PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Last day at School.

My last day at school hooray real life starts at last. All of the children filed into the hall and stood in their different classes. The teachers sitting on a row of desks look with a sigh or two of relief as one of the trouble makers take his or her place. The head master stands and after a few well chosen words, a hymn is sung and a series of short well chosen words are given to the school leavers now considered educated enough to do menial jobs for a mere pittance. I was happy to be leaving school I had no love for my teachers, most of whom I considered to be not right in the head. My turn now, to say good bye to the Head Master as I took my turn to shake his hand. Somehow I managed to say these few words. Thank you sir for your efforts to make a scholar out of me, his goodbye and well wishes sounded very sarcastic to my perhaps oversensitive ears, I left the school hall without looking back I was free from this stupid school At long last I could go out to work and earn my own money,

Not so easy to get a job, I tried to find work in nearly every firm in and around my home town. Then I went further a field after all many young people were working away from home most had even taken a room or rooms to be near their jobs, I applied at a large engineering works. The foreman took me into a hall. The noise in this hall was indescribable huge presses thudded down onto sheets of metal and a new part of a car was ready to be taken away to some factory to become another part of a car parts were being pressed out for cars, washing machines, and many more that I could not remember. All I knew was that I did not go to school to push my foot on a pedal and wait for so many tons of steel to come crashing down pushing steel into sheet for a part of a car or whatever it was that this firm made. I left the man explaining things to me and wandered right out of the engineering firm. If I had stayed there I would have needed hearing aids. My next attempt was a shop selling groceries. This was a dreary old place all of the staff were well over the age where one could have gone out with them for drink. It was more of a nodding place that anything else. Even the manager had all kind of excuses for his staff. Poor Mrs. Smith take her place and tell her to go up to the ladies room and have a lay down. I could weigh cheese or serve butter, peas and beans were of no problem but bacon and other meats well by the time I had cut a few ounces I had a pile of meats that I then had to try to sell to the customers. No one wanted meat already cut. The large rounds of cheese were also a part of my job. Naturally when giving me the extra work of poor Mrs Smith my own work was neglected. I was the junior in the team ( The team the managers words.) we were no team too many had to go to the rest room to recuperate from the very hard work of serving a few customers. The hardest work I found was cutting the ration coupons that had to be placed in a tin. Whatever happened to the coupons I never did find out?

One job followed the other. I was not satisfied with menial jobs why I asked myself did I have to learn to read and write, why the long hours trying to grasp the mechanics of arithmetic. Now that I am coming to the end of my days I realise why I had to climb the social ladder to be part of the well off people that too have had to learn all that was possible so as to be able to be able to tell others what to do. Now of course it does not matter. I have left something for the world, something for my family, what more could I want. Just one question wre all of those teachers necessary in my youth. What would have become of me without their knowledge that they tried to impart to this child Bern that grew up to be a scribbler. And a not very good one at that, I know.