Our Cork schooldays: Work, play, and devilment!

Throwback Thursday reader Mícheál Kenefick has sent us such a wonderful story of his childhood that we could do no other than reprint it in full.

It follows on from our article last week about your school memories, to coincide with all the children of today heading back to the classrooms after the summer break. Mícheál has titled his reminiscence The School Around The Corner.

“We moved from the Middle Road in Whitegate to the village in 1954,” began Micheál, “so to get to school we rounded the corner at Hegarty’s shop and ed Ettie McLean’s pub and Guard McCarthy’s at the end of the Well-way on our route.

“However, when we were children in the Middle Road, we went to the same school down Ellie’s Path. 

Isn’t it sad that all the paths have disappeared. Of course, nobody walks anywhere anymore.

“Ellie’s Path was just across from where the Grotto is today and led to the New Road through the girls’ yard. We had a boys’ yard and a girls’ yard divided by a 6ft stone wall, and woe betide anyone caught trying to climb over.

“In fairness to the girls, they would throw the football back if it went over during the football season when we played 25-a-side.

“We never referred to those wonderful places of recreation as anything other than ‘yards’ as the word playground didn’t reach Whitegate until the New School opened.”

Micheál continued: “It was on Ellie’s path that the Middle Road mothers used to bring hot cocoa in the worst of the weather, to sustain us for the day’s learning, always keeping out of sight of the school.

“I’m not sure what the village children had to sustain them during the rain and wind of winter. Maybe they were ahead of us and had already discovered the Thermos flask?

“I had a special dispensation to go through the girls’ yard and up Ellie’s path to get to the Middle Road to feed the pigs on winter mornings when it would be too bad for Jack as he had to be at the Fort before 8. It was a grand break from the reading and writing.

“I also had a season of being called from school every day to answer mass for a visiting priest, as I was sent the first day, and to his eternal credit he asked for me every day after that - another escape from the slate and the chalk!

“My class was the first 3rd class not to have the Master, as Miss Quill arrived that year to give our school its first 3rd teacher. Up to then, the school had two big rooms with four classes in each room, with big open fires.

One of our favourite jobs was lighting the fires as it gave us legitimate access to matches which have always fascinated young boys.

“It was also, as we would be first in, a clandestine opportunity to burn ‘the stick’ which we did on a regular basis.”

As for the school lessons of his day, Micheál explained: I can’t recall doing anything in the junior classes except writing with chalk on a slate, which we wiped clean with our hand, playing with Márla, and getting Silvermints when we were preparing for First Communion.

“In the senior room, we did Irish, English, Arithmetic and Christian Doctrine. We did have the library van as a diversion when one boy and one girl would be sent to pick out 12 books each for the school library.

If we misbehaved, we had to stand and face the wall which had a huge map of Ireland hanging there. In a later life, my knowledge of the geography of Ireland was a big help. I wonder why I was so good at it.

The desks were long and seated six pupils, so getting in or out gave us the chance to at least nudge those outside us.

“As an aside, I always sat on the inside of the back row the day we returned after the holidays. I never survived there for more than a half day as I was brought up to the front under his watchful eye.

“The ink was mixed from dry powder in a big jar and poured into the inkwells, so we always had more ink on our hands than in the wells.

“The pens were like narrow pencils. with a nib at the end which was broken more often than not.

“Blobs, dried up with blotting paper if we had it, or the sleeves of our jumper, were more common than our letters.”

Religion was a big part of school life in those days. Micheál recalled: “We said the Angelus every day at 12 just before a break. The Angelus has a Hail Mary after each intercession except the fourth one, so in case The Master would add one (thereby depriving us of six seconds’ play) we would say the ‘Let us Pray’ in the same breath as ‘That we May be Made Worthy’.

The Master would keep the bell in his hand during play and we often prayed that someone would engage him in talk so that we might get another few seconds before that dreaded sound.

“How St Peter managed to control the Pearly Gates during Lent is still a mystery, as we used to say 700 million Hail Marys to get 700 million souls from Purgatory, and make a note of each one by putting a dot with a pencil on a makey-up note book.

“Tommy McCarthy always had the record. I think he was putting down the dots without saying the prayer. Must ask him that.

“I feel sure a good few million slipped out of Purgatory every Lent during the rush without doing the full stint. More luck to them, and they have the children of Whitegate National School to thank.”

As for stand-out memories from his school days, Micheál said: “Of all the wonderful things we did in our school years, my abiding memory is that of plucking the bank. The bank would be plucked regularly during the summer by the boys while the girls did sewing.

“The bank was a sloping ‘lawn’ that ran the width of the school and dropped fairly steeply to a lower level above the New Road. It was covered mostly with rough grass and dock and, as it would be another 300 years before the invention of the Flymo, the only way to keep it in trim was to pluck it by hand.

