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Lifestyle
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The Country School House
“I Write What I See”
By Ted Schrader
The Manitoba Co-operator
November 1, 1944
Winnipeg Tribune
Manitoba’s “little red school
houses” may have changed their color but they haven’t changed character.
I left Winnipeg before eight one morning and spent the entire day
visiting rural schools. The story of neglect was etched in every
building, and the weather-stained shacks fairly sneered at the pupils:
“We defy you to get an education.”
All rural schools, of course, aren’t monument of indolence and
antiquated ideas. It just happened that in my one-day tour I
visited eight of the shabbiest.
HERE’S WHAT I FOUND
At the first school, I mounted rickety steps, perhaps not dangerous
because there were only a few, but certainly difficult to
negotiate. Two slats were kicked out of the classroom door.
It was 8:15 a.m. and no fire killed the penetrating cold. The
floor was gritty with dirt, and scraps of paper were caught in boards
and nestled in the corners. The drinking jar was dusty. The
playground was deep with weeds.
Was this a thing of beauty, intended to inspire students to work well
and to brighten their lives?
The next school was brighter inside. A citizen in the community
told me she had had the room papered at her own expense because the
trustees refused to act. It was clean and tidy. But when I
investigated the basement to look at the furnace, I sank into
mud. There would be no fire in that school until that basement
swamp was drained.
There was no fire at the next school. And three little windows
allowed a minimum of light to penetrate the gloom. The building
needed painting years ago, and still does. But the yard was neat.
At the fourth school, pupils had assembled but were shivering. I
lit the fire, and the youngsters huddled around to get warm. The
stove was a relic of some early age, battered and broken. The
little flames wriggled out of their prison and made shadows dance on
the floor.
THE FIRST WARM SCHOOL I came to harbored a squadron of flies.
They buzzed through the unscreened windows and the teacher told me only
the chilly weather had brought them relief from mosquitoes.
The walls were a grimy brown and paint had peeled in long
slivers. The ceiling was filthy.
The outdoor toilets were shattered beyond repair – or use.
An imposing yellow school loomed ahead. It had been painted
recently, and the teacher and pupils took pride in it. The room
was tidy, even though the playground weeds were knee-high. The
boys were playing softball, using an improvised club for a bat.
The seventh school had been attended to this summer. The inside
was painted white and the desks shone with yellow paint. It too,
was buzzing with flies and the little stove in the centre issued an
insufferable heat.
And finally, I visited a school recognizable as such only by the flag
pole. It was a battered shack, measuring no more than 12 by 20
feet. Into it were crowded 25 eager students, somehow progressing
despite the aura of despair.
I WONDERED how boys and girls could tolerate such oppressive
environments, and what incentive they had to brighten their own homes.
But even more, I wondered how some of the teachers I met could make
pupils zealous for knowledge.
I listened to one teacher handle a reading lesson. They took a
single paragraph from a story, and shattered the meaning into
definition of words. Little wonder that eyes became glazed with
boredom.
And when eight grades are taught in one room, how do any but the most
hardy refrain from eavesdropping on other classes? What a tangled
mess of information those frail young minds have to cope with!
Libraries were meagre, and one permit teacher confessed to me how
inadequate she felt because she couldn’t get trustees to supply her
with background material. She didn’t know the subject herself and
was at a loss to teach it.
IN MY ONE-DAY TOUR I caught a glimpse of the fruits Manitoba has reaped
from decades of stupidity. Until teaching receives the prestige
it requires and the salaries it is entitled to, great minds and strong
characters will never be attracted to the profession.
Many Manitoba children are floundering in our schools, yet our orators
vainly boast that on them will be built the democracy of the
future. When the war releases young people for teaching and
materials for building, I hope they will be lured to rural Manitoba.
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