After going through this morning’s worth of new blog posts and comments, I was playing around with some background images for this blog … to see what it looked like with a pattern instead of just plain white. In my files, I found a picture of my first school. I’d found it online somewhere, I shamefully «stole» it because this is the only time I’ve seen a picture of this building. If I knew who took it, I’d ask permission of course, but I don’t.
It’s not a school anymore … there’s a company that makes a certain kind of old-fashioned stoves.
Here I spent my first, six years of schooling. I know every little corner of this building and the outside surroundings. I was seven when it all started. This school — Frölands Skola — housed six grades, so there were kids that were almost thirteen. That’s a big difference at that age. Most of us knew who the other one was … our parents knew one another — at least they knew of one another.
I remember, when I was in grade 1, hearing that one of the kids in grade 6 had started smoking. This was something so utterly horrible — it could have been compared with heroine or something like that today. We had a tremendous amount of respect for our teachers, opened the door for them and addressed them Miss.
Behind the school, a little stream was running, deep down in a ravine, and we weren’t allowed to go there. That, of course, made everyone want to go there. One of my class mates climbed a tree down there, fell down and got a concussion! The ambulance came, I remember seeing him lying there, unconscious …. big event! He was a relative of Alfred Nobel … as in the Nobel Prize.
We had lunch in a separate building. There were two lunch ladies and one was really mean. She checked out everyone’s plate, so that there was nothing left. We could not refuse to eat. One boy in my class only liked meatballs (!) so he cried every day, except the few days meatballs were being served. What a problem that guy had!
What I remember best from these years are the days before the summer break. Always around the 9th of June … which coincided with my Mum’s birthday. Always a new dress, flowers in the classroom and on our benches. There’s a hymn that is forever associated with Swedish ‘school’s out for summer’…
So many memories … all recorded on my mental harddrive. I hardly know anything about them — my school mates … what became of them. My first teacher, Elsa, died not too long ago. I always check out the obituaries online in the local paper.