“It was plucked horizontally from left to right in rows, with the junior boys at the top and the most senior at the bottom. The juniors came out the worst as they could be ‘shelled’ by both middle and bottom rows, whereby the middle row had only one line of ‘shelling’ with which to contend.

“The seniors on the bottom had a myriad of advantages as they were not only furthest from the Master, but couldn’t be attacked from behind, and best of all, they could for the most part stand on the path, thereby ensuring far more accuracy with their missiles.

“From a standing position, if the head of the target in front was missed, then there was a chance of the same missile hitting the neck of the fellow in front, which was even more painful. It was harmless fun and little damage was done, except to pride, and a sore ear or neck for an hour.

“Finally, we were regularly threatened that a visit from the inspector was imminent and for some reason this scared the lives out of us,” said Micheál. “She was a lady called Miss Bastible and we thought she was well over a hundred. Thinking back, I can never a cross word from her.

The poor old school, which is still around the corner but now a ruin, was built in 1881 and was destroyed by fire in 1968.

For another reader, Eileen Barry, the phrase ‘back to school’ carries memories of St Angela’s, on Patrick’s Hill in Cork city.

“I started there in September, 1959,” said Eileen. “This was after spending six years at Miss Cahill’s on Summerhill where going back to school was a pleasure. There, we didn’t have uniforms, older students helped the younger ones with ABCs and sums. Bible stories in front of the fire with Miss Cahill, playtime in the little garden out back, where we ran round and round the circular rose bed, and once climbed up on the railings and tried to walk along them. Below was a drop of maybe 15t onto the old railway line. The Miss Cahills nearly had a heart attack!

“But St Angela’s was very different. I think for the first year (and probably more) I spent my time keeping my head down in case I was asked to bring a message to another class, or open a door for Reverend Mother. They were all called Mother then, though that was as far as ‘mothering’ went, with one or two exceptions.”

Eileen continued: “As time went on, going back to school in September meant trying to unearth your old school uniform (dark green, thick tweedy type gymslip) a crios for a belt (regulation green and beige). Knee socks had to be fawn coloured, never dark green (St Al’s wore dark green socks, and we were always envious of them).

“We also had a green blazer with crest, and a green beret.

Sometimes, in the early weeks of autumn term, there would be a message whispered from class to class, ‘Mother X is on the warpath! Beret Check!’ This would have been about five minutes before class broke up at 1.15 for lunch. (Everyone went home for lunch back then).

“We’d look out the window, see the guard at the gate, grab our bags, and head down through what we called the High School, down by the Domestic Science room and out the back door to escape onto Richmond Hill.

“But, on later Beret Checks, the door here would be locked first! Don’t the punishment for not being ‘dressed properly’ as the nuns called it, but sometimes it warranted a message to be taken home to mothers. Mine merely smiled and ignored any such messages, God bless her!”

Eileen summed up: “Generally, school was alright, you just put up with it and looked forward to holidays. Most of the teachers were okay, some stood out, like Una Riordan, who taught French and English. 

She could get quite cross if you were inattentive, but then might wink at you and you knew she was on your side. She was one of the best.

“I her coming in on our afternoon off a few times coming up to our Leaving, to do extra tuition for those of us trying to do Honours French. And she took these sessions sitting on the lawn, in the sunshine! That was unheard of!

“Now, I believe (I haven’t been back) that this lawn is gone, replaced by a huge new building with a sports pitch on top. Wow.

“In my time, sports was mainly hockey one afternoon a week at the Ursuline School all the way down in Blackrock. Me and my pal always felt that we had better things to do on our afternoon off.

“One of the nuns (Mother Rosario?) taught us Junior French, and affectionately called us ‘Mes petits choux’ . My little cabbages! She was a cheerful, slightly plump, nun who was brought up on a farm, I think, and always happy and encouraging.”

However, Eileen recalled: “Another wasn’t so happy (I don’t think she really liked teaching) and was cross with our class because of something she had lost and thought we had taken it. This, we thought, wasn’t fair, so we all went on strike. Everyone sat, arms folded, looking ahead, and didn’t answer questions till she stormed out. Only to be replaced five minutes later by Reverend Mother, who tore strips off us.

“I happened to be Class Prefect that term, and had to go and apologise to said nun. How I hated doing that! I’ll always it.

“Or, the time we had a free class and all started singing a song that was popular that year; The Dave Clark Five’s Glad All Over, with a chorus that involved a lot of stamping and banging of desk lids. It was brilliant, but of course, disrupted most of the other classes and brought Reverend Mother sweeping in once again...”

Wonderful memories, Mícheál and Eileen. Thank you for sharing them.

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