must cease this silly ryhme Ere age becomes a bore.