Here’s to you, Mrs B
Finally, a chance to thank my primary school teacher for her kindness.
‘ Thelma Butterworth is every bit as wonderful a human being as I remembered her.’
Ican’t remember why, but I do recall the age of 7 as being a pretty tough year. It was probably a combination of things. At the root of it would have been a couple of years struggling to transition into a new family and country, and missing my mother in Samoa.
Then, in the year I turned 8, I was lucky to get ‘‘Mrs B’’ as my teacher. Mrs B is Thelma Butterworth. I was just one of many pupils she would have taught during her 18-year stint at Matipo Primary in Te Atatu North.
It was in Mrs B’s class that I really discovered my love of writing. When I look back at my school class photos, that year is when I look the happiest.
Since leaving Matipo decades ago, I’d always thought about finding Mrs B, giving her flowers and thanking her for being such a wonderful teacher.
How her kindness, understanding and patience, transformed my experience in New Zealand, and finally got me to calm down enough to enjoy life here.
Occasionally I would make a concerted effort to find an address or contact, but it was only a fleeting attempt. I’d put it in the too-hard-basket and life would carry on.
Finally this week, I got to catch up with Mrs B.
It was through a random conversation with my sister-inlaw that I was able to track her down. Turns out, Thelma Butterworth is one of the clients that she occasionally cares for.
I wasn’t sure how I’d feel, as I nervously walked down her long driveway. In a teaching career lasting decades, how is it possible to even remember individuals?
Mrs B did remember me, had followed my various activities throughout the years and was delighted I’d popped in to see her.
She recalls how much she delighted in my writing. How she would set the class exercises to come up with two or three sentences, and I usually handed back three or four pages.
Mrs Butterworth remembers me being ‘‘always amusing and sometimes could be very serious’’. I love that. I think I’ll adopt that as my epitaph, when I eventually need one.
Over a lovely coffee made by her son, we sat and chatted and I was able to not only express my deep gratitude to her, but could get more of an idea about the person she is.
She was born in a small town called Te Maire, southwest of Palmerston North.
I learnt about her teaching career before she worked at Matipo. When she worked and trained in Fiji where she started a girls’ high school that continues to this day.
How she’d wanted to specialise in teaching the deaf because her sister was deaf. And how through this, she just discovered she had a love of teaching. For her, it was fun.
Mrs B told me about that after leaving Matipo, she spent nearly a decade as the teaching principal of a small school in Whenuapai.
She talked about how she had a massive stroke in 1998, which left her unable to read and write. But with the help of her husband, they rebuilt all that. She lost her beloved husband six years ago. There’s a gleam in her eye as she thinks of him and with a smile says, ‘‘I was lucky’’.
Thanks to her experience in recovering those abilities, she became a sought-after teacher at Unitec, working with students who have learning and reading difficulties.
I amhappy to say that it wasn’t just a case of me looking at the past through the rose-tinted spectacles that come with nostalgia; where some figures in your life take on legendary status. Thelma Butterworth is every bit as wonderful a human being as I remembered her.
I’m not the only past pupil to have contacted her, so clearly she had the same impact on many she taught.
A teacher’s lot isn’t easy. Whatever they achieve in the classroom can always be undermined by the student’s environment beyond the school gates.
But what they are able to provide can still do wonders.
I’m glad I finally got to talk to Mrs B and thank her for everything she did for me. I can even keep in touch with her, and still learn from her.
She loved the flowers too.