Cider with Rosie

by Laurie Lee

The village school at that time provided all the instruction we were likely to ask for. It was a stone barn, divided by a wooden partition into two rooms-The Infants and The Big Ones. There was one dame teacher, and perhaps a young girl assistant. Every child in the valley crowding there remained until he was fourteen years old, then was presented to the working field or factory with nothing in his head more burdensome than a few memories, a jumbled list of wars, and a dreamy image of the world's geography. It seemed enough to get by with, in any case, and was one up on our poor old grandparents.

This school, when I came to it, was at its peak. Universal education had packed it to the walls with pupils. Wild boys and girls from miles around-from the outlying farms and half hidden hovels way up at the ends of the valley-swept down each day to add to our numbers, bringing with them strange oaths and odours, quaint garments and curious pies. They were my first amazing vision of any world outside the womanly warmth of my family; I didn't expect to survive it for long and I was confronted with it at the age of four.

The morning came without any warning when my sisters surrounded me, wrapped me in scarves, tied up my bootlaces, thrust a cap on my head and stuffed a baked potato in my pocket.

"What's this?" I said.

"You're starting school today."

"I ain't. I'm stopping 'ome."

"Now come on Loll, you're a big boy now."

"I ain't."

"You are."

"Boo hoo."

They picked me up bodily, kicking and bawling, and carried me up to the road.

"Boys who don't go to school get put into boxes and turn into rabbits and get chopped up on Sundays."

I felt this was overdoing it rather, but I said no more after that. I arrived at the school just three feet tall and fatly wrapped in my scarves. The playground roared like a rodeo and the potato burnt through my thigh. Old boots, ragged stockings, torn trousers and skirts went skating and skidding around me. The rabble closed in; I was encircled; grit flew in my face like shrapnel. Tall girls with frazzled hair, a huge boy with sharp elbows began to prod me with hideous interest. They plucked at my scarves, spun me round like a top, screwed my nose and stole my potato.

I was rescued at last by a gracious lady-the sixteen year old junior teacher-who boxed a few ears and dried my face and led me off to The Infants. I spent the first day picking holes in paper, then went home in a smouldering temper.

"What's the matter, Loll? Didn't he like it at school then?"

"They never gave me a present!"

"Present? What present?"

"They said they'd give me a present."

"Well, now, I'm sure they didn't."

"They did! They said: "You're Laurie Lee ain't you? Well, just you sit there for the present." I sat there all day but I never got it. I ain't going back there again!"

But after a week, I felt like a veteran and grew as ruthless as anyone else. Somebody had stolen my baked potato so I swiped somebody else's apple. The Infant Room was packed with toys such as I've never seen before-coloured shapes and rolls of clay, stuffed birds and men to paint. Also a frame of counting beads which our young teacher played like a harp...