THE GHOST OF CLAFLIN SCHOOL

Marash Girl and (rahmetli olsun) Harriet Stetson (Marash Girl's best friend throughout elementary school) both loved to read the Nancy Drew Mysteries, a series written by Carolyn Keene. Marash Girl had been gifted a set of these books by a customer of her father Peter. Because Harriet and Marash Girl sat next to eachother in fifth grade and were always abuzz with excitement over the latest Nancy Drew adventure, the teacher decided that the two girls should leave the classroom and retire to the third floor of that 19th Century brick building, (the original Claflin School in Newtonville, Massachusetts,) with the specific purpose of writing a mystery à la Nancy Drew . . . specifically, The Ghost Of Claflin School! Once the girls left the classroom during "English", the teacher never checked on them, and needless to say, the girls never wrote even a first draft of The Ghost Of Claflin School!

The Old Claflin School . . .

And speaking of Miss Forsythe (see yesterday's blogpost) brings to mind the way in which kids at Claflin (Elementary) School responded to taunts from their classmates, insults which were always only a moment away . . .  One such example follows.

When a kid heard the words, "You're a jerk!" . . . her answer, accompanied by a grin, would be as follows:

                        "A jerk is a pull, a pull is a yank, and a Yank is a good American!"

But an easier reply would have been, (and often was), "It takes one to know one!"

Miss Forsythe And The Forsythia Bush!

                                                                             Photo By MarashGirl©2022     

Every spring, Marash Girl remembers Miss Forsythe, her fourth grade teacher . . .   reminded her students that every spring, they would remember her . . . Why?  Because her family name was given to the beautiful Forsythia Bush,  a bush which flowers every spring.  And here it is again, for all to enjoy, in Marash Girl's neighborhood park, pictured in the photograph above.

As you can see, Miss Forsythe was right!  Marash Girl remembers Miss Forsythe yet again . . .  year after year . . . and how many years has it been since Marash Girl was in 4th Grade? . . . Marash Girl's not saying!!!!

Patsy and Eddie . . .

Seeing sidewalk art (check out yesterday's blog post) brought Marash Girl back to the days of Claflin (Elementary) School . . . and the two who were sweethearts very early on . . . was it second or third grade? Their classmates used to chant to them: Patsy and Eddie sitting in a tree, K-i-s-s-i-n-g! First comes love, Then comes marriage, Then comes Patsy with a baby carriage!" N.B. Whoops! Forgot to mention that we're celebrating Abraham Lincoln's birthday! Happy Birthday, President Lincoln!

A Man's A Man For A' That!

When Marash Girl was attending Third Grade at Claflin School in Newtonville, Miss Griffin (Marash Girl's third greade teacher) required each student to memorize and recite a poem in front the class weekly. One of the poems that Marash Girl's dad insisted she memorize for the class, a poem that has influenced her approach to life to this day, is the the poem printed below. Although Marash Girl can no longer recite the poem, she was readily able to find it on the internet. Hope it's not too heavy for the season! Here goes . .. A Man’s a Man for a’ That by Robert Burns Is there for honest poverty That hings his head, an’ a’ that; The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that. Our toils obscure an’ a’ that, The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, The Man’s the gowd for a’ that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man’s a Man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that; The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men for a’ that. Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord, Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that, Tho’ hundreds worship at his word, He’s but a coof for a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, His ribband, star, an’ a’ that, The man o’ independent mind, He looks an’ laughs at a’ that. A Prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that! But an honest man’s aboon his might – Guid faith, he mauna fa’ that! For a’ that, an’ a’ that, Their dignities, an’ a’ that, The pith o’ Sense an’ pride o’ Worth Are higher rank than a’ that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a’ that, That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth Shall bear the gree an’ a’ that. For a’ that, an’ a’ that, It’s comin yet for a’ that, That Man to Man the warld o’er Shall brithers be for a’ that. N.B. It is interesting to note that Marash Girl's dad's best friend, Rev. Ian MacDonald, was born in Scotland.

A Distant Memory . . .

When Marash Girl was attending Claflin Elementary School, the kids (not Marash Girl, of course,) would often say to one another, "You're a jerk." The reply given in response to that accusation was laughter and the following: "A jerk is a pull, a pull is a yank, a Yank is a good American."

Forsythia in April

Photo by MarashGirl©2021 Probably one of the few spring flowers that Marash Girl can name is the Forsythia. Why? Because when Marash Girl was in 4th Grade at Claflin School in Newtonville, her teacher, Miss Forsythe, was eminently proud of the fact that her family took their name from the beautiful spring flower, the Forsythia -- the first Marash Girl had heard the name, a name she remembers to this day.

