TWITCHING his cane menacingly, the school master reproved his all his “pupils” for any levity displayed while the register was called.

Several of the boys were missing. “I presume they are working on the land,” he grumbled. “I shall have to have words with the when they return.”

John would have been one of those scholars, who would have earned his wrath. He and his brother Geoff, with parental encouragement I must add, frequently preferred working alongside their father in the field than going to school.

Back then it was not attendance issues related to taking cheap holidays abroad in term time, but harvest and getting drilled up requirements taking precedence over the class room.

I had not gone back in time, but instead was accompanying my friend Jean to a local history meeting. The speaker, dressed accordingly in long black coat and high collar took us through the school prayer and a rather ragged version of “We plough the fields and scatter” before setting us tasks in the Three Rs.

After failing to get her sums completed in time the dunce’s cap was handed out to one unfortunate pupil. But at least she did not have to go and stand in the corner. Would have been difficult then for her to consume her very unscholarly gin and tonic.

Roll onto the present time and education in our current Queen’s era. Since our youngest grandchild Sophie started “big school” this term, we have been receiving daily updates on how she is getting on. Unlike her grandfather, she is relishing the whole educational experience.

A sociable little girl, Sophie has quickly made new friends. But like many young children, at the end of the day she is too tired to always be willing to give a recount of how her day has gone.

But just before bedtime, as Sophie splashed and relaxed in the bath, Jo took the opportunity to probe a little deeper into how settled Sophie felt at her new school.

Tucking her chin bashfully into her chest Sophie confided she had made a new friend. Jonathan. “He never stops giving me kisses,” she giggled, “or wanting to hold my hand.”

Concerned, Jo told Sophie that if it made her uncomfortable she must tell the teacher and be firm with Jonathan to stop paying her any unwanted attention. “Oh no,” Sophie remonstrated, “I don’t want him to stop. I like it.” No hope for the feminist brigade there then.