My Pants Are Made Out Of Cotton

Like many people who lost a parent in childhood, I don’t have much flotsam and jetsam from childhood.

I did stumble on this school book, though.  I was 8 and as you can see, utterly lacked  literary promise.

I also lacked artistic ability. But since when did we let minor details like that get in the way?

These were done in the old Girls’ School in our village – a fabulous Victorian Board School building which still had some of the original Victorian teachers, in 1969, judging by their rather brutal comments.

By the time I was a teacher, we were trained not to write negative things, or use red pen, as it might hurt the kids’ tender sensibilities.  1969 teachers didn’t give a stuff, though. I take it she only didn’t use red pen as she’d just had one run out on her, after a few days’ writing vicious and censorious remarks.

So glad I wore cotton pants. This was 1969. They might have been synthetic:

And, just to show the length of my career writing about sheep or rather, “seep”:

I actually had NO CLUE how cloth was made when I was 8 (or 18)  so this was clearly copied from a book and forgotten about by tea-time.

I bet this teacher didn’t forget me, though: