There was definitely something very strange happening around me as I fooled around and babysat my siblings, went fishing, and generally learned how to pocket a billiard ball after naming the pocket. Oh, yes, life was fine, the weather sunny and hot, lots of activities, including getting stuck in a raspberry patch and eating our stomachs full of the sweet berries, while the mosquitoes munched at our necks. We were a mess, but that was just fine with my friend and me, as long as we were together we were happy. Port Saunders was the place to be that summer.

We had attended the same one room high school for two years now, and although it really wasn’t a school, but rather a big room in the parish hall beside the Roman Catholic church, it was a room we knew as school. Never mind the frost on the inside of the windows, never mind the old wood stove that was so slow to warm the big room, we were in school, together, all of us knew each other and loved it. It was even more special in the spring after the freely roaming sheep sought shelter under the old parish hall all winter and the warm weather caused an unbearable aroma, and school was out for a day or two while the men attended to the mess. Oh, it was a grand place!

In that little Newfoundland outport where I lived for four years, the experiences I had really did shape my life. And one of the best things of all was going to that little school room and being with friends. Passing notes, having a spat and running out of the school room onto the ice and literally pounding at each other, leaving us both startled at what we had done, and then carrying on as usual, after some sterns lecture from the parents, teacher and priest of course. It was truly the place to be.

However I knew something strange was afoot this year! Word was around of a new school being built at the other end of the community, much further away from our school. Because at that time Newfoundland had a denominational school system, this new building would bring me unprecedented anguish, and also a worry for my younger sister. We talked about it at night, and fussed to ourselves, nothing yet had been said, but we knew something was about to happen and we weren’t going to like it.

Finally the word came. Yes, we would be changing schools in September, or October, as soon as the new school was ready. Oh, is that so now? Why is that? The questions were asked, and the answers given. We were attending a Roman Catholic School and the new school was a Church of England School, and we were Church of England children, so we had to change. Nothing made sense to me after that. My life came to a complete halt! How silly it all was, why would they do that, did it really have to be, and my mind was in a state of angst and misery, shared by my best friend, who was Roman Catholic, and would be staying in our Parish Hall School. My little sister did not seem to be too upset, she was too young and very quiet and accepting but my rebellious spirit started to spin into high gear.

Wherever Dad was stationed, no matter what, we attended the school closest to our home. Religion was not a factor, accessibility was the key word, and here we were having to go further to school. Promises of rides in the jeep, consolations by our parents, bribing even, did nothing to change the situation, I just was not going to change schools in Grade Eight. The Roman Catholic School didn’t care if we stayed, so what was up with that, as the kids say today. But school opened and I managed to go to the new school, walking past my friends at the old one, and hating the new one more than words could say. I am sure I was totally obnoxious, but I was still in the other school.

So I had three or four days of this foolishness, missing my buddies, missing the same teacher we had for two of the past years, and the time came to just throw caution to the wind and commit the final act of rebellion. On a gorgeous fall morning I left with my sister for school, and when we reached the Parish Hall School, I walked in and took my seat, just as if I had never left. And we all tittered, giggled and laughed, and waited for the bomb to drop. I don’t recall to this day what my sister did that morning though I do know she also came back to our old school.

The teacher arrived, there was an air of expectation, like the floor was about to collapse or something, but he just said his good mornings, sat at the desk and did his name calling for the record, with each person sticking up their hand in turn and saying "Present Sir!"And down the list he went and we were in terror, then he called "Bonnie Jarvis," and I stuck up my hand and said as always "Present Sir!" He marked on his register, I guess his check marks to say I was present, then he launched into the days’ school work. Not another word was said, not that day nor the remaining days of the school year, or the year after that. It was simply accepted that I was going to be where I wanted to be. No parental punishments, no remarks from the teacher, although I am sure they must have conferred, but for me life went on as usual. Back with my friends and my teacher, and cold floors and lots of skits and concerts, writing essays on topics I loved, and best of all getting the "Manure Day" off, and going fishing! It was blissful, but to this day I do not know how I got away with it, I think they probably just gave up on me, and that made life a whole lot more pleasant for all concerned. Sometimes it pays to ‘JUST DO IT’. It sure worked for me!!

Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe

"The main dangers in this life are the people who want to change everything … or nothing." Lady Astor