Olga (4 page)

THREE
My Teaching Career

A proud day. My graduation from
U.B.C.

Lesson:
Each of you possesses an innate talent that demands to be expressed not only for your benefit and for those around you. If you discover those God-given talents and put them to good use, you will discover what brings you joy and happiness in life. Job satisfaction, whether paid or volunteer, provides daily mental challenges and social activity. It takes all kinds of people to make the
world.

“By being yourself, you put something wonderful
in the
world that was not there before.”
— Edwin
Elliot

After graduating as a teacher from Saskatoon Normal School in 1941, I signed a contract with a school trustee in the Rak community for my first teaching position. Men in the community constructed the rural school buildings as close as possible to where families lived. Lands were sometimes donated for this purpose. Communities did the best they could with limited funds. The schools’ dimensions were based on standard plans that allowed about fifteen square feet per pupil, approximately ten to eleven-foot ceilings, a window or two, and a mudroom or cloakroom for boots and coats. My classroom, like many others across Saskatchewan, contained shelves for books and lunches, a pot belly stove, students’ desks, a teacher’s desk and chair, and a
blackboard.

The trustees’ job was to hire the teacher, buy supplies, guide the running of the school, and meet all sanitary and health conditions. The trustees also had the difficult job of convincing people to pay school taxes, especially those without children to send to school. Most of the trustees had no experience in school management but simply believed in providing an education for the community
children.

In those days, many teachers were women because men enlisted in the war, and they did not usually go into the teaching profession. I was hired at a salary of $700 a year; however, if I got married, I would lose my job. Teachers were paid for ten months work and not paid for the summer months of July and August. In my second year of teaching, I earned $900. That year I was able to buy a black seal fur coat for myself. How fashionable I
felt.

I am the one in the middle wearing a dark jacket
standing with my students in front of our one-room
school.

Schools were the center of community life. The schools were used for meetings, social gatherings, dances, and sometimes even as a church. Hallelujah! What fun we had! Parents and neighbours were caring, obliging, and understanding. Everyone was happy and helpful. After the older students completed their assignments, they were eager to volunteer, if needed, to help me with the younger students. All children were obliged to come to school but had to get up early to do chores before going off to school. Some children did not have warm enough clothes to travel the long distances in winter months. Occasionally, new immigrants would arrive unexpectedly. There were never any behavior problems, such as hooky, bullying, or discrimination. Even with the bigger boys, there was never a need for police intervention as one experiences
today.

There were eleven subjects on the elementary school timetable: geography, history, music, literature, arithmetic, grammar, written language, nature science, health, art, and citizenship. Good penmanship was stressed. We might have to teach nine grades, and find ourselves staring at students that encompassed a wide range of ages in each grade. For four years in that one-room rural Saskatchewan schoolhouse, I taught grades 1 to 10 and helped grades 8, 9, and 10 with correspondence lessons. Not only did I teach those grades, but I taught
all
subjects to 47 pupils, from the ages of 6 to 17. I felt competent in this particular teaching methodology; it resembled the format in which I had been
taught.

Every month I issued report cards to every student in every grade. Each student was rated in all the subjects, and there were never any parental complaints. Many of my students would eventually become teachers, nurses, doctors, lawyers, businessmen and women, and would contribute as great citizens and leaders in their communities. They were tolerant, decent children who came from good, hardy stock. I agree that Canada’s future was written on the blackboards of those one-room school
houses.

In those days, the students’ physical education or gym program was less structured: the daily walks to and from school provided an excellent exercise regime. Nonetheless, my students loved their game of baseball at lunchtime, and they would not play unless I played with them. I was happy to oblige. Although we had limited sports equipment, we learned to be resourceful. I coached them to compete in the community school sports days in Vonda, and we proudly paraded our school banner after winning coloured ribbons and trophies in baseball competitions as well as various races, jumping and throwing
events.

Every Friday afternoon we created a program of interesting, funny, or dramatic skits that involved singing and dancing or whatever else was appropriate and suitable entertainment. It was an enjoyable way to end a progressive week until we would meet again on Monday morning. At Christmas we would stage lavish concerts lasting two hours and each and every student was included and would have a role to
play.

Besides being the school teacher, I was also the school janitor. It was my responsibility to start the fire in the pot belly stove to heat the schoolroom. I could do that task easily enough, but to fetch water for the children, now that was another story. Obtaining clean water for the schoolhouse was a problem. Although some schools had their own well, potable water was not guaranteed. Sometimes students had to bring their own water from home or fetch it from a nearby creek, river, or other source. Well water could sometimes have a strange taste, smell, or colour and occasionally would be contaminated. A drought brought a huge number of grasshoppers to the prairies. The grasshoppers found their way into schoolhouse wells and into the students’ drinking water. The solution was to fit a cotton bag over the water pump’s spout. The water, after passing through the cotton bag was clean, but inside the bag was a soggy mess of drowned grasshoppers and other
insects.

