Is this what school was like in pre-war Preston?

A member of the Preston History Facebook group pointed a new member who was looking for information on a Preston school to an article in an academic journal that included revealing interviews with Preston pupils who were at school between 1900 to 1950. The interviews were revealing in that they recalled schooldays that were far from being ‘the best days of their lives’ … especially, it would seem, if you were a working-class girl at Preston Park School.

The article, titled ‘An oral history of schooling in Lancashire 1900-1950: gender, class and education’, was written by Penny Summerfield and appeared in the journal Oral History in 1987.

I’ve read the article and I think it is a good example of an author’s agenda shaping the facts being presented. If it isn’t, then the schooldays of these Preston children were uniformly awful, and so were their teachers.

I’ve included some excerpts from the article and a picture of the Park School headmistress in this post, and will provide more in subsequent posts. I’d be interested to know whether people agree or disagree with the picture presented by these excerpts (I couldn’t find a single happy memory in the whole article). The following is taken verbatim from the article.


Dorothy Marcham remembers that at her Catholic school, the Blessed Sacrament in Preston, in the late 1920s, ‘the teacher was always right… it was all discipline’. She was normally ‘timid’ and well-behaved and the only time she was caned was as part of a mass punishment for an insult to a woman teacher:

‘It was in Miss Noble’s class. And I never really knew what it was about, but it was one of the boys who’d said something personal about her. She was a big, well made lady, and with quite a bust on her, and it must have been some reference to this bust that Harry Whittle had made, and whether he’d drawn something on the board — I don’t just remember what it was, but he had to — she wanted them to own up who it was, and they wouldn’t own up, so she said if they didn’t then the whole class would be caned.

‘And the whole class was caned, and everybody knew it was Harry, Harry Whittle who’d done it but nobody gave him away, strangely enough. And you just held your hand out like that, and she, she hit you with the cane. And it was the most awful feel — you know, you didn’t know that it was going to really hurt like that.’

Catholic boys’ secondary schools seem to have used physical punishment more copiously, though at Preston Catholic College its deployment was confined to priests (about one-third of the staff), preferably the biggest and burliest among them. Boys used to queue up for ‘crackers’ at Father Blake’s door. These were administered in the quantity stated on slips of paper which the boys’ teachers had given them, from a whale bone and leather ruler, the ‘ferrule’ as it was known. ‘Ooh, it didn’t half sting’, remembered Thomas Marsden, at the school in the thirties, ‘there was a radiator outside the office, and we’d get our hands as hot as possible, then put them in our pockets, because it didn’t sting as much when they were hot.’

Preston Park school headmistress Alice Stoneman

At one end of the scale of punishments was the reprimand of a mistress: ‘Some of them had very, very unkind tongues’ remembers Maude Mundy, a pupil at the Park Secondary School, Preston, 1927-31.

As a pupil from a large working-class family Maude Mundy felt particularly vulnerable in the face of the exacting standards upheld in the Park School, especially by the headmistress, Miss Stoneman, whom she felt looked down on the ‘free place’ girls:

‘I remember they were looking at the notices on the notice board and I pointed to something and she loomed up behind me and said, “You have just put your filthy hand on that glass case. You will now go to Mr Birkett, get a cloth and clean it. Did nobody teach you anything?” On another occasion I was met at the door — well there’d been a deluge of rain. I was soaked to the skin and she gave me a roasting. Why had I not got on my mac? Well the answer was very simple, because I didn’t own one. But one couldn’t tell Miss Stoneman that. I mean that would have made you more déclassé than ever.’

Another working-class girl at the Park School in the 1920s put the problem posed by the school’s endeavour to produce generations of young ladies succinctly: “You got order marks for, well, looking crooked sometimes.’


You can find the full article here: https://www.jstor.org/stable/40178956

More to come …

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