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County a place where our children can repeat these cherished rituals of childhood.
The elementary school teacher of my childhood was a dedicated professional, frequently an unmarried lady. She wore high-heeled pumps and pastel colored shirtwaist dresses, a cardigan sweater draped across her shoulders and secured beneath her collar with an alligator clasp; and smelled pleasantly of the Avon cologne her pupils gave her for Christmas. She raised African violets on the windowsill, played the piano and always referred to us by our given names (i.e. Laura, never Laurie).
Class was held in a twostory red brick building with boys’ and girls’ lavatories located next to the boiler room in the basement and a bell tower on the roof. Those children on good terms with the principal got a chance to pull the thick rope which dangled inside his cloakroom, ringing the bell that signaled the opening of school each morning.
All the kids in the neighborhood walked the few blocks to and from school together and went home at lunchtime for soup and sandwiches prepared by our mothers.
Nowadays, alas, even pastoral Rappahannock County cannot boast a counterpart to my Lincoln School. It is just too unrealistic to hope for a physical approximation of that 1950s school.
In some respects, this is most, assuredly a blessing. While today’s teachers are nonetheless dedicated, those of the female sex are delighted, presumably, with the demise of sexist standards that demanded skirts and uncomfortable shoes. In any case, I was pleased to discover in this area a gem of a school for my children, which still requires students to demonstrate respect by rising when and adult or a guest enters the room, and
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