AOSA CENTENARY HISTORY 1841 - 1941
page sixty-three
Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Appendix
I would be one of Miss Wells’ first pupils as Rose Littlefair started school the same half as she became head and I came the next half. In those days the food was very plain, nevertheless we all looked healthy on it. There was an ‘office’ called ‘Parlour waiter’ whose job was to carry food from the top table, where it was carved by Mr. and Mrs. Arundel, to the teachers doing duty at the ends. These waiters got their meal of teachers’ food after the others had left the room. They took their instructions from Mrs. Arundel, of whom I can remember being very scared for a long time. It used to be a great game getting a fresh supply of cream, butter and so on in to the dining-room just before the teachers finished their meal as we were allowed only to have left over food, and as we could only get fresh supplies in if they were asked for, we used to ask a likely one to have more if supplies were getting down. Miss Wells was no help here, but Mr. Malcolm, who was a junior teacher, was an unfailing aid; he and Miss Fernon, the housekeeper, often appeared to us to be at loggerheads. Miss Fernon seemed to suspect that the waiters did themselves as well as they could, and got into the habit of standing about whilst they ate their meal, and many a time they would be grasping half a cup of cream or a piece of butter between their knees whilst they ate their breakfast, and this was hurriedly shared out as soon as her back was turned. Annie Curry was an expert P. W. and taught many beginners, including myself. I well remember Mrs. A, as we used to call her, saying to me “There’s a whole beautiful pie for you to-day,’ but I said “No ,” as it was not broken into we were not allowed to have it, upon which she took a knife and fork and made a real mess of it, and this did indeed rejoice our hearts.
Each Tuesday evening we used to have cookery class, and I was one whose duty it was to get the room ready and clear up afterwards which included bringing whatever we had cooked across to the teachers’ sitting room. We used to pack our blouses with cakes before handing them over to Miss Geeson, who used to say, “You may take one each, girls,” and we used to meekly take another. Miss Wells many a time was in the room and we felt sure she’d seen our bulging garments, but never a word said she, and upstairs the wolves were waiting for the share out.
I remember Arthur Douglass (head boy) weeping because the drawing master, I have forgotten his name, had reported him to Mr. Arundel; that drawing master used to ask for trouble, he even reported me! Another funny master was Mr. Hinchliffe; he only used to take us for one short period a week, but what a lark his class used to be. If things were quiet he would write on the board,’ There has been silence for’ - he was going to continue ‘one minute’ --but he never got it finished; someone always said something, and as he used to say “spoilt it; it’s quite spoilt now” and he used to jump up and down on his toes whilst he said this, two or three times to our delight. Then he used to threaten us girls with “A walk, a short walk, down the passage, and you know where that leads,” Miss Wells’ room, but I can't remember that he ever took this drastic action.
Doris B. Hedley (Mrs. Sheridan), 1905-08
What are my most outstanding Ayton memories? There are so many; gay and grey they come crowding to my mind. There was the day I felt really grown-up when I went to the local bank, not only to pay in cheques for Miss Geeson, but to cash one and bring back in tight-clutched, hot fingers five golden sovereigns-there was gold in those days-so proud that I forgot to gaze into the quaint little shop window, behind which Mrs. Bishop dispensed that glorious sticky toffee and those vast slabs of nougat on which so many of our pennies went.
A certain little drawer in my study houses a cherished possession, a silver medal inscribed with my initials on one side and on the other the words ‘A.F.S. Hockey 1908. Unbeaten. Goals 98-6.’ What a season that was! In match after match we triumphed, whether on our own ground or away. It was the school, the team and not the individual that counted. In scarlet jerseys and navy tunics our forwards and halves did most of the work; we backs were there when required, and our goalkeeper, a girl with a delightful Irish brogue, deplored the cold and put on yet another pair of gloves.
With early morning sunshine streaming through the dining-room windows and many eyes upon me I rose to my feet to speak the daily portion of scripture. I got as far as the name of the Gospel and the number of the verse when, mind completely blank, I stood speechless and helpless. Mr. Arundel’s tactful murmuring of the first words stirred errant memory and saved my self-respect.
Of other dining-room memories there are Long readings, Pops, W. Noble and the ‘Single Hair,’ Miss Howell’s ‘cello, laying the tables, clearing away the plates, waiting at the hatch for laden dishes, and, on a snowy Sunday, Meeting in the morning as well as in the evening.
The village green usually serene and untroubled had its moments of activity. There were roundabouts which we were sometimes allowed to patronise, and an occasional political meeting. One I remember was addressed by the then Mr. Herbert Samuel during an early contest for the representation of the Cleveland Division.
There was the winter when heavy snow covered our world and we sledged on the slopes of the football field. Skaters were invited to Mr. Kitching’s lake. Because I had had the foresight to pack my brother’s skates in my trunk it was assumed that I knew how to use them and I was allowed to join the happy party. Monsieur Egermont took pity on my complete inexperience, and, with incredible patience, taught me to control my wayward feet. Soon he had me rushing round the ice with the best of them, a-tingle with the exercise and the clear, crisp Yorkshire air.
The Beckside on Sundays in sunshine and in snow, the outstretched branches of the Copper Beech, the jumping board with Mr. Arundel or Mr. Watson on the other end, the gym, early scampers round the playground on chilly mornings all bring delicious memories which, for me, will last to the end of time.
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