Letter from Thessaloniki. Memories from the school years in Veria. Mrs Yola

By Eleni Dimitriadou

     Mrs Yola was the teacher of the 3^rd Class of the 1^st Primary School of Veria, during the school year 1963-64. Single - “a 39 years old maiden” according to the title of the old Greek movie, medium height, with an air of nobility, seamlessly brushed and always elegantly dressed.

     Our classroom, was the only one, that was housed in a storage shed at the school yard corner, isolated from the enormous and imposing main building, where nowadays, the Town Hall is located. I remember water dropping from the roof in the rainy days, and we the students, having the duty to collect the water in basins. The irony is, that our teacher, had turned this booth, to a branch of her brother's political office, or at least this is what it seems in my child eyes. Her brother was a member of the Greek Parliament representing the Imathia prefecture. Ordinary women, facing their problems, asking for assistance, would visit her. And she used to ask them to sit close to her desk, to hear carefully to what they had to say, and then, she was talking and talking and talking. She was a teacher in the political marketing too. At the end they would leave the room relieved, with hope in their eyes.

(Graduation Day - Mrs Yola is among the teachers)

     Mrs Yola had a unique personality, sensitive and explosive, and sometimes it seems that our behavior, drove her to her limits. Temper tantrums, made her throw everything that was on her desk, while, at least once, she called the Principal in the classroom, complaining and desperately crying, saying that she could not withstand us any more. Once she caught the worst pupil, a puny child, and locked him in the main building basement, a dark scary place, full of old stuff. A small window with bars, allow us, to watch and tease him. The lions outside and the feared lamb in a cage.

     Mrs Yola knew my father and she appreciated him, and perhaps this helped her to show a special sympathy in the classroom to me, that many times made me embarrassed. From my side, I tried to keep her satisfied, even when I understood, I didn't deserve the favor. Two or three times, I've not refrained the punishment on my palm, with this wattle she had.

     One of the days, she made conscientious efforts, to proclaim me, the class nightingale. She set up a contest. Me standing in front of the blackboard, singing with the other classmates and Mrs Yola listening like an expert, waiting to decide. I didn't know what “nightingale” means, so I decided that I must sing with all the power of my voice, to cover my “competitors” voices. At the end I won the contest, because, for my good luck, my main competitor, who had a strong and bass voice, was sick. Unfortunately her obsession with me and my ability to sing didn't end that day. During a daily excursion by bus, she asked me to sing with a microphone. The first song that came in my mind was the “kitten” a great hit of Aliki Vouyouklaki that year. A little while after the second stanza, I got a temporary amnesia – quite normal for me, because, actually, I was a very timid and shy child. But my beloved Aliki saved me: few mothers that accompanied us and were singing very enthusiastic with me, continue to sing the second stanza without me. So, I caught the chance to get in the game, with a little delay, avoiding the public humiliation!

     As a part of the general favor, she was showing to me, she asked me one day to make a phone call from the Principal's office, to the regional department of agriculture, where my father was working and to ask him something relative to our studies. I had no idea how a telephone set works. Those times, very few houses had a telephone set. If somebody wanted to make a long distance telephone call, he had to go to the Telephone Company Building after a notification. Something like a telephone appointment. It was obvious that I was looking at her very hesitating and because she wanted to be sure, she sent another girl, more experienced in the new technology, to accompany me. The Principal's office was empty that moment. The black telephone set was overlooking challenging on the old desk. It was too late to accept that I never made a phone call before. I dialed the phone number that Mrs Yola gave me and I repeated the common cue that I heard in the cinema: “Hello, hello, who is calling please?” My classmate burst out laughing. Finally, I managed to ask for my father and to communicate with him, and I thought that my humiliation would end in that office. But my good classmate had other intentions! Just after we arrived in the classroom she was revealed it to all the classmates. “Do you know what Lena said in the telephone? Hello, hello, who is calling please?”. Probably very few kids understood my gaffe, but Mrs Yola understood very well: “Was it your first phone call?” she asked with an all condescension style, that I took it as high level irony. I mumbled something, but I wanted to be hidden beneath the earth. Thank God, at noon, my good father had softened my pain. He came back home, very proud, that he had spoken in the telephone, with his offspring!

     Another time, I made a much worse gaffe, that poor Mrs Yola became very disappointed. The School Inspector was to visit our classroom. In the 60s the School Inspector was the fear and the terror of the teachers, because each inspection was accompanied with reports, promotions etc. The worst student was hidden, somewhere outside of the classroom, everything was in place and everyone was ready for his welcome. Soon after he entered, he started questioning. “Which season you like more?” I heft my hand up to save the situation: “Summer sir!”. “And why, my child?”, the “ungodly” continued. I lost my certainty, I was not ready for a discussion like this. The teacher was looking at me, biting her glasses and full of expectations. And that's it. I forgot, the sea, the swimming, the games, everything that is relative to a carefree summer or much worse I concluded all in a destructive phrase: “Because schools are closed!”. “Then, you don't like school?”, he continues the torture. What could a good student answer to the tyrant? I had already said it. I added this, to my other disgrace and it followed me for years. The only thing that relieved me a little, was a classmate's naive notice: “Mrs Yola, a student is outside the classroom”. Everybody pretended they heard nothing. During the break, the majority of the class (the teacher first) decided that the classmate's mistake was a lapse and mine a crime!

     Making by now an account, it seems that I accepted an excessive pressure, trying to respond on the, inexplicable for me, teacher's favor and, because of that, my classmates rivalry. It made the year of the 3^rd class the worst of all my school life. Fortunately, our teacher for the next two years was Mr Oikonomou, a very good, but extremely strict teacher, whose punishment was the same for all the students, and for me too, and I became acceptable from the majority of my classmates, like equal between equals!

     I've seen Mrs Yola , many years later, in a boat, during a coast trip around Mount Athos. Older but always a coquette. I didn't speak to her, I didn't know what to say. But today I lift it heavy...