Aclass of its own
The old school bell is slightly rusty; turned umber with the passing of time. It hangs silent, its call to playtime quietened forever. The echoes of games long gone played out against the silence in the playground.
Memories of hopscotch, tag and countless games of bullrush linger, but there are no children to be seen.
St Joseph’s School, in Picton, lies empty. The classrooms are still adorned with colourful crayon pictures and an alphabet frieze dances across a wall.
In the library, bean bags sit empty, a reminder of cosy afternoons nestled with the books which still sit waiting to be read.
While the doors to the small Catholic school have closed after more than a century of learning, the memories live on in the pupils and teachers past and present, its place in the heart of the small coastal community never to be forgotten.
At a special farewell ceremony last month, the classrooms were once again full as people gathered to celebrate 153 years of the school.
Tears were shed and respects were paid as the last two pupils, Ollie Hutchinson and Whiro Smith-Bullen, paid tribute to their beloved school and their teachers.
They stood before gathered family and friends, really too young to be looking back.
Whiro says he has a special friend in Ollie.
‘‘I have looked forward to coming to school every morning. St Joseph’s has been a very happy place for us,’’ he says.
It was a cold day in August 1914 when three Sisters of Mercy arrived in Picton from Wellington to set up the town’s first Catholic school.
They taught out of Saint Catherine’s Convent, on Wellington St, and the old St Joseph’s Church, which was replaced by the current church in 1919.
In 1924, St Joseph’s School was built next to the church.
The school holds a special place in the hearts of many.
Former pupil Shirley Timms started at the school as a 5-year-old in 1966. She smiled fondly as she recollected her time there.
‘‘I remember the wide-open spaces and see myself as a little girl playing down where the tennis courts are now.
‘‘Sister Mary Una had a love of Ma¯ori music and I do too. I think it stems from learning about it at school and I’ve not that lost that.
‘‘Some of the boys will no doubt remember getting a ruler across their knuckles but the girls never did.
‘‘There are a lot of good memories here,’’ she said.
Holding an old black and white class photograph in her hand, she pointed proudly to her younger self, beaming at the camera, her bobbed hair carefully brushed for the big day.
‘‘It is sad to see it close,’’ she said.
Timms is not the only one sad to see the end of an era. As people gathered at the school for a final farewell, among the smiles of welcome and laughter were resigned faces and a few tears.
Hugs lasted longer and silences begged to be broken with words that were too painful to be uttered.
A few brought photos with them and sat sharing memories. At the front, a temporary alter was carefully laid, cloaked with a pristine white cloth as parish priest Father John Pearce got ready to hold a farewell service.
A hand-drawn picture of Jesus, with self portraits of Whiro and Ollie next to it, gazed down from the wall.
And with the closure, St Joseph’s School now becomes St Joseph’s Place. Just outside the old entrance, a small tree has been planted as a living memorial to happy times.
On their way out, guests walked slowly past the empty playground to the gate which swung firmly shut as it closed.
For acting principal Jennie Williams it was a day of both celebration and sadness.
She said the closing of the school was the ‘‘end of a season’’.
‘‘It is, of course, the children who collectively make a school and for me, as an educator, the most important thing are the ‘ah ha, I’ve got it moments’.’’
‘‘Some of us will move away to visit different seasons of change and renewal, some will remain to plant seeds for the next spring growth here ... To all of you, wherever your season takes you, may you be blessed by God and the Holy Spirit.’’