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: