Tell us YOUR one room schoolhouse story from the North Bedeque school OR....your own one room schoolhouse story. 

Here is one story from past student ....

"North Bedeque School Christmas Concert"

By Brenda Waugh Malstrom

After rehearsing my parts daily for weeks, the concert night finally arrived, and there was no doubt in my mind that everything would go as planned. Wearing my Sunday dress, I fastened my bobbed hair back, slipped my slender feet into the cotton-ribbed stockings and hooked them into the garters that dangled down my thighs. I loathed the baked bean-coloured hose that bagged and itched. My Grandmother, Gammie, was the concert pianist, so there was no chance of me being late. My heart raced excitedly as we drove along the Taylor Road and turned onto the Trans-Canada Highway toward the North Bedeque School Hall.

The red tissue paper-wrapped colouring book and crayons I had selected for the gift exchange were held tight in my hands. I closed my eyes and made a wish that the kid who drew my name would give me the same. We arrived in the schoolyard and stepped out into a cold, clear night with stars shining as bright as the lamp that beamed from the Summerside Harbour lighthouse. White smoke curled from the chimney into the night sky, appearing as if it was trying to reach the crescent-shaped moon.

An anxious air of excitement filled the small school hall that smelled of wood smoke and evergreen. Flames crackled and spat in the pot-bellied stove that stood like an iron giant in the center of the room. My neck strained as my eyes followed the long black pipe that stretched through the ceiling. I placed my gift under the Christmas tree, which stood to the left of the stage, and watched the multi-coloured lights sparkle, round ornaments shine, and tinsel glitter as it danced on the fragrant spruce branches. The glowing star at the top reminded me of the song: Star of the East that I had to sing with Hazel. The wine-coloured velvet stage curtains held up by wires and ropes, causing them to hang unevenly, were closed, hiding the night's mysteries. Evergreen boughs decorated the tall windows, and the letters: “Merry Christmas” were strung along the wall above the curtains.

To the right of the platform, Gammie played Jingle Bells on a piano that appeared as if it had been there since my grandfather and father attended the school. Wondering what the concerts were like back then, I took my place on the bench three rows back from the piano. A friend arrived and sat beside me. Her brother, who was in grade one, sat in the front row behind Gammie. He stared back at his sister through his thick round glasses, which made his eyes appear three times their size and pleaded for her to sit beside him. Parents, grandparents, and schoolmates streamed in and filled the room. Then, above the multitude of voices exchanging gossip and greetings, Gammie’s keys struck the march. We stood like soldiers; our feet stomped on the wooden floorboards to the beat as we assembled onto the stage. We sang from our hearts: Oh Canada, Up on The Roof Top, and He’s Too Fat for the Chimney. Then we tromped with the same vigour back to our seats, and the concert began. After the grade one class gave their alphabet recitation, I trundled onto the stage to sing the duet with Hazel. My part was to sing alto, which made me sound like a bullfrog.

Following a series of other performances, Intermission was announced. With nickels and dimes in our hands, we lined up for the fudge sale. Gammie had contributed her chocolate, coconut cream, and brown sugar fudge, and hers, of course, was the best. I paid five cents and received a small brown bag bulging with lumps. After stuffing all I could in my mouth and tucking the rest in my coat pocket for later, I rushed backstage to ready myself for my next part. The noise and confusion from the sale ended when Gammie played a cord, and everyone scrambled to their seats.

I stood cloaked in a white sheet in the narrow passageway behind the stage, waiting my turn. Someone gave me a gentle shove into the bright light, and there on the platform in front of me was Scrooge sitting in a large armchair. Trembling under my costume, I approached him from behind. Dreading having to touch a boy, I laid my shaking hand on his shoulder while revealing the Second Spirit’s message to him. Relieved that it would be my last performance and that everything had gone flawlessly so far, I dressed in my costume and entered the stage again. This time, I was playing the role of a sick
child, and I knew my lines to perfection. My acting mother prepared to feed me a spoonful of medicine, which I had to pretend I did not want. But, as the audience hushed and the spoon came to my mouth, someone in the back row let out a loud burp. I burst out laughing and could not
stop. It was like a run-away train that kept rolling out of me.

Everyone in the hall started laughing with me.

Suddenly, the curtain drew closed, and the play came to an abrupt end. Afraid my teacher was waiting backstage to reprimand me, I slunk to my seat, hoping she would not notice. Then, Here Comes Santa Clause sprang from the keys like a blast from a hundred trumpets. Bells clanged, and “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas,” Santa bellowed as he barrelled down the aisle. My heart pounded. I stood to get a better look, and that was when I saw my friend’s grade one brother dive under the piano bench and wrap himself around Gammie’s legs, digging his white-knuckled fingers into her flesh. His face paled; his eyes bulged behind his glasses so wide they looked as if they would pop out of his head as he dared to watch the white-bearded monster charge toward the Christmas tree. Gammie continued to play, but I could see she was trying to maintain a straight face.

Finally, it was the part I had been waiting for: the presents under the tree. As our teacher called out the names, Santa gave each student their gift and candy. Suddenly, I heard my name. I rushed up to Santa, and before I got back to my seat, I ripped off the wrapping paper to reveal a book, causing a lump in my throat. The teacher had drawn my name. That was when I decided that if she would forgive me for ruining the play, I would forgive her for not giving me a colouring book and crayons.

After the last student had been called, Santa headed down the aisle, ringing his bells, waving his arms, and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. Gammie played God Save the Queen, bringing children and adults to their feet as their voices rang into the night air. Each family gathered together, leaving the little Schoolhouse quietly sitting under the night sky with its walls full of memories of a North Bedeque School Christmas
Concert.

North Bedeque School Christmas Concert by Brenda Waugh Malstrom (used by permission) 



** Additional Note from Brenda:  

I hope you enjoy the story.  I did ruin the play, and the teacher gave me a book titled “Water Babies,” and I was upset. The rug and story are in remembrance of my Grandmother Bertie Waugh, who often played the piano for the concerts. My grandparents, Bertie and Brewer Waugh, lived on a farm on the Taylor Road.


Do you have a one room schoolhouse story to tell? 

What was your favourite grade in school?   Why ? 

Who was your favourite teacher? 

How far did you live from your  school? 

What was your favourite school subject? 

What games did you play in the schoolyard? 

Who was your secret crush in school?

What did you eat for lunch at school? 

What do you remember from the inside of your schoolroom?

Who was the clown in your class? 

What did you like to do at recess / break? 

Tell us your BEST memory from your one room schoolhouse 

What is a silly memory from your one room schoolhouse?

Do you still have friends from school that you still connect with?

Anything else you'd like to share about YOUR one room schoolhouse experience?


Thanks for sharing,


The Lil Red Schoolhouse Team