We all have `em....... Primary schoolday memories,so how about sharing?

I remember an incident that happened in Primary school that really affected me. I was about eight and took my beautifully executed cross stitch to the teacher. As I was standing beside her she said. ‘Do you always breathe as heavily as that?) Move away!’ Up to that point I hadn’t noticed and neither had my parents . I later found out that I had bad adenoids and a deviated septum.
As a result I would hold my breath whenever I was standing close to her or any other adult.
I can now think that it was a really cruel thing to say to a child.

*Primary school memories*:

My first teacher - Mrs Silver - a lovely lady who was probably about forty, but I thought she was ancient.

My Nan walking me back and forth to school each day and also coming to the playground fence with sweets at playtimes. No wonder my teeth have suffered!

Nobody understanding what I said because I had quite a strong Welsh accent. I quickly exchanged it for Cockney.

Being slapped across the hands with a ruler and made to stand in the corner on only my third day for talking.

Afternoon naps on canvas beds; Haliborange tablets; bottled milk and also orange juice.

Outside toilets that were always freezing cold and the door locks didn't work.

Being told off because I could already read and write quite well before I started school, thanks to my Nan. I was made to feel I was doing it all wrong and thereafter I dreaded having to read aloud or read to the teacher.

A lovely teacher from New Zealand who taught us Maori songs and a dance which we performed in grass skirts and flower garlands. She also had a monkey hand puppet which 'helped' her tell us stories each afternoon.

I hated PE and games. Never been sporting and I'm not competitive.

Country Dancing, I loved it. Also Scottish dancing.

I remember being envious of a pretty girl in another class who had dancing lessons and brought her tap shoes to school to show off her dancing skills in the playground every day.

I remember being teased all through school because I didn't have a Dad. I was brought up by an aunt & grandparents. As I got older I got into lots of fights over it.

*Junior School memories*:

A dinner lady who always called me Tuppence. No idea why.

A really kind English teacher (Mr Blakely I think) who helped me get over my fear of reading aloud.

Woodwork lessons where we carved small figures of animals from Balsa wood. Health & Safety wouldn't allow it today.

Learning how to make handmade books, something I've recently rediscovered 60 years later.

Needlework lessons in the summer when we sat out on the flat roof of one of the classrooms. The teacher didn't like me because I was already able to do cross stitch (again thanks to my Nan) and when I told her she was doing something wrong she snatched my work off me and threw it on the floor! My Nan was furious and complained to the headmistress. The teacher hated me even more after that.

Climbing up the outside wall of one of the buildings in a chimney recess by pressing our hands and feet against the bricks to see who could get the highest. I nearly made it to the top (about 20 feet) and then couldn't get down and the caretaker had to rescue me. But the boys were impressed.

I remember the Gypsy children who attended our school for the summer term each year while their families camped on nearby wasteland. The boys had long hair, earrings and never wore shoes. One boy played the accordian. Some of them lived in traditional horsedrawn caravans and my granddad would take me to visit them after school. I remember the beauty of the caravans and how welcoming they were. When school finished in July they all moved on to the West Country. Eventually the land was built on and we never saw them again.

I went to a small village school, hated school milk, I can't drink milk or eat yogurt even now. Going to Headmaster's house to watch tv programmes (can't remember what it was now) in my final year. Making daisy chains sitting on the grass in the Summer. Making slides down the playground in the Winter. Passing my 11+ but my parents were advised by my Headteacher that I would do better at a Comprehensive School instead of Grammer School, wise man.

Secondary School was 11 miles away, went in a mini-bus. Enjoyed Domestic Science, Maths & English. Hated PE especially Hockey although I did enjoy the Gym. No cane at my school so no bad memories although lines were a form of torture. I had some very good teachers especially my English teacher (a fellow Monty Python fan), I love reading & constantly have a book/magazine/newspaper by my side

A small village C of E school with 65 pupils in total. Miss Edwards taught the infants, then there were two other classes, Standards 1 and 2, then the headmistress, Mrs Fleming, taught Standards 3 and 4. I took my 11+ a year early and out of 9 of us, 7 passed (the other 2 had missed lots of time through ill health. We had a turtle stove in winter, where we dried our clothes on arrival at school and which thawed our mid-morning milk. The meals were brought in and really were horrendous. We had lots of radio lessons, a favourite being about nature study where generally a countryman (Mr Collins, as I remember) told a young lad, Tony all about country life - birds, animals etc. Then there was "People, Places and Things, Time and Tune, Music and Movement etc. The vicar came in every Wednesday and talked to us (sadly he wasn't very inspiring!) and we all went to Sunday School every week, although I suspect that was mainly because if we didn't go to Sunday School, we wouldn't be able to go to the annual picnic. Apparently in my first year, at Sports Day (I was not a very athletic child, although I always did my best and always finished (generally about 3 races after everyone else)) I saw the other kids getting packets of sweets as prizes and went up and demanded my sweeties. Our school uniform was a bottle green gym slip with a white blouse, dark green cardigan if wanted, green blazer and green/yellow tie. Then there was the ubiquitous dark green beret.

