Tag Archives: school

Men Mowing

As I at lessons sat
In school
(Generally obeying the rule),
I oft did hear,
Sometimes far, at others near,
A sound clear,
That of men mowing,
Knowing where they where going.

On my way home tonight
I had the delight
Of smelling new mown grass,
Which brought to mind
A more settled time
When I at lessons sat
Reading rhyme,
And men were amowing
Knowing where they where going.
Sometimes I almost weep,
When I think on what my country may reap.

A Distant Shout

A distant shout
As children lark about
In the playground.

A happy sound.
Though many a fool
Does romanticise school


Oh sleepy cricket
Where the languid batsman keeps his wicket.
I well recall
The sound of bat on ball.
Wicket after wicket did fall.
Then with one master stroke
A boy the classroom window broke …!

The above is based on my recollection of a game of cricket in which I participated while attending a school for the blind in Liverpool. We used footballs containing ballbearings in order that those with little or no sight could identify where the ball was (cricket balls would have been far too dangerous)!

The Play

Sitting on a bench in the school playground
With children milling all around.
Yes, I remember it as though it was yesterday,
The actors came to perform a play.
Me weak
With a longing only half understood.
Unable to speak
And gawkishly shy,
I would
Where I to address
The girl in the summer dress.

I recollect nought of the play
Yet thoughts of the actresses with me stay.
With age
‘Tis said one becomes a sage.
Different actors perform upon the stage
And now my hair is grey
I pay
To see the players play.
As with the actors of yesterday
They too, will fade away.


The school grounds I pass.
A ball flies through the grass.
The sound of children playing.
I wish you could be staying.
But you went away
Many a day
Do you remember the snow?

I recall
Frost hung on the wall.
Delicate and white
In the sun’s light.
Your passing smile
The ice shimmered on the tree.
Watched by you and me.

The frost did not stay
And melted away
Leaving a blank wall
Yet the icicles I recall
And still the water doth fall
On a winter’s day
Far away.

The Guest – A Guest Post By Victo Dolore

Many thanks to Victo Dolore for the below guest post. If you haven’t already checked out Victo’s blog please do so. She writes with humanity and humour about the medical world and so much more, (https://doctorly.wordpress.com/).



The Guest


The headmaster was standing at the back of the room in his brown suit and brown tie, his arms crossed somberly across his chest. He was a serious man who

never joked, never smiled.


I was nervous just looking at him.


It was my second grade class and it was the end of the school year. My teacher, Ms. White, held a sheaf of those wide ruled tan colored notebook papers

stapled together in her hands, turning each page slowly as she read from the podium at the front of the class.


They were my papers.


It was my story.


I stole another glance around the room. My classmates watched her with rapt attention, eyes growing wider. They were there in the story, I could see it!


There were dwarves and a wizard and a cave filled with treasure and scary monsters that clung to the dark shadows. I knew the secret, though. It was going

to end up with good winning out over evil. Just wait, I smiled to myself.


As she read the last words there was silence. More silence. My heart stood still as the seconds ticked by. Then… everyone clapped, even the somber, frightening

man at the back of the class.


He smiled at me!


I had never been recognized by anyone as being good at anything to that point. My handwriting was always awful. I read aloud too fast. My clothes were

old, worn hand-me-downs. Mathematics was a mystery to me. I was quiet as a mouse, never speaking, always invisible.


And so from that day forward I wrote every chance I could get.


I will never win any literary award. I will never have a huge audience. But when I put pen to paper I find my voice. The magic weaves its way through my

fingers, taking over…


Thus began my love affair with words.

Sir Smasham UP By E. V. Rieu

At school I had a wonderful teacher, Mr Delacruz who, along with my grandfather kindled in me a love of literature. I remember Mr Delacruz’s classroom as being piled high with books, volumes tottered on storeroom shelves. For me, as a small boy entering his classroom was akin to visiting Aladdin’s cave.

I recollect him reading aloud to we children. He even made a recording of several stories and poems for me including Conan Doyle’s The Speckled Band and Alfred Noye’s poem The Highwayman. One poem from which I derived particular pleasure was Sir Smasham UP by E V RIEU, (http://monologues.co.uk/Childrens_Favourites/Smasham_Uppe.htm). For a reason which shall forever remain clouded in mystery, the first few lines of Rieu’s humorous poem popped into my head this morning,

“Good afternoon, Sir Smasham Uppe!
We’re having tea: do take a cup!”

and I determined to look up this childhood favourite. If you have children, grandchildren or are acquainted with children in any way I recommend introducing Rie