Ravenstonedale Kirkby Stephen Cumbria

From Eddy wilson - Workington - 2011

eddy.wilson [@] live.co.uk

This weekend (26th Nov 2011) I paid another visit to Ravenstonedale, Dave my next younger brother was taking part in the road race. Nice to see the weather did not seem to put anyone off, competitors or spectators.

I did feel very strange entering the school for the first time since the early 60s the main hall where the race was being organised from. I just got the urge to try and look into the class room which thanks to the staff they were able to sort out for me.

What a change to the class room, in my day it seemed to be massive with a very dull decor of wood paralleling a dark drown varnish, not really much on display on the walls other than a few basic world maps and odds and ends. Now a wonderful scene of colour and work on display, even having to duck under the suspended paintings.

The class at that time had only one teacher Mrs Dent, who worked wonders by having infants through to eleven year olds in the same class room, the class then had the old school desks complete with ink wells, going from the front to the back increasing in heights.

Each year had their own blackboard at the front to follow, different lessons were on them for respective years, a marvel of teaching displayed by Mrs Dent, multitasking to its extreme.

Sometimes when I had finished my work I would try the harder level on another blackboard, felt good to be able to do so, Mrs Dent of course was not too happy when we were caught writing from the wrong board, even looking at another board was taboo.

Dave identified where he sat in the class, front row on the left, he appeared to be mesmerised by it. I sat on the second row on the right side up against a big radiator, this until we gained a new teacher and some of us were selected to move into her class in the large hall.

It appeared to me that there may even be the original wood panelling (now a colourful green) still there in places.

Having been run over in the village and suffered a badly broken leg I would wind Mrs Dent up when we were upstairs having dinner, banging my pot on the floor, straight away she was there wanting to know who it was banging. Looks of sweetness and total innocence from me were enough to throw her off; as she was sitting down off I went again.'