SCHOOL LIFE
I
On the Monday of the week following Norah Ryan went to school again. She
had been there for two years already but left off going when she became
an adept at the needles. Master Diver had control of the school; he was
a fat little man, always panting and perspiring, who frightened the
children and feared the priest. On the way to school he cut hazel rods
by the roadside, and when in a bad mood he used them on the youngsters.
After he had caned three or four children he became good tempered, when
he caned half a dozen he got tired of his task and allowed the remainder
(if any remained) to go scot free. Some of the boys who worked in their
spare time at peat saving and fishing had hands hard as horses’ hooves.
When these did something wrong their trousers were taken down and
awkward chastisement was inflicted with severe simplicity in full view
of a breathless school.
The school consisted of a single apartment, at one end of which, on a
slightly elevated platform near the fire, the master’s desk and chair
were placed. Several maps, two blackboards, a modulator, which no one,
not even the master himself, understood, and a thermometer, long
deprived of its quicksilver, hung on the walls. In one corner were the
pegs on which the boys’ caps were hung; on a large roof-beam which
spanned the width of the room the girls’ shawls were piled in a large
heap. The room boasted of two wide open fireplaces, but only one of
these was ever lighted; the other was used for storing the turf carried
to school daily by the scholars. The room was swept twice weekly; then a
grey dust rose off the floor and the master and children were seized
with prolonged fits of sneezing. Outside and above the door was a large
plate with the inscription,
GLENMORNAN NATIONAL SCHOOL. 1872.
Over the plate and under the eaves of the building a sparrow built its
nest yearly, and it was even reported that a bat took up its daily
residence in the same quarter.
From his seat beside the fire in the schoolroom the master watched his
pupils through half-closed eyes, save when now and again he dropped into
a sound sleep and snored loudly. Asleep he perspired more freely than
when awake. He was very bald, and sometimes a tame robin that had been
in the schoolhouse for many years fluttered down and rested on the
skinny head which shone brilliantly in the firelight. There the robin
preened its feathers. Now and then a mouse nibbled under the boards of
the floor, and the children stopped their noisy chatter for a moment to
listen to the movements of the little animal.
Prayers were said morning and evening. The children went down on their
knees, the master prayed standing like a priest at the altar. The
prayers of the morning were repeated in English, those of the evening in
Gaelic.
Norah Ryan took her place in the third standard. In the class the boys
stood at top, the girls at bottom, and those of each sex were ranged in
order of merit. Norah, an apt pupil, easily took her place at the head
of the girls, and the most ignorant of the boys, a youth named Dermod
Flynn, was placed beside her. Although this lad got caned on an average
three times a day, he never cried when he was beaten; still, Norah Ryan
felt mutely compassionate for him when she heard the sharp hazel rod
strike like a whiplash against his hand. His usual punishment consisted
of four slaps of the rod, but always he held out his hand for a fifth;
this, no doubt, was done to show the master that he did not fear him.
Dermod could not fix his mind on any one subject; there was usually a
far-away look in his eyes, which were continually turning towards the
window and the country outside. On the calf of his left leg a large red
scar showed where he had been bitten by a dog, and it was known that he
would become mad one day. When a man is bitten by an angry dog he is
sure to become mad at some time or another. So they say in Frosses.
The third class was usually ranged for lessons in a semi-circle facing
the map of the world, which, with the exception of the map of Ireland,
was the largest in the school. On the corners of the map were pictures
of various men and animals with titles underneath; which, going the
round of the two hemispheres, could be read as follows: Dromedary; A
Russian Moujik; Wild Boar; A Chinaman; Leopard; An Indian; Lion; A Fiji
Islander; etc., etc.
II
One day the master asked Dermod Flynn if he knew what race of people
lived in Liverpool. As usual Dermod did not know.
“Dockers and Irishmen,” Norah Ryan, whose mind reverted to the letter
which had been received from Fergus, whispered under her breath.
