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INNOCENT AT SCHOOL-- by Arthur Henery
The year 1946 was an eventful year for me. My loving, delightful father died on March 30th, not living long enough to know that I had been awarded an Edwards Scholarship which would enable me to enter Queen's College. This was a scholarship granted by the Wesleyan Methodist Church to whom I am extremely grateful. Arrangements were made for me to stay at the home of Uncle Josh and Aunt Millie Thompson. old family friends who lived on Charlotte Street near to Light Street. They had three sons - Godfrey, Douglas and Pat who made me feel at home and I did forgive Douglas and Pat for attending that "other" school, St. Stanislaus. Remarkable as it may seem, we have remained friends to this day. On the first day of "orientation", or whatever it was called in those days, I went happily along to my new school. There I saw many boys of varying sizes, ages and colours, all milling around with parents in attendance. I felt a little intimated but also curious. Queen's College in those days was on Brickdam, not far from the D'urban Park Race Track. A sturdy three storied structure linked to a two storied structure by a covered walkway. After attending an information meeting in the hall on the uppermost floor, I decided to do a "walk-about." I was walking about on the ground floor looking at pictures of "Masters", past and present when an elder gentleman, whose hair was a lovely silver grey, accosted me- "Hello young man" to which I responded, "Good morning, Sir. He then asked me my name and I was pleased to hear from him that he had known my father. After a few encouraging words he then said " you have very pretty lips for a boy." I was a bit taken aback by this comment, but thanked him then excused myself. I later found out this was Mr. Pilgrim, "Bogus" to all of us students. Weeks later during one of his Math classes he came around my desk, pulled my head back and touched my lips with his fingers. I told him that I did not appreciate this. He stopped and I must say, never did that again. |
For the rest of my stay at school our relationship remained cordial and respectful.
During the early French classes, the teacher, Mr. Larthe, in one of the lessons, would read to us in French which we translated as he read and he would then go over our errors. Some of those stories have remained with me over the years. In one story, a man walking down the road saw a blind man wearing dark glasses standing on the side walk holding out a cup. He took out a five franc coin and put it in the cup; then grabbed the hand of the blind man as he was reaching into the cup. "You're not blind! I saw your eyes move when I put that coin in the cup." "Yes sir, I'm not really blind, but my blind friend who usually stands here is sick and he asked me to take his place as a favour. I have a spot on another street. I'm really deaf and dumb." I never became proficient in French, but those stories have given me a chuckle through the years. Here's another gem. A farm worker applied for a job at a farm, and was asked where he had worked prior to that day. "Oh, I worked for Mr. La Fleur at his farm a few miles from here," was his reply. "But Mr. LaFleur is known to pay his workers well and I can't imagine why you would leave him." The worker thought for a moment, then said, "Well he may pay well, but this is what happened. The first week after I started there, an old farm horse died, and we had to eat him over the next two weeks. Then a month ago an old cow died and we ate that over the next three weeks. Well yesterday his mother-in-law died and I decided it was time to leave." School was not always a drudgery and my good luck was being able to enjoy humour whenever and wherever I could find it. I truly believe that the only wasted day is one without laughter.
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