By Sharon McGregor
When I am right, no one remembers. When I am wrong, no one forgets.
~Elizabeth Arden
Rural Manitoba is dotted with stone cairns marking the spot where old schoolhouses used to stand. These one-roomed schools were a big part of our prairie life until consolidation sent our farm kids bussing into town. Now, the old schoolhouses have disappeared from the landscape. The few that remain have been transformed into granaries or sheds or even homes, and have been carted away from their original sites.
When I am right, no one remembers. When I am wrong, no one forgets.
~Elizabeth Arden
Rural Manitoba is dotted with stone cairns marking the spot where old schoolhouses used to stand. These one-roomed schools were a big part of our prairie life until consolidation sent our farm kids bussing into town. Now, the old schoolhouses have disappeared from the landscape. The few that remain have been transformed into granaries or sheds or even homes, and have been carted away from their original sites.
My Aunt Ethel attended one-room country schools for the better part of her life -- first as a pupil, then as a teacher. After decades of boarding with local families, or living in teacherages, she finally retired to her home area and bought a little house.
Aunt Ethel was one of the few alumni still living when the cairn was dedicated to Sunny Slope School. She was also the oldest, now in her early nineties. As such, she was asked to attend the ceremony and had her picture taken standing beside the cairn.
This picture appeared in the local weekly paper, along with one of the original school and a description of the event. In the story my aunt was mistakenly identified as Miss Edith Sherson, instead of Miss Ethel Sherson. Now, my aunt was not one to make a fuss. She was a retired teacher, never married and quite content to live out her days quietly in her small house on a corner lot with her garden and flowers. So, although a little annoyed, she would never have contacted the paper to point out the mistake.
My Aunt Shirley, her sister-in-law, on the other hand, felt no such compunctions. She phoned the editor of the weekly paper to let them know the name should be Ethel, not Edith.
The paper did the honourable thing and printed a correction the next week, "We are sorry for the printing error. The identification should have read Miss Elsie Shearson, not Miss Edith Shearson."
Well, they still didn't have it right. Aunt Shirley contacted the paper again.
Once more, the paper printed the apology and correction. "The third time is the charm. The name of the oldest student has been reported erroneously in the past two issues. Our apologies to Mrs. Ethel Sherson, not Elsie or Edith."
Well, now the names, first and last, were both correct. The only problem was that the paper had conjured up a husband, past or present for my aunt, something she would have had no truck with. She tolerated men, as long as they were someone else's husband and didn't smoke in her living room, but taking one for herself had never been in her plan. She had been an independent woman with a very strong mind of her own in the days when women were encouraged to echo their husbands, whether they agreed with them or not. It just wasn't her style.
Still, she didn't believe in creating a scene and kept her opinions to herself. It was Aunt Shirley who again contacted the weekly.
Finally, they got it right. The final version got both the names right, as well as marital status. They could have worded it a little better though. The correction read, "We've finally got the name right, and we are sorry that Miss Sherson never married."
Somehow, I don't think she would have looked at it that way.
Aunt Ethel was one of the few alumni still living when the cairn was dedicated to Sunny Slope School. She was also the oldest, now in her early nineties. As such, she was asked to attend the ceremony and had her picture taken standing beside the cairn.
This picture appeared in the local weekly paper, along with one of the original school and a description of the event. In the story my aunt was mistakenly identified as Miss Edith Sherson, instead of Miss Ethel Sherson. Now, my aunt was not one to make a fuss. She was a retired teacher, never married and quite content to live out her days quietly in her small house on a corner lot with her garden and flowers. So, although a little annoyed, she would never have contacted the paper to point out the mistake.
My Aunt Shirley, her sister-in-law, on the other hand, felt no such compunctions. She phoned the editor of the weekly paper to let them know the name should be Ethel, not Edith.
The paper did the honourable thing and printed a correction the next week, "We are sorry for the printing error. The identification should have read Miss Elsie Shearson, not Miss Edith Shearson."
Well, they still didn't have it right. Aunt Shirley contacted the paper again.
Once more, the paper printed the apology and correction. "The third time is the charm. The name of the oldest student has been reported erroneously in the past two issues. Our apologies to Mrs. Ethel Sherson, not Elsie or Edith."
Well, now the names, first and last, were both correct. The only problem was that the paper had conjured up a husband, past or present for my aunt, something she would have had no truck with. She tolerated men, as long as they were someone else's husband and didn't smoke in her living room, but taking one for herself had never been in her plan. She had been an independent woman with a very strong mind of her own in the days when women were encouraged to echo their husbands, whether they agreed with them or not. It just wasn't her style.
Still, she didn't believe in creating a scene and kept her opinions to herself. It was Aunt Shirley who again contacted the weekly.
Finally, they got it right. The final version got both the names right, as well as marital status. They could have worded it a little better though. The correction read, "We've finally got the name right, and we are sorry that Miss Sherson never married."
Somehow, I don't think she would have looked at it that way.
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