In the spring of 1966 the school made it official: Grade 12 students would no longer be spanked. The bulletin in which the new senior matriculation policy was announced didn’t actually use those words but that was what was being referred to:
'The purpose of the change is to transfer responsibility and initiative as fully as possible onto the students themselves, removing virtually all overriding disciplinary authority.'
A later sentence came a little closer.
'All forms of punishment for failure to complete assignments would be removed.'
Spanking was the only punishment for that offense.
The decision to modify the Grade 12 program came after concern was raised by parents that St. John’s graduates might not be emotionally mature enough to deal with a world where there would be no spanking. In particular, some wondered how would they cope at college or university? Others even worried that the St. John’s graduate might be a social misfit after living such a cloistered existence.
The school’s founders tended to believe that if all other aspects of education were taken care of, graduates would have the maturity and self-confidence to deal with any situation that might arise. However, the pressure to make some changes grew to the point that it was decided to make Grade 12 more of a transitional year.
In addition to removing all forms of punishment, the school formalized what until then had been in an informal prefect system. Certain members of the class would become Seniors and, in return for taking on added responsibility for school discipline and crew supervision, they would be granted certain special privileges.
The privileges, known as SPs, included such things as the freedom to choose their own bedtime, whether they attended class or not, when they studied, access to the kitchen for snacks, and overnight passes.
To help narrow the gap it was also decided to make classroom teaching similar to university and to arrange regular visits to the University of Manitoba campus. Further, graduating students would be given the opportunity to spend time at places of employment to help choose a career.
Many of the things outlined in the bulletin had been introduced the previous September on an experimental basis. Perhaps because of its small size all six members of the class had been appointed as Seniors. The class included Jim McKay, Kevin Churchill, Rob Wallace, Tom Carson, Doug Hall, and Bryan Ritchie. The change in status wasn’t that significant since they had been our crew leaders for several years. They had always had the authority to put us “on charge,” which meant a spanking from the duty master. And they weren’t given any major SPs. For instance, I don’t recall them being given much opportunity to work on their social life through overnight passes.
The following September, as one of my letters records, the title Senior took on a dramatically more important status. First of all only five of the ten members had been chosen as Seniors. Secondly, they not only wouldn’t be spanked but they were now allowed to spank us. The Seniors included Bill Ritchie, Bob Ives, Dick Van Middlesworth, Doug Leonard, and John Ross. The others – John Maddison, Phil Cowan, Stephen Gold, Stuart Macpherson, and Rick Montgomery – had basically the same privileges and responsibilities. They just couldn’t spank.
As I recall they took up the challenge of leading the school more enthusiastically than had the previous year. They seemed to excel in all areas, whether in the classroom, on the playing fields, selling meat, or snowshoeing. And if that wasn’t enough, they had the best-developed social life of any graduating class.
This was partly because nearly half the class came from the same part of Winnipeg – River Heights and Tuxedo. They did well and had fun doing it. Twice I had to take over as captain of a meat-selling crew because the Grade 12s had a party to go to. And no class had more female supporters on the sidelines at the snowshoe race or after church on Sunday nights.
When my class arrived for Grade 12 the status of Senior had been quietly downgraded, if not eliminated. Everything we got as the senior grade we had to fight for.
The ban on spanking didn’t become universal until we kicked up a fuss after one member was spanked for smoking. And the freedom to go to bed, go to class, study when we wanted was not enthusiastically granted. Kitchen privileges we didn’t even try for, and it wasn’t until midway through the year that we finally forced a showdown on the neglected condition of our social life.
At the top of our list was a demand that we be given overnight passes to go to dances and parties in Winnipeg. Though I supported the idea I was less enthusiastic than I might have been a year earlier. Since then I had been in and out of a romance with the headmaster’s daughter, Johanna. Maintaining a relationship while going to St. John’s was not easily done.
We were both in the cathedral choir and I had caught her attention after asking to meet her following the Sunday night service to discuss a mystery project. There was a real project but it was little more than a cover for my amorous intentions. She was one of half a dozen teenage daughters whose parents were masters. Needless to say, they were all very popular among the boys.
As it turned out Johanna couldn’t make the date but was intrigued enough to send me a note regretting her absence. The project stayed under wraps for another week except the mystery only intensified thanks to some cryptic references I made in a letter to her. When we finally met there was so much suspense it was all a bit anti-climactic when I asked her if she was interested in forming a folk duo. She liked the idea and so began a correspondence between us.
In reality, the idea never went very far because we weren’t really free to meet. I think we tried singing together maybe twice and the only other collaboration was very one-sided and involved her recopying the lyrics to several dozen songs because she found my writing hard to read.
The notebook she produced was a work of art. Her handwriting was distinctively round and script-like, made all the more memorable by the tiny circles she used to dot every “i”. Years later people who knew her handwriting immediately identified it as hers when they leafed through my old songbook.
Meanwhile, we got busy striking up a romance by correspondence. I began doing the unthinkable, staying at the school with my sister on Sundays off so I could meet Johanna when it was allowed. During one barnyard rendezvous I missed hearing the bell for Evening Compline but I didn’t miss running into Mr. Wiens as I tried to sneak in the back door. He didn’t need to ask where or what I was doing. It was the only time I ever remember getting 10 swats.
Johanna began to feel the brunt of his displeasure more regularly, particularly after she missed the bus home from Winnipeg the night we were dismissed for the Christmas holiday. With the rest of her life ahead of her, he suggested, it was time she got her priorities straight. When her marks fell below an acceptable level, the pressure to give up all extra-curricular involvements was relentless. The situation soon affected our relationship and she asked to break it off. For a while I continued writing but when she stopped I had to admit to myself that it was over. Curiously, I still kept a promise to attend her Grade 12 graduation party several months later.
A year later, when my Grade 12 class sat down for a discussion with Mr. Wiens, I wasn’t that interested in overnight passes. Two of us didn’t have girlfriends and I know I didn’t feel that strongly about socializing in the city. But three of my classmates did have girlfriends and they were determined to see that they didn’t get shortchanged. Cooper had been going out with Mr. Doolan’s daughter, Jill, since Grade 10. Forfar was seeing Lesley Carberry, sister of student Tom and Davies was corresponding with Dale Stephens, a student at St. Benedict’s Girls’ Academy and sister of another boy, Doug Stephens.
“You tell me why you think you deserve overnight passes,” was Mr. Wiens’ opening volley.
We were at our desks. He was seated behind a big wooden table at the front of our third-floor classroom. The setting was actually less formal than it sounds because of renovations we had made the previous October giving it the look of an open-beamed lounge. We had stripped the ceiling and walls of their boards to expose the century-old hand-hewn timbers that held up the roof. We stained the timbers dark brown and painted the planking between them white. The heavy wood table was re-stained to match the beams, and half of the room was furnished with a carpet, couch, bookcase, and two comfortable chairs – unheard of frills for a St. John’s classroom, During class Mr. Wiens used the padded armchair more than any other master.
“For one thing,” replied Forfar somewhat aggressively “you promised us three passes last fall.”
“I think you’re remembering only half of what I said,” countered Mr. Wiens. “We expect members of the senior grade to set an example for the rest of the school and that includes not smoking. I think you’ll agree this is one area in which you have not been exemplary.
“The point is you can’t have it both ways. With privileges come responsibilities. Your job is to prove you can be trusted to obey all the rules. I left the matter in your hands.”
There was a pause.
“I think you’re being unfair to those who don’t smoke, which is the majority of us,” I suggested, “Also, by withholding overnight passes you’ve merely substituted one form of discipline for another. I thought we were supposed to be on our own in Grade 12.”
“It’s like being guilty until proven innocent,” added Davies.
The arguments being raised were much the same as the ones voiced in the fall but Mr. Wiens seemed more predisposed to listen this time. He agreed with Cooper that more opportunities should be provided for Grade 12s to do things away from the school.
He said that was one of the reasons why seasons tickets had been bought for us for the Manitoba Theatre Centre. But he didn’t agree that we be allowed to arrange dances between St. John’s and other girls’ schools in Winnipeg. Nor did he think we should be exempt from getting short haircuts.
