Our School Page #3

"Our School" is a short, semi-autobiographical piece by Charles Dickens that reflects on his own experiences as a young boy at a boarding school. Through a blend of humor and critique, Dickens explores the harsh realities of educational institutions in the 19th century, highlighting the strict discipline, inadequate teaching methods, and the impact of such an environment on young minds. The narrative captures both the camaraderie among students and the frustrations they face, offering a poignant commentary on the education system of Dickens's time.

• Short story

								

him, in the midst of a dread silence, and said, ‘Mr. Blinkins, are you
ill, sir?’ how he blushingly replied, ‘Sir, rather so;’ how the Chief
retorted with severity, ‘Mr. Blinkins, this is no place to be ill in’
(which was very, very true), and walked back solemn as the ghost in
Hamlet, until, catching a wandering eye, he called that boy for
inattention, and happily expressed his feelings towards the Latin master
through the medium of a substitute.

There was a fat little dancing-master who used to come in a gig, and
taught the more advanced among us hornpipes (as an accomplishment in
great social demand in after life); and there was a brisk little French
master who used to come in the sunniest weather, with a handleless
umbrella, and to whom the Chief was always polite, because (as we
believed), if the Chief offended him, he would instantly address the
Chief in French, and for ever confound him before the boys with his
inability to understand or reply.

There was besides, a serving man, whose name was Phil.  Our retrospective
glance presents Phil as a shipwrecked carpenter, cast away upon the
desert island of a school, and carrying into practice an ingenious
inkling of many trades.  He mended whatever was broken, and made whatever
was wanted.  He was general glazier, among other things, and mended all
the broken windows—at the prime cost (as was darkly rumoured among us) of
ninepence, for every square charged three-and-six to parents.  We had a
high opinion of his mechanical genius, and generally held that the Chief
‘knew something bad of him,’ and on pain of divulgence enforced Phil to
be his bondsman.  We particularly remember that Phil had a sovereign
contempt for learning: which engenders in us a respect for his sagacity,
as it implies his accurate observation of the relative positions of the
Chief and the ushers.  He was an impenetrable man, who waited at table
between whiles, and throughout ‘the half’ kept the boxes in severe
custody.  He was morose, even to the Chief, and never smiled, except at
breaking-up, when, in acknowledgment of the toast, ‘Success to Phil!
Hooray!’ he would slowly carve a grin out of his wooden face, where it
would remain until we were all gone.  Nevertheless, one time when we had
the scarlet fever in the school, Phil nursed all the sick boys of his own
accord, and was like a mother to them.

There was another school not far off, and of course Our School could have
nothing to say to that school.  It is mostly the way with schools,
whether of boys or men.  Well! the railway has swallowed up ours, and the
locomotives now run smoothly over its ashes.

    So fades and languishes, grows dim and dies,
    All that this world is proud of,

- and is not proud of, too.  It had little reason to be proud of Our
School, and has done much better since in that way, and will do far
better yet.
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes