The village school. R.I.P.

Eight rows of ancient wooden desks,

empty now, stood quiet in patient rank and file,

scarred from initials cut with purposeful intent

by ink stained fingers of the child become the man.

The blackboard, half erased old chalk marks

scraped so deeply they will never fade,

mute witness to the high and selfless

task of knowledge shared.

And only fitful sunlight passes now,

chasing laughter of those gone before;

summer children,  windblown seeds, 

light hearted, soaring to the skies,

as dried up inkwells laze, frayed books, 

odd pencils, gather dust.

Schools out for good, 

holding fast its tattered hem;

unloved, untasked and 

idling out the long,

lacklustre days.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

all gone, all gone...i sat by the open window and listened to the world come knocking on my heart...in those days they took idlers like me to the cloakroom and taught us to count time as the wooden pointer added up the price of dalliance...for taking it away from my third grade teacher and returning the blows, i was given the love of my fellows, and the opportunity to repeat the third grade...the memory doesn't hurt as much as it used to...thank you Beccy

[Bear]

Bravo! Masterfully worded, it is apparent that you have a broad vocabulary and an understanding of its usage. You were able to convey a morose feeling to the old school setting just through your powers of description, which is a nice talent to have. Listening to Terry Oldfield's song Monastery in the background just empowers your poem, give a try sometime and feel the chills as you read your poem :~)

[Taylor]

What a languid and lovely poem. The images sent my mind swirling thru my old school rooms in such an intimate and immediate manner. I love so many lines but especially "School's out for good, holding fast it's tattered hem." The stanza about the summer children is so light and ethereal, I could see their smiling little faces and watch them bounding through the flowered fields. Thank you for starting my morning in such a sweet way.

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Beccy... You have stirred the
memories of those long gone years.
Now, my grandchildren dream new
ideas as our world changes...
Like dandelions blowing in the wind..
we sing our songs at early dawn.
truly, Pat

[Devons]

A quite hauntingly nostalgic and somewhat tragic ghost is evoked here, and with great skill and tenderness.
We may not appreciate it at the time, of course, but the innocence of early school (a sibling to childhood) is a very precious thing, a very sacred time - and the trappings of its environs hold so much memory and significance. One can almost smell the place as if actually there again, and I think it more peculiar to school than to any other place of our youth. The feeling is compacted by the dusty, bookish, unique atmosphere of the classroom - the aroma of generations and history passing through time. And in the silent, obsolete evocation of the place created within this poem, the feeling is somehow richer and more palpable, and like a long-lost dead friend who can never be regained, perpetually of a fixed age.
The sadness is moving, and in that is also charming. All the salient elements are used to great effect, and the whole thing equates to an heirloom collecting cobwebs in the attic of memory.
Epic-like poetry, beautifully arranged and delivered.

[Terry O'Leary]

Splendid poem... vivid images... brings fond and not so fond memories...
Great work!
Terry

[Neville]

You have without any doubt whatsoever captured so many aspects of the classroom here that I too can smell the chalk. This is beautiful and timeless, N

[Phil Roberts]

such evocative images you paint! rhythm and pacing carry the reader along nicely and comfortably. "idling out the long, lacklustre days" sums up my academic career well. thank you for an excellent read : )

[Ken Simm.]

I think in all seriousness that the best thing I can say about this is I can smell it. (And I can see the blotting paper filled inkwells).

[Woody]

of course, this could not fail to bring to my mind my once-upon-a-time primary school, though, to my knowledge, it hasn't been closed but has definitely "suffered' the havoc of modern times. new desks, a few PCs, markers for the board. call me a stick in the mud but to me, that's disfigurement.
loved all the little details you peppered your poem with, Beccy. sumptuous as always.

[Beccy]

Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. The three classroom village school I attended closed in the late nineties, (not enough local children to justify the expense of keeping it open so I was told by a friend who still lived in the village at the time.)

I wrote this shortly after I heard the news, it seemed such a shame.

Beccy.