Some schools arranged for water to be delivered to the school—but not ours. I had to walk across the road to the neighbour’s well and carry two heavy buckets of water through knee-high snow, occasionally in 30° below weather. Those buckets of water were heavy and awkward to carry, and it was a long trip. In the winter, the school would be so cold that a layer of ice formed on the top of the water I had brought in. Those are the days that stay in my
mind.

On Arbor Day, traditionally a day for beautifying the environment, teachers as well as pupils were obliged to clean the schoolyard. We picked up broken pieces of glass and any other garbage that had accumulated over the year. One spring, we realized that the grass around the school was too tall to rake, so we decided to burn
it.

That day, the spring weather was relatively calm with a gentle breeze occasionally blowing from the south. The older students felt quite capable and resilient for the job at hand. Everything went well until a little whirlwind whipped some cinders into larger flames that we could not smother in time. The growing, smoking fire was soon out of control and started to burn a field of stubble on the edge of the neighbour’s farm. This was not fun
anymore.

We worked furiously, but the fire was getting bigger and bigger as it head for the farmer’s yard. Some of us began to pray for help. Suddenly, before we knew it, the fire subsided, changed direction, calmed down, and burnt itself out. A little miracle. We ended that spring day with frazzled nerves but a tidy
schoolyard!

Most teachers at that time still had to board with a student’s family or with a household looking to make some extra money. Some teachers had to live in granaries, bunkhouses and, in some cases, barns or tents. I was fortunate to reside in the teacherage adjacent to the school, so I did not have to commute
daily.

The little teacherage was conveniently located by the school, but was isolated. At night, the coyotes howling on the prairie and the squirrels scurrying up the side of the house kept me company. As a young single female teacher, I occasionally enjoyed the local social scene: the box lunch socials, sweetheart dances, hockey nights, and curling bonspiels. When I arrived back to my living quarters, after a winter evening out with friends, frost glistened on the ceiling, and half-inch hoarfrost icicles clung to every nail on the wall. I will never forget the cold. I want to impress upon you that winters in Saskatchewan could be bitterly cold with the temperature dropping to 30° below and even lower. It was so cold I would layer myself with longjohns, PJs, a hood parka and, occasionally, even mitts. This is how I warmed up in bed. Oh, what
memories!

Some of my brothers left school to help father on the farm as there was always plenty of work. A number of them eventually took up farming as an occupation. My sisters married farmers. I always knew that I would marry one day even though I knew it would be the end of my teaching job. I had witnessed my parents’ happy and productive marriage and saw that as my
goal.

It was love at first sight when I met my husband-to-be, John Kotelko. He was tall, dark, and handsome. He was twenty-six and I was twenty-four. We married in August 1943 in a church on the farm in Cudworth, Saskatchewan. I wore a beautiful long, white dress with a lovely veil that trailed behind me as I walked down the aisle. The whole community of 400 people came out to wish us a happy and prosperous life. A
korovai
is traditional wedding bread that symbolizes community: it takes the place of wedding cake at a Ukrainian reception. Usually, the family and the entire village bake it as an expression of support for the newlyweds: everyone contributes flour to the cake. John and I did not have a
korovai
, but we did have three special breads, or
kolachi
. We did not receive wedding presents, but we did receive $137.21 as
dorovinya
from the guests, quite a lot of money for
1943.

I remember as John and I were leaving the church after the wedding, a sudden gust of wind blew the veil over my eyes, temporarily blinding me. Perhaps that was an omen. I was blind to how my married life would unfold. I believed in the sacrament of marriage as being an expression of total devotion and commitment to family. I dreamed that my husband and I would love each other for life, just like my parents had done in their marriage. I wished for a lovely family, and was granted this wish when we had two beautiful daughters, Nadine and Lynda but, sadly, the happy family life was not to be. The name ‘Kotelko’ is believed to have originated from ‘
kotel
’. In a farm house, a
kotel
is the name for the container that holds hot water within a wood stove. My husband, like his namesake, was prone to over heating when it came to his
temper.

John was not a farmer; he worked for an insurance company, which caused him to travel extensively and be away from home for long periods of time. He also preferred activities that took him away from home: he played the fiddle, and often was invited to play at weddings and dances, leaving me at home with Nadine while he went off to enjoy himself. No, he did not stay home and keep me warm. As they grew older, I would warn my two daughters against marrying a man who has to travel for his
work.

Truthfully, I was happily married for only the first ten days after the wedding. The image of happily ever after faded quickly when I realized that John had no intention of changing his role from bachelor to husband. Instead, he enjoyed the benefits of cooked meals and a warm bed without contributing to his family’s happiness. He would not tolerate any disruption of his routine. He avoided discussions and closed down emotionally. A few days into our marriage, I asked him why he was always so late coming home for dinner. He told me that, as an insurance salesman, his business hours were mainly after supper when the clients would be home from work. He added that if he thought I was sitting at home stewing over his being late, then he would make a point not to hurry. This harsh response gave my blood a chill; this was a side of him I had never seen, and I felt sick. Quickly and dramatically, his lack of interest in his little family made me realize I was on my own, but rather than wallow in pity, I chose to accept his terms and stay out of his
way.