Precocious at Playschool

Please forgive me, but my memories of being about 3-4 years old are a bit on the hazy side owing to the fact that it is 46 years since. Some of them have, however, coalesced into something coherent - namely that of being at playschool.

Playschool, or 'break for mothers' as it should properly be called, was held in the community centre within the estate on which I lived. I think I can still recall the layout of this (though I may have mixed up two locations). There was an entrance hall, from which you could turn left and go into a kind of lounge area that was furnished with a carpet, tables and chairs with a low ceiling. The ideal place to hold a wedding reception or something similar. Straight on from this was a sports hall with a high ceiling, in which you could (and I did) play badminton. At one end of this hall, the end near the reception area, was a kitchen, and adjacent to this was a small storage area.

The playschool was held in the sports hall area as it had a hard floor, from which glue, glitter, paper, and the inevitable vomit could easily be mopped up. I'm pretty sure that my mother used to drop me off there and then walk the 3 minutes back to our house where she could look after my 1 year-old brother or have a cup of tea and relax.

There were a number of tables that ran down one side of the hall and these tables contained a few craft things that the volunteers deemed appropriate for 3-4-year-olds.. My overarching memory of this setup was stickies...

Stickies: 
Noun:
The riveting exercise of sticking bits of coloured paper cut out into fun shapes and the 'herpes of the craft world' (glitter) onto a sheet of garishly coloured cardboard; like appliqué for idiots.. 

Image of the most dull and pointless craft exercise known to man...

As you may be able to glean from this definition, I was not overly enamoured with 'doing stickies'

WHACK! - Yes...I got a smack at playschool... No names will be mentioned because a) I have no idea who gave me the smack (My mother would know - fortunately she has no idea how to comment on a blog), and b) in this ridiculous age, I would not want to get the lovely volunteer into any trouble (she's probably dead now though but I wouldn't want to get her family into trouble...)

Apparently, I got the smack for standing up, folding my arms, pouting and saying "Stickies, stickies, stickies! I hate doing stickies! It's all we ever do!" When my mother picked me up from playschool that day I was a little upset / subdued and my mother asked me what was wrong. This set 3-4 year-old Mat blubbing again whereupon I told her that I had received a smack! "Where did you get the smack Matthew?" asked my mother. Picture the scene: 3-4-year-old crying in greater and greater intensity expecting to get into more trouble for getting into trouble (another blog post perhaps..) to the point of wailing now... "In the kitchen!" came my wailed, yet innocent reply. I'm not sure if my mother laughed at this - she certainly laughs when she retells this story though, so I imagine she did. Apparently the answer she was looking for related to a location on my body rather than a location in space.

My derriere was the bodily location, and I genuinely cannot remember how hard it was - Enough to make me cry though.

My mother can be quite a fierce defender of the weak and powerless; it is one of her amazing strengths. I think I have this right that she gave the smacker a piece of her mind and my derriere was safe from playschool smackage for the time being.

After this, my mother likely debating whether or not to send me back, was taken to one side by a lovely lady. I believe her name was Joan. She told my mother that I was bored as I had quite an active mind and was just not being stimulated enough by doing the stickies. Her suggestion, which she enacted, was to bring some screwdrivers (probably not allowed now) and some old mechanical clocks to playschool for me to take to pieces. I remember loving this and really getting quite into taking them to bits even if, when putting them back together, I had a few spare screws left over.. I don't think I was cut out to be an engineer but finding out how things like clocks worked was incredibly interesting to me. I think I still have some of that inquisitiveness today although I rein it in somewhat as I have very strong recollection of the leftover screws...