Miss Thompson

Two comments on the photo of my old school got my juices going and I have written a little description of my first day of school with the legendary Miss Thompson, the Grade one and two teacher, in Lanigan, since the invention of wheat.


Miss Thompson

I was clutching my mom's hand tightly as we both stood in the doorway at the top of the steps. On either side, young students and their mothers were jostling for position as Miss Thompson was about to open the door to the one room school house. It was with fear and anxiety that I was about to embark on my 12 year journey through the school system.
My older sister had survived Miss Thompson, in fact, had survived two years of her before I even arrived on the scene. That gave small comfort as I saw and heard the door handle turning. I had seen this woman before, but only from a distance, and was glad for the distance because she looked austere and threatening.
She was referred to at my home as 'Belle' Thompson, but I was instructed to only call her 'Miss Thompson'. The penalty for breaking this rule was sure death, or at least I thought so. Rumours abounded regarding the unusual torture and punishment this woman could mete out and my sister's run-in with her proved it. She had come home with 'wet pants' after having been 'shook up' by Belle, er, I mean, Miss Thompson.
These 'shake ups' were legendary and there was not a student she ever taught, with the exception of her all time favourite 'pet' Marion Rode, who was not on the receiving end of at least a mild one of these. For the slightest misdemeanour, she would grab the child by the shoulders and violently shake back and forth, as if to drive some sense into the kid. Fortunately, whiplash had not yet been invented or law suits would have abounded.
I had expressed misgivings about attending a class with such a cruel taskmaster at the head, but my mother assured me that she was really a nice lady and a very, very good teacher and all her students did really well. Just behave and everything will be fine.
Just behave, just behave, became my internal mantra.
The door suddenly swung open and there she was. From my perspective, that of a 6 year old, she was a large woman, both tall and thickly built. Her hair was silver, almost blue somehow, and I wondered how one got blue hair. She had a stern face but was wearing a big smile, looking rather fake, probably just trying to impress the parents and infuse some confidence in the children. Her navy cotton print dress was a little snug on top and I could see that she was a bit top heavy. Her face had a powdery look, her lips were too red, and she was a pioneer when it came to blue eye shadow. She was not exactly what I had expected, but what choice did I have, but to accept her for what she was. I would have sooner rejected her, but by this time my mom was pushing my hand out of hers and steering me toward one of the three left handed desks in the classroom. She put us to work right away and after a very brief talk with the parents, they were shooed out of the building and she had us to herself.
The smile suddenly disappeared! We then got 'the lecture', regarding boots, coats, hats, books, pencils and behaviour. It was a no nonsense attitude she was displaying and I knew what was good for me. I was not going to be the first one to try out her patience or her tolerance level. The test came soon enough as the Funk twins started fooling around. What was this? A strapping on the first day of school? No problem. It set an example, a precedent, a level of behaviour, beyond which there was no turning back. The rest of us huddled in fear as the awful noises came from the cloak room.
Thwack.
I had been strapped by a belt at home often enough to recognize that dreaded sound. But there was no whimpering or crying out to follow. Just silence. All eyes were on the cloak room door as Miss Thompson stepped out, red faced and obviously very agitated. Behind her sauntered Donald Funk, a big grin on his face, displaying to the whole class who was the toughest kid in school, as if we hadn't just found out.
He plunked down at his desk, staring down at the large red and growing welts on the backs of his hands. Miss Thompson sat at her desk too, but got out a large bobby pin and began picking in her ears.
I just knew I had a story to tell at the supper table that night!