Chickens

Years ago, when I worked in an infant school, I was given the task of drawing a large chicken which was to be the centrepiece of a class project and would fill a classroom wall. I may have skills, but freestyle drawing is not one of them and I mumbled such to the teacher, who was very lovely and kind, but spoke to me like I was another of her 4 and 5 year old pupils and suggested that I try my best and might surprise myself. Hilarious, Miss! 

With good grace, and for the sake of the class who were going to make eggs, chicks, wheat and bread to be part of the wall covering, I accepted the challenge. It was difficult but my end result was acceptable in so far as it looked like a chicken, if only through the eyes of a child, and with the work of the class added to it, the scene looked like a fabulous reproduction of the story, The Little Red Hen. 

For anyone who doesn’t know, the hen lives on a farm with other animals. She looks upon these animals as friends. When she finds a grain of wheat and decides to grow it to eventually make bread, she asks for the help of her friends. All refuse. She plants the grain, looks after it, harvests the crop and every step of the progress she asks for help and doesn’t get any. The wheat is milled into flour and she makes bread. The others all want to eat some, but the little red hen refuses to share. She eats it herself with her own chicks. Through the story, the aim was for children learn about sharing tasks, being fair, being helpful and working together. The collage remained on that classroom wall all term. The Little Red Hen, my ‘wonderful’ artwork, for all to admire. Long gone.

Why are cowards or anyone refusing a dare, called ‘chicken’? There is a lot to learn about the origins and some of it is fascinating, but to give a brief outline, chickens, usually called ‘hens’ were considered to be weak, timid creatures and completely the opposite of the male ‘cocks’ which were strong and fearless. Cocky, perhaps. And from Wikipedia, ‘According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the earliest written instance of the word ‘chicken’ in the craven sense comes from William Shakespeare’s Cymbeline, circa 1616. “Forthwith they fly, Chickens,” he wrote, describing soldiers fleeing a battlefield.’

Back to the world of childhood for my choice of poems, written by Jack Prelutsky, former U.S. Children’s Poet Laureate.

Last Night I Dreamed of Chickens

Last night I dreamed of chickens,
There were chickens everywhere,
They were standing on my stomach
They were nestling in my hair,
They were pecking at my pillow
They were hopping on my head,
They were ruffling up their feathers
As they raced about my bed.

They were on the chairs and tables,
They were on the chandeliers,
They were roosting in the corners
They were clucking in my ears,
There were chickens, chickens, chickens
For as far I could see…
When I woke up today I noticed
There were eggs on top of me.

                                Jack Prelutsky


Ballad of a Boneless Chicken

I’m a basic boneless chicken,
Yes, I have no bones inside,
I’m without a trace of rib cage,
Yet I hold myself with pride,
Other hens appear offended
By my total lack of bones,
They discuss me impolitely
In derogatory tones.

I am absolutely boneless,
I am boneless through and through,
I have neither neck nor thighbones,
And my back is boneless, too,
And I haven’t got a wishbone,
Not a bone within my breast,
So I rarely care to travel
From the comfort of my nest.

I have feathers fine and fluffy,
I have lovely little wings,
But I lack the superstructure
To support these splendid things.
Since a chicken finds it tricky
To parade on boneless legs,
I stick closely to the hen house,
Laying little scrambled eggs.

                                Jack Prelutsky

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Handwriting - Don't Lose the Basics

 

I used to take pride in my handwriting, though these days it is limited to a shopping list or a quick note. I’ve received many compliments for my ‘beautiful handwriting’ which may have started with my interest in calligraphy.  I’ve enjoyed the privilege of doing the place cards for weddings and formal functions as my reputation grew. Over the years my style has changed and become a bit scruffy, to say the least and it’s probably down to lack of use. I can’t blame it on the lymphoedema.

Handwriting was an important lesson at school. My childhood was spent learning how to correctly form individual letters, how they sat on the line, which were tall and which were not.  We practised on specially lined paper, using a fountain pen or a dipped ink pen, after a pencil had been mastered sufficiently for the approval of the teacher. How the letters linked together into what we called ‘real writing’ followed the specific rule of the pen not leaving the paper mid-word, so a character ending below the line would need to be looped back to the line to form the next one. This was the way we were taught and we had to adhere to it. Individual style came later.

My secondary school exercise books, which I still have, show my various experiments in handwriting with some comments from teachers – ‘Do this again in blue or black ink’ (my preferred turquoise Quink was an individual step too far)  ‘This is not an art lesson. No more unnecessary flourishes’.  Eventually I settled into something like a Chancery script and quite far removed from the cursive handwriting I’d grown up with. I think I still write like that.  I used my calligraphy skills to copy a couple of my favourite sonnets which I hung on the wall in matching frames. They need re-doing with ink fit for purpose; another little job on my lockdown ‘to do’ list.

I’m helping out with some home-schooling for my eldest grandson. He’s only five and missing school, which he loves. I really feel for him. He needs his teacher, his peers and the dynamics of his classroom activities. For now he’s got Nanna’s old-fashioned teaching skills coupled with bags of patience, I hope. He is a whizz kid at maths and number work. He needs some encouragement with handwriting. Yesterday was handwriting day, just when he wanted to play. I have lessons emailed to me by my daughter for him to work on with my help. It wasn’t long before I thought I was reciting a Joyce Grenfell sketch.

‘Sit still, dear.’

‘Move to where you can see, then.’

‘Try to keep hold of your pen.’

In an effort to keep things fun, I got the easel out, chalk-board facing, plenty of chalk and words for him to sound out and write on the board. That went well, he was focused and I took a photo to send to his mum. Not much actual handwriting done, never mind. After a play-break, I found him something about dinosaurs on BBC Bitesize KS1. I think it was a science lesson. He enjoyed the interaction with that so much that he had to do it twice. He already knew how to ‘scroll and click’. Of course he did, silly me, he is Year One. We’ll return to his proper school work and do some handwriting another day. There’s no substitute for basic skills.

I wrote this poem a few years ago. Forgive me if you've heard it before. 

An Alternative Education

 

The 3Rs soon to be redundant

Computer-led kids will be abundant

With all information mega-quick

It only takes a scroll and click.

No need for any conversation

Included in their education.

 

Last year’s reception class have all gone

And taken a leap up to Year One

To drag sticky fingers on IPad screens

And work out what technology means.

Will this be their basic foundation

Instead of formal education?

 

Numeracy, or let’s call it Maths

Has rules to follow specific paths,

Beginning with learning how to count

Then adding up and sharing out.

One click away from calculation

Takes away their education.

 

When did this digital preference start?

Oh why no poetry learnt by heart?

‘Spell check’ becomes their favourite teacher

With ‘grammar check’ and added feature.

The only future expectation,

A self-taught on-line education.

 

The infants are learning to use a pen.

It’s not a skill they’ll need again

For a future spent staring on-line,

Social activity in decline

With hardly any interaction,

So they won’t need our education.

 

PMW  2015

Thanks for reading, take care and keep well. 

If you're home-schooling or trying to occupy infants, keep smiling. They love you.  Pam x

 

 

 

 

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