Word pictures enriched our grandparents’ minds
“The forest is now almost dark, the foliage overhead having become so dense that the moon penetrates through it only in a few places, rendering the surrounding masses darker by contrast. The outline of an old snowshoe track at first faintly seen, is soon no longer visible; but still the Indian moves forward with rapid, noiseless step.”
The class is learning to read. But it is more than the sputtering of words. The renowned Royal Readers are open on the desks. Students are fixated on the progress of a Native American Indian of years gone by as he makes his way through a darkened, snowy forest in pursuit of fur.
Surely, learning was never so engrossing.
Ask almost anyone who was in school here in the 1930s or ‘40s and there is a very good chance the person will remember the Royal Readers with fondness. Those aging “students” may even be able to recall stories or recite verses.
“I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern
To bicker down a valley.”
T. Nelson & Sons, perhaps one of the world’s greatest schoolbook publishers, must have been operating under singular inspiration with “The Royal School Series”. To me, as a casual onlooker, their winning recipe was to pack the literature in their “readers” with the kind of excitement into which each young reader could readily see himself or herself. There were visceral descriptions and solid knowledge that would stick to the ribs of the mind. It didn’t cater so much to the student’s youth as it challenged him (her) to “come on with us” (so to speak).
Back to our Aboriginal trapper. The young reader is asked to imagine himself standing near a fort at Hudson Bay. He will be joining him “on a visit to his traps”. And he is watching the trapper prepare. Each item of the man’s clothing, each implement essential to success is described. Clearly, this is not just a chunk of fiction. This is descriptive material based on research.
The account is underway ... “he moves on for nearly two miles, sometimes stooping to examine closely the newlymade track of some wild animal, and occasionally giving a glance at the sky through the openings in the leafy canopy above him. Suddenly a faint sound in the bushes ahead brings him to a full stop.
“He listens attentively and a noise like the rattling of a chain is heard proceeding from the recesses of a dark, wild-looking hollow a few paces in front. Another moment and the rattle is again distinctly heard. A slight smile of satisfaction crosses the Indian’s dark visage, for one of his traps is set in that place and he knows that something has been caught. Quickly descending the slope, he enters the bushes whence the sound proceeds and pauses when within a yard or two of his trap to peer through the gloom.
“A cloud passes off the moon and a faint ray reveals, it may be, a beautiful black fox caught in the snare. A slight blow on the snout from the Indian’s axe-shaft kills the unfortunate animal; in ten minutes’ more it is tied on his sledge, the trap is reset and again covered over with snow so that it is almost impossible to tell that anything is there; and the Indian pursues his way.”
Of course, today we would never subject young students to such sad reality. But part of our history is that we hunted and harvested. Before the niceties of plastic wrap and bright supermarket coolers, the lessons of life were up-close and personal for children. Today lessons are sprinkled with a comfortable layer of unreality. Chicken is a nugget; it is not a former squawking, scratching, living and feeling creature.
But it wasn’t all adventure. The “reader” of 1917 (the published date of the text I am viewing) contained information of a vast and detailed nature. Take tar, for instance; a substance familiar to anyone living here in the 1920s, 30s and beyond.
“Tar is a viscid liquid obtained from the wood, especially the roots of the pine tree, by destructive distillation. The roots are packed into a conical hole in the ground, generally on a bank. The hole is closely covered with turf and the roots are set on fire. The tar runs into an iron pan, from which it is carried into barrels by means of a spout. Pitch is tar condensed, or deprived of its volatile parts by boiling. It is chiefly used in ship-building to close seams and preserve cordage and wood from the effects of air and water.”
An old recipe, to be sure, but a practical piece of knowledge at one time. I do believe there were two tars, pine tar and coal tar.
Consider how this last extract from a Royal Reader would impact on the young listener’s imagination:
“One of the most mysterious and beautiful of nature’s manifestations is the Aurora. Darkness broods over the Polar world. Even the outlines of the mighty hills can scarcely be distinguished. No object can be seen moving over the wide expanse of frozen sea. Suddenly from east to west appears a beautiful arch of living gold! The lights dart to and fro, their colours rivalling those of the rainbow ... and suddenly as it were by magic there succeeds a perfect stillness; as if the unseen power which had been displaying the varied beauties of the Auroral curtain were resting for a moment.”
Before the niceties of plastic wrap and bright supermarket coolers, the lessons of life were up-close and personal for children. Today lessons are sprinkled with a comfortable layer of unreality. Chicken is a nugget; it is not a former squawking, scratching, living and feeling creature.
Back to our Aboriginal trapper. The young reader is asked to imagine himself standing near a fort at Hudson Bay. He will be joining him “on a visit to his traps”. And he is watching the trapper prepare. Each item of the man’s clothing, each implement essential to success is described. Clearly, this is not just a chunk of fiction. This is descriptive material based on research.