It began with an idea and, soon after, while the sun shone and former students and friends congregated, a beautifully embossed image of the Halifax School for the Blind was unveiled. It now stands at University Avenue where, for 112 years, the school was classroom and home for thousands of blind and visually impaired students from the four Atlantic Provinces and even beyond.
No community was unaffected by the wisdom of our forefathers and mothers who understood the humanity and common sense of educating people with disabilities. The Halifax School for the Blind was its own monument, a leader in education, a home away from home, and an example for others to follow.
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. They built the monument as a reminder that blind and visually impaired children, some as young as five, 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.
A thousand and one stories are melded into the very brass of the monument. They are stories of homesickness and crying, accepting, adjusting, new friends, playing and laughing, learning and growing. There were teachers and guardians to learn from and emulate; brothers and sisters of all school ages, differently disabled and uniquely talented. It made for happy and sad moments, accomplishment, experiences to remember and some to forget, just as it is with life in any community. None of it can be remembered, however, without the vivid images and smells unique to the old wooden structures of both the school and residence buildings.
For you, the passersby, take note as you touch the embossed image and read its message. Listen for the sounds of life at the school, hidden as it was by the gates and walls that separated it from the rest of the world. Some of you may recall seeing blind children from the school at church, the public library, at the Capital theatre, the Public Gardens or at the old Tasty Food Restaurant on Morris Street. If you listen more carefully, you will also hear the loud sound of a brass bell as it signals the daily routine of life at the school.
I was one of those children for nine years and to this day the school’s daily routine is etched in my memory. The first bell rang at 7:15 in the morning, without fail, and almost 200 children awoke and made themselves ready for breakfast and school. At precisely 7:50 we were paraded into the dining area where I still remember the smell of hot cereal and steamed toast. Although it seldom changed, the menu was well-balanced, nourishing and plentiful, and served as hot as it was possible with everyone dining at the same time. Apart from a few meals, which were not to everyone’s taste, we were well-fed. After breakfast we made ourselves ready for the parade to school at 8:50.
Once again the bell sounded and rows of two-by-two were formed and moved to the main hallway that led to the classrooms. An uninterrupted line of boys, housed in one residence and girls in another, moved, on command, to the school building and upstairs to the mainauditorium. We recited the Lord’s Prayer and sung a hymn to the accompaniment of organ or piano, usually played by one of the many musical students. Announcements followed and a delightful reading by the superintendent concluded the assembly. The readings, one or part of a chapter each morning, were always eloquently read and included such wonderful classics as Tom Sawyer, The Wind in the Willows, A Christmas Carol and other writings, never forgotten.
Classes from kindergarten to Grade 11 continued all day until 6 p.m. (yes, 6 p.m.) and Saturday until 1 p.m., with recess and lunch breaks. The academic curriculum for most students was the same as for other schools but with some distinct differences. Students, according to need and aptitude, participated in Braille reading and writing, piano lessons, choir, theatre, home economics, wood working, chair caning, sewing, mat making, piano tuning, music appreciation, typing and various health and recreational activities such as skipping, skating, baseball and holding hands when the boys’ and girls’ separate playgrounds were joined. Listen once again and you will hear the applause! Evenings were set aside for gym, study and free time. The days were filled and, apart from bowling, most weekends passed without muchorganized activities. School on Saturday morning was probably unnecessary, but it did help to fill the time.
The monument was officially unveiled on Sept. 28, just passed, and for a short time, that afternoon and evening, former students came together, once more, with all of the same exuberance that joyful memories bring when people reacquaint after years of being apart. Perhaps it is akin to the joys and sorrows shared when immigrants are reunited with members of family left behind for years in the Old Country.
Gone were the children I remembered but not their smiles and the essence of their true nature. It was a time to catch up and there was lots of that to do. For a time, you forgot the years now passed. You remembered faces, voices and events thought to be gone forever, and resumed where you left off, comfortably at ease and playful with your adopted brothers and sisters. New to the experience was a knowledge and wisdom that comes only from years of living, quite different from the ideas and views we shared aschildren. We look back and remember the fondness of school and hope, as some of us expressed, that blind and visually impaired children of today will, sometime in the future, be grateful for how they, too, were educated.
Robert Mercer attended the school from 1958 to 1967. He lives in Charlottetown.
www.theguardian.pe.ca/…Halifax-School-for-the-Blind%3A…/1