Another Service child who went to 7 schools before I was 11.
At each new school they did everything differently, how to do multiplication, what they called games, what style of writing, how they spoke.
To cover my shyness I showed off and was always the new peculiar girl who had lived abroad and knew nothing about each new place.
Despite all the upheavals my brothers, sister and I all went to grammar schools (3 each for the boys, 2 each for the girls)

I went to infants school first in Warminster, then Donnington, I enjoyed them both immensely, learning to read and write such happy schools followed by junior school in Catterick then on to Bordon, again such happy schools we were taught to write in italics, I still do, I loved these junior schools it was such a wonderful environment.

Funny the things you remember, rolling the cow gum glue into balls that bounced and the smell of the coke fumes when the caretaker stoked up the heating in the cellar. Playing two ball or doing handstands in the playground against the girls toilet wall. The tuck shop!

I also started senior school in Bordon, then on to schools at RAF Gatow and lastly RAF Gutersloh.

I disliked all my senior schools, I have some awful memories, I found it hard to make friends, I was and still am painfully shy and couldn’t wait to finish my exams and leave.

I’ve just remembered that at my lovely infants’ school (which I have posted about already) lunches were at a shop in the village. We went by private bus and took over the first floor over a cake shop. It was a small private school and there were only about 40 of us in all. Some of the food was quite strange, but there was was still rationing and I suppose it was difficult. Once a wasp sat on my head for what seemed like ages, and I was determined to appear brave although I was actually quite scared.

I have nothing but bad memories of junior school - I hated every minute of every day.
I think our headmaster had a policy of employing the most spiteful, bullying teachers he could find.
I particularly remember a Miss Orping, who just loved beating us children with a huge yard rule. She would work herself into an absolute frenzy when hitting a child, and usually drew blood. She was never reported - I guess we were all too scared to say anything.
Grammar school was a little better - no beatings - but it was a prestigious school, and as a scholarship girl of working class parents, I was bullied for being ‘horribly common’.
It was heaven to leave, altho’ thankfully I had done well in my exams and was able to go on to college. It was wonderful to be treated like a human being and to mix with normal girls instead of nasty little snobs.

What’s so fascinating about this thread is how experiences differed. Some schools sound horrendous, bullying places, some very happy, and everything in between.

Separate entrances and playgrounds for boys and girls - lots of games that involved long lines and spinning round, with somebody flying off the end and getting hurt.

Warm milk - a boy queuing up to tell a teacher he felt ill after it and being sick over the head of the girl in front of him. Milk with lumps of ice in it.

Busting the nose of a boy who was bullying another who came from my Durham pit village - we'd moved South and they made fun of our accent.

Sitting all afternoon in the school hall looking glumly at the pipes in the liver that I wouldn't eat, then getting a few swift whacks from the ruler to send me on my way home.

Being captain of the Aunt Sally team when we had an inter-school sports day - we came last.

The burns on my hand from climbing up to the ceiling on the hanging ropes. That rush of blood to the head from hanging backwards from the wall bars.

Having to walk a boy home who had diarrhoea dripping all down his legs....

Being hit in the eye by a snowball with a stone in it and having to sit at the front of the class until home time with my eye closed up and swollen.

A mother charging screaming into the hall and attacking our own Miss Trunchbull while we were eating our dinner because she'd been passing and heard her son being bellowed at and knocked around. The other teachers had to drag her off - we children loved it!

Queuing to have the rosehips I'd collected weighed and paid for. They went to make rosehip syrup.

Music and Movement on the wireless. Is it me, or were we always seeds growing into flowers, or acorns growing into trees (same thing really)?

A boy saying he hadn't been at school the week before because they'd run out of coal and his dad had put his shoes on the fire.

I shall never forget my Truly Fabulous Junior School teacher Mr Head when I was 10/11 years of age. He used to bring his guitar into class, and teach us all kinds of songs from Sea Shanties to Folk songs. He also wrote several songs for our school plays. Fantastic Man. My enduring memory though is when Mr Head took our class into the gym with his guitar to sing a sea shanty. He had the brilliant idea of us all holding the climbing ropes that were attached to the wall mounted apparatus, pretending to pull as we sang " Hooray, Up she rises".
We absolutely loved it. So much so, we got really carried away. We sang at the top of our voices and pulled for real.
There was a loud crack as the apparatus were pulled away from the wall.
Silence, and then a sudden departure back to the classroom.
I dread to think how Mr Head explained what had happened but it was never mentioned, or indeed tried again.
He left my school as I finished, to become a Headmaster elsewhere. Lucky, Lucky School.

Kindergarten, my first day, my Mum left me there after a long bus journey,I was devastated and cried, not knowing anyone, the Nun in charge of the little ones, stood me on a green mat in the hall where everyone went passed to their class rooms she gave me a huge shell which decorated the big fireplace where I was to stand, and told me to fill the shell!! I will never forget my first day at School, I was only five.

What fascinating tales of early school life. I went to a small nursery school when I was 3 which was also for some reason an orphanage - I remember screaming and clinging onto my dad the next time he took me as the other kids had told me I would be left there forever. He took me home.

Next I went to a little private school which in my head was very dark but I was taught to read and write and also do sums.

Proper infant school was at the top of my street. My first day we played with the water trough dressed in plastic (or maybe rubber) aprons and the sand pit. I remember looking at another girl crying and wondering what was wrong with her. I met my lifelong friend that day - we haven't seen each other in years but still write at Christmas. We had two teachers called Thompson so the younger one was Miss Brown Thompson - she was very strict and whacked me across the hands with a ruler as I couldn't sit cross legged (never could and still can't). The other Miss Thompson was lovely and taught us maths with little tins containing wires with coloured counting beads on from 1 to 10. One of my favourite memories is sitting in the classroom around the teacher who read us The Hobbit - my first introduction to fantasy stories which I still read.

Also remember the revolting warm milk which they put by the radiator in winter - I've never touched milk since. We had orange juice in the same bottles at the Christmas party.

Very tall stools in the PE hall - looking back they were probably low but to a small child they were enormous to climb up and also the benches we had to balance on and walk across.

At Easter we decorated hard boiled eggs - one year I did a daisy with white and yellow felt and won the 1st prize of a chocolate egg. One girl was obviously put out about it and told everyone it wasn't a real egg but a ping pong ball.

The toilets were outside and freezing cold in winter and when it was icy we also made slides in the playground then got told off for making it slippy and dangerous. There was a climbing frame in another playground which I fell off and hurt my arm - I was made to wear a sling and was so embarrassed it made me feel ill and I was sent home several times.

I left that school when I was 8 and we moved to the seaside. It must have been just after term started as I was the new girl in an already established class of kids who knew each other. Moving from up north where (in the early 60's) we had what was called Potato Picking Week as a week's holiday I was very upset to find this wasn't a holiday in Yorkshire. They also didn't understand me when I told them they'd get wrong for some misdemeanour they'd done. We had swimming lessons at that school in the freezing cold outdoor pool where we used polystyrene floats - I was pushed in the deep end and never did learn to swim there. There was an old mangle outside the changing room door where we had to wring out our costumes when we'd got dried.

Mostly I think I enjoyed early school life - I wasn't academic or sporty so didn't excel in anything. I was a shy only child but did have some fun times and have happy memories from that time.

Does anyone remember the radio programmes about someone travelling back in time? We used to listen to them once a week, I particularly remember one about the stone age. I don't think anything stirred my imagination as much as they did.

Being late and having to walk across the silent playground.
The stinky toilet blocks and the bike shed.
The kids whose parents couldn't afford to buy them shoes so they wore plimsoles often in holes and ragged cardigans.
Chilblains.
Mental arithmetic first thing with a prize of a sweet if you got all the right answers.
Being read a story at the end of the day. Classes with more than 45 children.
School milk and the ink monitor who had to fill the ink wells each morning. Pens with nibs. Being allowed a fountain pen but having to buy one. Osmiroid 65. I think they cost 5/6
A new game in the playground each week which took awhile to learn. By the time I'd got the hang of cat's cradles or finger knitting or two balls, there would be a new game.
Autograph books.
Thanks for taking us down memory lane.

What a brilliant thread Panache .

My memories of primary school are:

Mr Gibbons (4th year and head of all things PE related) having a “thing” with Miss Henderson (glamorous with long red hair) everyone knew about it. Did they think they were being discreet ?

Head teacher an evil “frog eyed” man who hated children . He made a boy called Colin wet himself infront if the entire school and never met him live it down for the rest of his school life. Nasty, vile horrible man.

The late line. Woe betide anyone who wasn’t over it before 8.55. No excuses at all. Mr Frog eyes would cane you (probably took some sick pleasure from it ).

Falling in a muddy puddle with my new mohair coat on and being so frightened to go home I decided to run away. Teacher found me and took me home in her “car” (such a rare treat). I was half killed for shaming my parents. So I was technically right to run away.

Lots more but I don’t want to bore anyone to tears.

I remember being sat in front of TV once a week for a program called Merry Go Round. It was a fact based program for school children. They ran a series of sex education programs /lessons that my parents forbid me from watching or taking part in . I was a laughing stock when I was led out if the hall by Mr Frog Eyes who declared “Gillybob, I have had a letter from your parents and you will not be taking part in these lessons” I was made to sit in the foyer for several weeks of these lessons and I was mortified .

I arrived in the UK from India aged 3 and by the time I started school I was a fluent English speaker. This was apparently so unusual that the headmaster used to bring visitors to chat to me.
I loved school dinners too and, because I did not eat beef, I was always given extra pudding by our lovely dinner ladies. Caramel tart and custard, drool!
We had a vile teacher at the school who was openly racist and would tell the immigrant children to "go back where you came from" . Her name was Mrs Gilchrist and everyone called her 'Fishface' because of her rather prominent, bulging eyes. I was so glad she was not my teacher!
The rest of our teachers were brilliant and I loved school.

I started school a month before my fifth birthday, my mother walked me the first day and after that I got myself to school crossing the main road through our city.
In the reception class we wrote our letters on a slate using chalk, paper in very short supply immediately post war.
I do not remember a time when I could not read and would be sent to the Head Miss Elliot to read to her. I recall the Janet and John books but when I read to the Head it seemed to be much more advanced books, Bre'r rabbit being one of them.
Multiplication tables, mental arithmetic and spelling tests were done daily and the knowledge gained has stayed with me ever since. In the class after reception I recall each child being given a tin with small shells in, we used these as an aid to counting.
I think we were very well taught, my reading skills at five were way in advance of my GC and they do not seem to learn multiplication tables now.

Taking my beautiful and precious toy horse in to show my friends and my teacher miss Hughes (miss shoes I thought for years) confiscated it and put it in her bedroom, for some reason she lived there, and although I was terribly shy I was so incensed she had taken it, I went into her bedroom and took it back. Absolutely terrified but no way was she doing that and panicked she would say something but she never did, brave six year old!

I’m so sad to hear of so many horrible nuns. The ones who taught me were wonderful, forward thinking women who were passionate about educating girls and encouraging us to excel in whatever we could do. I loved them and even wanted to be one (aged 7). That soon changed!

I was taught by nuns, too. The words of Sister Jean-Marie still resound in my head - she told us (age about 9) that it would be better for Europe to join together and just be one unit like the United States. Big stuff for kids of that age to get their heads round, but I think it must have influenced me a great deal.

Sister Jean-Marie was a hairy old woman otherwise, which is more the sort of thing stands out it memories from that age.

I went to a village school in Merstham, Surrey and in the main I enjoyed it. I remember the head master was called Mr Agate and he was a lovely man. We did Scottish Country dancing and I was involved in the team that danced at local events. We wore white, cotton dresses (mine made by my mum) with a tartan sash.
The unhappy memories are being made to eat mashed swede at lunch time and chucking it under the the table instead. Having to go to the headmistress because I had to pay some money to the teacher and putting it in the wrong place in the classroom! Having my legs slapped for something I did. Can't remember what. Having a cold and putting my soggy hanky on the radiator to dry - Oh, the awful smell when I used it again, I can recall it to this day.
The awful smell of the milk when it was warm - yuk.
But, as I have already said, it was a happy time and I have really enjoyed reading everybody else's memories too.

What lovely/awful memories we all have had about primary school.
I went to a nursery at age four and only remember dancing to The Grand Old Duke of York song every day before hometime.
I was new to the school and didn't know anybody so on my birthday I asked the whole class of sixteen children to come to my party.
The little ones all told their mothers and my own mum was horrified when most of them turned up at our house on 'party day' !
Then i went on to primary school and remember our teacher reading Black Beauty to us every afternoon.
I loved sewing but was hopeless at it and often had a ruler across the knuckles for poor cross stitch.
Loved the top class of primary school as we chanted our times tables every single day - twenty, yes twenty times.
I am brillient with tables to this day....much to my grandchildrens' delight.
One boy in the class was emigrating to Australia with his family and I remember thinking that was very exotic.

grannysue, your inviting everyone to your party reminds me of one of the stories in Alison Uttley’s A Country Child. I remember it being read to us at “going home time”, and I loved it, especially as we were country children ourselves.