“Rockets and Irishmen,” Dermod blurted out.
No one laughed: a rocket had never been seen in Glenmornan, and it would
have surprised none of the children if Dermod were correct; it would
have surprised none of them if he were wrong. The master reached for the
hazel rod.
“Hold out your hand, Dermod Flynn,” he commanded and delivered four
blows on the boy’s palm. Flynn held out his hand for a fifth slap: the
master took no notice.
“Now, Norah Ryan, hold out your hand,” said the master. “Promptin’ is
worse than tellin’ lies.”
Norah received two slaps, much lighter than those delivered to the boy.
The master knew that she was going to be a nun one day, and he respected
her accordingly, but not to such an extent that he could refrain from
using the rod of correction.
Dermod Flynn turned and stared at Norah. A red blush mantled her cheeks,
and she looked at him shyly for a moment; then her lashes dropped
quickly, for she felt that he was looking into her very soul. He
appeared self-possessed, impervious to the pain of the master’s
chastisement. After a while Norah looked at him again, but he was gazing
vacantly out of the window at a brook tumbling from the rocky hills that
fringed the further side of the playground.
When school was dismissed and the scholars were on their way home,
Dermod spoke to Norah.
“Why did you help me in the class to-day?” he asked.
She did not answer but turned away and stared at the stream falling from
the dark rocks.
“It’s like white smoke against a black cloud,” he said following her
gaze.
“What is?”
“The stream falling from the rocks.”
On the day following Dermod got into trouble again. His class was asked
to write an essay on fire, and Dermod sat biting his pen until the
allotted time was nearly finished. Then he scribbled down a few lines.
“A house without fire is like a man without a stomach; a chimney without
smoke is like a man without breath, for----”
That was all. Dermod pondered over the word “stomach” for a while and
felt that it made the whole sentence an unseemly one. He was stroking
out the word when the master, awakening from his sleep, grabbed the
essay and read it. He read it a second time, then took down a hazel rod
from the nail on which it hung. The ignorance of the boy who wrote such
a sentence was most profound. The master caned Dermod.
Norah Ryan made rapid progress at her work, and when she went home in
the evening she sat down on the hassock and learned her lessons by the
light of the peat fire. She considered old Master Diver to be a very
learned man, but somehow she could not get herself to like him. “Why
does he beat Dermod Flynn so often?” she asked herself time and again,
and whenever she thought of school she thought of Dermod Flynn.
Her mother, who had improved in health, now that there was food to eat,
brought a looking-glass from Greenanore one day. She paid fourpence
halfpenny for it in “McKeown’s Great Emporium,” the new business which
had just been started by the yarn merchant. Norah dressed her hair in
front of this glass, and one day when engaged in the task, she said: “I
wish I could see Dermod Flynn now!” Perhaps she really meant to say: “I
wish Dermod Flynn could see me now!” In any case she got so red in the
face that her mother asked her what was wrong.
Shortly afterwards Dermod Flynn’s school troubles came to an end. His
class was standing as usual, facing the map of the world, and Master
Diver asked Dermod to point out Corsica. The boy did not know where
Corsica was; he stared at the map, holding the idle pointer in his hand.
“Point out Corsica!” the master repeated, and seized the youth by the
ear, which he pulled vigorously. The blood mounted to the boy’s cheeks,
and raising the pointer suddenly he hit the master sharply across the
face.
“You’ve killed him, Dermod Flynn!” Norah Ryan gasped involuntarily. The
old fellow put his hands over his face and sank down limply on the form.
Blood trickled through his fingers ... a fly settled on his bald head
... the scholars stared aghast at their fallen master. Dermod gazed at
the old man for a moment, then seizing his cap he rushed out of the
schoolroom. Most of the boys followed the example, and when the master,
who only suffered from a slight flesh wound, regained his feet and
looked round, the school was almost deserted.
Dermod Flynn did not return again, and after his departure Norah found
that she did not like the school so much as formerly.