Copy of "Stroud Public School In Memory" a poem written by James Wesley "Wes" Maneer. This is the first page of three. Further information may be acquired at Knock Heritage Site. The text is as follows: How well I remember, and so will some of you, Back in Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-two. I started to school in the lean-to woodshed, Percilla Black was teacher with George Whitehead. Whitehead was cross and very severe, With his own three children, an example to bear. But in Eighteen Hundred and Sevent-four Came Charlott Hanna, and fear was no more. Andrew Morton then followed, a good-natured soul, He sure had his wories in keeping control. And in Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-eighht, Jim Reid came to us with his teachers' estate. With Maria Maley completing the whole teaching staff, And her stately demeanour, and never a laugh. The Inspector, Oh how I remember him, He was the very opposite of being thin. So fat he could hardly open his eyes, Weighed Three Hundred Pounds, Oh what a size. His voice was like thunder, how we dreaded his call, And when he was gone 'twas a relief for all. We played the part of the bare-footed boy, One toe in a rag, and a sty in one eye. And what fun we had at the recess hour, I remember playing marbles with Lizzie Orr. In the winter, the snowball battles we fought, Some broken windows, and nobody's fault. And as homework was not a laborous task We never did one bit more than was asked. In the mornings the school was never too warm, We would stand 'round the stove, while the fire would burn. And the frozen ink bottles furnished anticipation Of a sudden explosion and a spot on the ceiling. The picnics we had at old Sandy Cove Late in June, and with always a crowd. No automobile to transport us, just a farm wagon, with boards across the box. And the driver with his happy and smiling face Would readily engage in a spirited race. The hotel or the tavern across from the school Furnished further excitement when men would get full/ And the trips we had to the beaver meadow, To snaffle the mellons that so bounteously grew. Oh our day was complete with some salt and a knife, And no one could tell us, that wasn't the life. But while speaking of knives, one couldn't resist To cut some girls initials in the school desk.
