The sun shone brightly on a small gathering that assembled near a Halifax parking lot late last month, though many in the crowd could only feel its warmth on their faces.
They had come for the unveiling of a monument that honoured the long-since torn down Halifax School for the Blind, which from 1868 to 1983 was home for thousands of visually impaired students from across Atlantic Canada.
The academic curriculum for most students was the same as for other schools but with some distinct differences. Students also participated in Braille reading and writing, piano lessons, choir, theatre, home economics, woodworking, chair caning, sewing, mat making, piano tuning, music appreciation, typing and various health and recreational activities such as skipping, skating and baseball, with evenings set aside for gym, study and free time.
In the crowd on Sept. 28 were a number of Cape Bretoners who had spent their youth at the school. As old friends who hadn’t been in contact in many years exchanged greetings, people from different eras compared notes on their school experiences.
Sydney native Robert Mercer, 64, now retired and living in Prince Edward Island after a long and productive career, first with the CNIB and later in senior positions with the federal government, spent nine years at the school. After attending the ceremony, he wrote a heartfelt essay on what the school meant to all who came in contact with it.
“Former students, staff and friends of the school pooled their own resources to create something of lasting memory and, as in their own lives, accomplished it without reliance on the public purse,” the essay read in part. “They built the monument as a reminder that blind and visually impaired children, some as young as five years of age, left their homes and families for many months at a time, year after year, to live there and learn from other blind children, dedicated teachers, staff and volunteers. It was a true community of learning and family living where everyone was, at the same time, a student, a teacher, an older sister or brother, a guardian or a younger sibling to everyone else.”
That feeling of camaraderie and fellowship was echoed by other Cape Bretoners who took in the ceremony.
Port Hood native Gary Trenholm, 58, attended the Halifax School for the Blind from 1960 until 1972, after a pair of childhood accidents damaged his eyesight, made even worse by later unsuccessful surgeries. After leaving the school, Trenholm attended Saint Mary’s University before starting Doctor Piano, a successful Halifax-based business for the past 30-plus years with clients throughout the Maritimes.
“That evening, there was sort of a reunion, and I got together with a lot of old friends that I don’t see that much of,” he said. “There were probably 15 of us … talking about what an opportunity we had.
“I looked around among the group of us there and everyone is doing well, and not just well, but exceptionally well, with several guys owning their own businesses and living really productive lives, family people with husbands, wives, children and grandkids.”
The conversation that flowed that night reinforced Trenholm’s long-standing belief that much of the success he and his peers enjoyed later in life stemmed from the sense of independence and self-reliance the school nurtured in its students.
“My group grew up with the idea that nothing else was an option,” he said. “Even the guys who weren’t as blessed academically, they are living on their own. I can’t think of anything negative to say about the place — if I had a magic wand and could get the whole thing back in place for visually impaired people coming through the system today, I would.”
Michelle Bartram was born with cataracts and was able to do well in Sydney’s regular school system despite her visual impairment, but moved on to the Halifax School for the Blind in Grade 4 and remained there as a student from 1956 to 1965.
“I was in Halifax for the unveiling,” she said. “It was a beautiful day and it was wonderful seeing people I hadn’t seen for ages and ages. For me, being a student at the Halifax School for the Blind was mostly positive, though I suppose some people have bad memories.”
Some of those bad memories, she said, likely came with the loneliness of young people being separated from their friends and families for months at a time.
“This was our home for nine months of the year, and those of us from Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island were home during Christmas and Easter, but the people from Newfoundland were there from September to June,” she said. “And it was very hard, not being home at Christmas, and with everybody else being gone, yes, it was very difficult.
“A friend of mine, who has since passed away, Christmas was never an important thing for her, because she had such difficult memories — not that the school made it difficult, because they had a wonderful time there during Christmas, but it wasn’t home and it wasn’t your family, and your ‘family away from home’ had gone home.”
Friendship was the glue that held everyone together, she added.
“I have friends I met when I was 10. One of them, I talk to every day and two others, probably twice a week. We were like little sisters and brothers to the older kids, and when we became the older kids, then we were the big brothers and sisters to the children.
“We helped each other a lot. We studied together and we worked together. We didn’t have Mom or Dad to go to or big sister or big brother, so we really helped one another. People tell me that I’m way too independent, but when you go away to school at 10 years old, you are virtually responsible for yourself.”
That self-reliance led Bartram to university, followed by rewarding work as a computer programmer and, on her return to Sydney later in life, the position of district administrator with the CNIB. Now retired, Bartram does volunteer work with the Canadian Council for the Blind and last summer spent a rewarding week working with 72 blind and visually impaired people at a special camp in Newfoundland. In her spare time, she’s a member of a curling team that has won bronze three times in national visually impaired championships, as well as bronze at the 55-plus games against “regular” competition.
“So much of what blind and visually impaired people can do depends on what other people can help them do,” she said. “And they feel we are adding to their lives, because they can show us how to do things and help us excel at them. It’s very much a two-way street, with give and take on both sides.”
But not everyone views their years at the school in such a positive light. Raymond Young, 60, considers his nine years at the Halifax School for the Blind a mixed blessing at best.
Like Bartram, Young was born with cataracts that severely restrict his vision, though special glasses give him enough sight to guide him while he walks and allow him to operate a large-screen computer.
“I didn’t go the unveiling ceremony,” he said. “It wasn’t a very positive experience for me to go to the school.”
Like many other students, Young was homesick during his earliest days at the school, but he was also dealing with the added problems of cerebral palsy, co-ordination difficulties and a learning disability.
“In the 1960s, we didn’t have computers and email. I think that if there had been computers back then, it would have been a lot better for me. I was just born at the wrong time. I think anyone who had a learning disability on top of their vision problems had a difficult time back then, but, unfortunately, that’s the nature of the beast.
“It was a good experience in some ways, but I wouldn’t recommend it to a young child,” he added. “The good news is that there aren’t as many children being born blind these days and if they do have the condition I was born with, it can be corrected and they can have near-perfect sight and attend regular schools.”
Despite not having finished school, Young believes he’s led a productive life, running the CNIB canteen at both St. Rita and City hospitals for many years and contributing to his community as a volunteer, just recently retiring from the board of directors of the Employability Partnership.
“The school wasn’t all negative,” he admitted. “In many ways, it was a very good place, especially socially. I met some very good people at the school, staff that was very good, nurses that were helpful and house parents that were really understanding.”