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This title is in the Irish language and it means The Real Teacher. A true story. |
An Fior Oide ‘Cripes’ and ‘Bygor!’ Were what he said When amazed or surprised Or pretending you were wonderful. Children were his favourite people. He often wondered Who thought whom. He could stop class For an hour To tell a yarn About a fella’ long ago. ‘And what do you think He did then?’ He invited The class to join in. They would guess and He would Add More Putting an odd New Word On the Blackboard. ‘Very good lads’ He concluded. ‘But no such fella existed And ye’ve just Written a new story All by yeerselves!’ The children gasped At their own capacity And the truth in their lesson, Busily writing it All down Before they forgot. Their confidence grew Under his tutelage. Part 2 He asked them If they knew someone old? They did, as they Were Young. He cajoled them into Speaking of this person. Homework that weekend - Visit and talk to their Chosen Oldie. He built community. ‘The old folks know things We have forgotten’ He reminded them. So they gathered folklore And names of fields And the ‘special thing’ That made their home places different. They drew pictures and Made murals and Maps of the areas told. Part 3 One day ‘Maistir’ Arrived at school On a very slow tractor pulling a heavy trailer. He hopped off and told Another ‘old story.’ The children groaned As they heard That This Was the first tractor Brought into the area Long long before They were born. They examined it To see what exactly was so special? It was gray and rickedy And didn’t look like much. A few of the boys looked Under the hood. The girls wondered How anyone could sit on those horrible Hard seats And wouldn’t they be cold. He was clever and He was wise That summers day As he piled the class Into the tractor and trailer, Sang songs and drove The tractor himself now and then. Part 4 He filled Lispole, Tractor, trailer, Children, History, and song, Driving in every hill and vale, Visiting Every small old house and Stopping at Every ditch that held a story To be told. ‘The children are here’ The cry went out. The old came to greet With lemonade and sweets Taking pride in the young friend Now relating the folklore He had taught them. The walls of the childrens minds Were dotted and pinned With drawings and pictures, Fresh memories and New friends. Conclusion When the department heard Of this outbreak They were surprised. Surely the Classroom Is the Place to learn And the books Teach the story. There were no more such outings. END 110 lines |