As summer holidays loom, a tribute to two primary-school teachers of the old school and their overlooked excellencies.

      THE TWO MISSES LITTLE 

The two Misses Little really were little,

Two drab elderly sisters. Were they twins

Or merely siblings? We never even wondered.

Grey haired, grey-clothed, they both

Were teachers in my Ayrshire primary school.

They were, too, in the custom of the day, belters,

Using the tawse for any minor infringement,

Whether lateness of arrival or slovenly jotters.

~

My one (and probably the other one as well)

Made up for that permitted fierceness

By making scrumptious tablet for her class

On celebratory occasions. I think we knew

That they were not the least hard-hearted.

Decades later I saw one shuffle along a pavement

Bent nearly double with some spine affliction,

And had a moment of perfunctory pity.

How lacking empathy the young and fit can be.

~

Now I understand so much more:

How those two spinsters, and many others,

Collateral victims of the First World War’s carnage,

Worked selflessly in the mini domains of their classrooms

To teach their children impeccable English grammar

And essential numeracy for the pre-electronic age,

And introduced them not just to Burns but English classics,

Embedded permanently in youthful blotting-paper minds;

And by this kind rigour equipped their charges

To rise to the professional and social challenges

Of the adult world, wherever talent took them.

These weren’t wasted lives but quietly heroic ones.

Two little women, yes, but of true stature.