Poetry at my 1957 Secondary Modern school was a subject that was tacked onto an English lesson once a week.
Our English master was determined that during each lesson, at least one classic English poem was to be taken down into our exercise books, to be read at leisure much later. At each lesson poetry was, for most of us, just an exercise in speed writing and a compelled form of concentration.
The classroom was equipped with three small blackboards and the poem of the day appeared across all three from left to right, to the sound of squeaking chalk and that occasional curse when that chalk stick broke in half. Should any student be unwise enough to be talking, the broken half of the chalk would fly in his direction and it usually found its mark.
When copying these pieces, the student had to be at least halfway down the second board by the time that the third board was finished. To the challenging sounds of ‘Have you all got that?’ the opening lines of the selected bard’s work were energetically obliterated from the first board in a cloud of ‘room enveloping’ chalk dust, to make way for further enlightened verses.
On discovering my old exercise book recently, I was amazed to discover over two dozen of my hand written collection from the past. Here are a few that I recite from memory:-
Abdul Ben Adam
A Psalm of life
Blow, blow thou winter
wind
The Daffodils
The Tiger
Waterloo
England, My England
The Inchcape Rock
The Night Mail
The Traveller
I remember one afternoon the entire class were complaining about hand cramps and having to keep up with the writing chore. Our master said, ‘one day you will be glad that you have learned these pieces.’ Little did I know then, how right he was!
David Taylor