"It's snowing down south!!!"

"It's snowing down south!!!" Anyone remember that expression? Anyone know what it means? Anyone know what a slip is? Anyone remember when women used to wear slips? In the not so old days, women (no matter how young) couldn't wear pants to school; they had to wear dresses, or skirts and blouses. If a gal's slip was showing below the lower hem of her dress or the lower hem of her skirt, she would be reminded by all around her that she should correct the problem (immediately if not sooner), the critic reminding the errant young woman by using the code words, "It's snowing down south!!!" Now, dear reader, Marash Girl must ask you. "Do you know what a slip is?"

Remembering Claflin School and Miss Julia Tobin's 6th Grade Class

The members of Miss Tobin's sixth grade class way back then (Marash Girl is not admitting when) were so disobedient, so noisy, so rowdy, that theirs was the first class to be denied the traditional week-long, sixth grade camping trip to a local summer camp site. (Was it Camp Cedar Hill?) Marash Girl, to this day, grieves (although that's a bit too strong a word) the loss!

Who Lost A Penny?

Photo ©MarashGirl2020 According to Claflin Elementary School lore, "If the penny's heads up, it's okay to pick up!"

Get into the Thanksgiving Spirit!!!

Ensure a Happy Thanksgiving with Fresh Cranberry Orange Relish -- Raw Foodies, Take Note! On Thursday, December, 16, 2010, Marash Girl wrote a blog post entitled ON NOT PEELING AN ORANGE. In that post, Marash Girl shared the following recipe for Cranberry Orange Relish, a concoction that her second grade class, under the direction of her second grade teacher, Miss Eleanor Sprowl, prepared and sent to the United States troops overseas for Thanksgiving . . . So here's that very recipe from all those years ago!!! CRANBERRY ORANGE RELISH 2 cups fresh organic cranberries, UNSPRAYED, washed, stemmed and sorted (discarding the squishy ones and the green ones) 1 organic juice orange with skin (washed) 1 cup granulated sugar Put cranberries and oranges through a meat grinder, coarse blade, or if you're living in the 21st century, through a Cuisinart chopper. (Be careful to chop sparingly; you don't want a purée.)" Because juice oranges today are a lot less juicy than they were in the "good old days", Marash Girl would recommend that you use two juicy oranges rather than one, and if the mixture is not orange juicy enough, add some of your own freshly squeezed orange juice. (Adding a third orange with peel would throw off the taste balance.) Marash GIrl doesn't know anybody else who makes this dish, though she gets calls every year from friends who want her to save them some (and last year from someone who wanted the recipe. . . she was so happy to learn that Marash Girl had recorded it in her blog!) Cranberry Orange Relish gets better as it stays, and Marash Girl's friend has informed her that it freezes well, too (though Marash Girl never has any leftovers to freeze)! If you use organically grown oranges, organically grown cranberries, AND you substitute an all natural raw sweetener for the sugar, even the "Raw Foodies" in your family will love it! Happy Thanksgiving!

What did the dime say to the nickel? Read on for the answer!!!

Have you given up yet, dear reader? The dime said to the nickel, "You think you're so BIG!" Copr. 2020 MarashGirl

Remembering Miss Tobin and the Sixth Grade Class at the Old Claflin School

The members of her sixth grade class were so disobedient, noisy, rowdy, that theirs was the first class to be denied the traditional week-long, sixth grade cammping trip to a local summer camp site. (Was it Cedar Hill?) Marash Girl, to this day, grieves (although that's too strong a word) the loss!

The Old Chestnut Tree

On Wednesday, Marash Girl woke up remembering the big old chestnut tree that stood proudly on the corner of Otis Street and Kimball Terrace, in the corner of Mr. Parker's yard.  (Mr. Parker was the orchestra leader in the elementary schools of Newton, Massachusetts, when Marash Girl was in elementary school.  For 7 years, Marash Girl had walked home from the Old Claflin School in Newtonville Square, walking up Otis Street, past that big old chestnut tree.  She loved to pause in the fall and fill her pockets with the beautiful, shiny smooth (though inedible) brightly brown chestnuts that the tree offered to the world around it. This tree was even more significant in Marash Girl's life because of the the poem that Marash Girl's father had her memorize  in third grade (scroll down to see the full text of THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH).  So first thing Wednesday afternoon, Marash Boy and Marash Girl drove over to Newtonville Square, to see if the tree was still there, and as they took a right onto Otis Street, Marash Girl held her breath.  Where was that old chestnut tree?  Marash Girl can't even type the answer, she's so sad about its loss!!!!  A piece of her childhood has gone missing.

The Village Blacksmith by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.