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CRUEL DEATH STALK-ED THE CLA5S'ROOM(Concluded)

It's a far cry from those gloomy old days

to the gay school readers of today

Ullin's daughter, driven by the rage
of her cruel father to seek escape
with her lover over the stormy waves.
And “the waters wild went o'er his
child and he was left lamenting.”

Nor can one forget the May Queen,
a distinctly unpleasant maiden in her
hour of glory, but much more like-
able as she fell into slow decline,
wasting away through the months till
she mourned wistfully, "I thought to
pass away before, and yet alive I am."

Good little boys were taught to
entertain greater hopes of reaching
maturity than good little girls, but
even they shared to some degree in
the blows of malevolent fate.. They
were continually dashing through the
pages bearing messages of grave
import and, “ ‘You're wounded!’ ‘Nay
—l’m killed, Sire,’ And—smiling, the
boy fell dead.” Or ‘‘Into a ward of
the white-washed walls/Where the
dead and the dying lay/Wounded by
bayonets, shells, and balls/Some-
body's darling was borne one day."
There was, of course, the boy who
stood on the burning deck “whence
all but he had fled;/The flame that
lit the battle's wreck/Shone round
him o'er the dead.“

Through all these terrors adults
escaped fairly lightly, but occasion-
ally evil deeds did catch up with them
—-as happened to Sir Ralph the Rover
who cut the bell from the lnchcape
rock and then came to grief himself.
Then there were certain battle scenes
where adult corpses “ghastly pale"
lay round “beneath the setting sun"
and where heroic soldiers, who
refused to be a, nuisance to anyone,
declared, “Leave me, comrades, here
I drop:/No, sir, take them on,/All are
wanted, none should stop,/Duty must
be done." There were also the men
who went fishing out into the west as
the sun went down. “For men must
work and women must weep, though
the harbor bar be moaning."

Among women sufferers one vivid
memory is -that of the woman who
slaved day and night making men's
shirts and sang in a tone of dolorous
pitch, “Stitch — stitch -— stitch! in
poverty. hunger and dirt."

T0 aggravate the distress of those
days of long ago, great emphasis was
placed on oral reading. So the little
10-year-olds were obliged to read
these lessons aloud “with nice
expression," blinking their way along
with quavering breath and punctuat-
ing gulps. The stronger souls
eventually mastered their emotions,
knowing that ahead lay such ordeals
as The Death of Little Nell, The Loss

of the Birkenhead, The Princes in’

the Tower. -

These are a mere handful of the
unhappy themes which still nibble at
the memory of those who attended
public school in this country over half
a century ago. One wonders about
those grim old characters who made
the selections. They must have been
brewed in the sentiments of still

earlier readers which set the pace
with, “Our days begin with trouble
here. Our life is but a span. And
cruel death is always near. So trail a
thing is man."

There was, indeed, a fifth reader.
The High School Reader, not nearly
so sorrowful as the third and fourth.
It even contained bursts of levity,
extracts from the School for Scandal,
the Pickwick Papers and similar
cheery works to delight the hearts
bowed down. But like the fourth,
which wound up with Gray‘s Elegy
Written in a Country Churchyard, it
slowed to the rhythm of a funeral
march with the tragedy of Abigail
Becker. Somehow the mournful beat
seemed easier to memorize and, if
some of the old folk were tapped, it
wouldn't be surprising if they were
able to spout a steady stream of
Gray's Elegy.

IT is a far, far call from those
gloomy old days to the gay school

-readers of today in which life is

presented as vivid, happy, humorous,
constructive. Nature is an ‘ally and a
playmate. The world of man is

- kindly and protecting. After riffling

through the pages one closes the
books with the heartening assurance
that there are no deaths to speak of.
Here and there a knight may fall on
his sword, but what can one expect?
In the rare recitals of battle or
conflict one may note the word
“dead," but no real savoring of it. It
is dismissed with crispness in favor of

. happier themes.

Other influences on the child mind
of those ancient days were the mottos
which loomed so largely on school
walls. When wandering eyes lifted
from study books they fell inescapa-
bly on such admonitions as “Waste
not, want not." “Procrastination is
the thief of time," “To thine own self
be true," “An honest man's the
noblest work of God," “A stitch in
time saves nine," “Honesty is the best
policy," “Thou God seest me." Many
an oldtimer will confess that through-
out adult years these mottos have
risen ghost-like to confront him at
most inconvenient moments.

Of course, the prevailing atmos-
phere of all classrooms of today is
sweetness and light. Eager little feet
rush to school, there’s a song on the
lips and joy in the heart. No
forebodings, no sins to expiate in this
safe and beautiful world made so
by kindly teachers and solicitous
parents."

Perhaps it is all this wealth of
loving kindness which sets up a
craving for the violent action pro-
vided by way of television; an inner
urge for a more balanced diet. In
any case, it's a mild form of indul-
gence compared with those old school
readers or compared with The Perils
of Pauline and The Iron Claw and
those blood-chilling serials which
were the strong fare offered in the
first silent movies. Q

The Star Weekly MAGAZINE, June 4. 1960