After about a 15-minute discussion Mr. Wiens asked if we had anything else to say.
We did not.
“In that case, I’m prepared to make an offer which if agreed to will provide you with overnight passes,” he said.
“First, to set an example to the rest of the school you will have to be willing to get up half an hour earlier each morning. Second, on a rotating basis, you will each take a turn supervising study in the library. Finally, there is to be no more smoking.”
Reluctantly, of course, we agreed. But as I reported in my letter home, I was not very optimistic about the chances of us keeping our half of the bargain.
`We, the Grade 12s confronted Mr. Wiens the other week asking for the three overnight passes we were supposed to receive as he promised last fall, and we got them. Now we have to take on a few burdens.
`One is getting up half an hour earlier than the rest of the school. We each have a library duty once a week. Smoking is to stop but it won't and we're generally to set a good example for the younger boys. I wonder how much will be followed up.'
As it turned out the offer was never withdrawn, so I guess our conduct was acceptable. The light might have gone on half an hour earlier but I don’t think anyone got out of bed unless Mr. Wiens was on duty. I know the smoking didn’t stop, but was probably being done more discreetly. The library supervision I would bet went by the board after a couple of weeks.
I only took advantage of one of my overnight passes, spending an evening listening to records and playing guitars with my old cohorts Carson and Van Middlesworth at Van M’s home in Charleswood. And I doubt any of us used all three before the end of the year.
The only social event that really interested me during my final term was the school’s Open House. Most boys thought of it as extra work. But for me, it was one of the most relaxed times I ever spent at the school. The weather was usually warm and sunny, and there were always hundreds of visitors.
They still put us through our paces, doing lab demonstrations, guiding people through the barn, or running in a canoe race. But it was a chance to show off in front of an audience, maybe even flirt with some junior’s older sister. And there would be an awards ceremony and a picnic supper. This year I thought of Open House as graduation day since there would be no other celebration to mark the end of my six years at the school.
Preparations had begun earlier than usual because Mr. Byfield wanted the event bigger and better. The school was still smarting a story in a Weekend Magazine which likened St. John’s to a prison work camp. At first, Mr. Byfield thought the only way to counteract the smear and save the school was for us boys to go to the magazine’s Montreal office and picket until they printed a retraction. Cooler heads for something a little less dramatic prevailed. Eventually, nothing was done. Critics, it was decided, would only be silenced if they were overwhelmed by the chorus of people who support the school. Events like Open House were ideal for increasing support.
Mr. Byfield was determined that the abandoned two-story wood complex attached to the stone building be demolished and the site landscaped, ensuring the property would look its best ever. A duty crew was assembled in March and I was put in charge.
Towards the end of April, Mr. Byfield began to panic. The demolition work was progressing too slowly. As a result, he put the entire school on double-duty. By mid-May he was still not happy and with Open House less than 10 days away he announced that the staff council had decided to cancel it. The manner in which he delivered the message suggested we were to blame, particularly the crew leaders. Not sabotage, but definitely a case of foot-dragging.
I was stunned. I couldn’t help thinking that this was the school’s way of saying that our class had been a total disappointment and didn’t deserve a year-end finale. I’d managed to swallow all the other injustices and indignities we’d suffered that year, but this one I couldn’t. It was the last straw. I immediately resolved to fight it. In retrospect, that’s probably the response they hoped for.
During a get-together in our dorm, I discovered a couple of the others felt the same way. It was agreed we would approach Mr. Byfield as a class and ask that we be given another chance to show we could complete the preparations on time.
“I’m more interested in hearing how you propose to complete the exam essay questions I assigned,” replied Mr. Byfield after we had made our pitch.
Not expecting this we of course had no answer. For the last couple of weeks, Mr. Byfield had left us on our own to practice writing old history departmental exams. Each one was to be handed in as it was finished. With everything else that was going on not much had been handed in.
“Exams don’t start for another three weeks. There will be lots of time after Open House to do them,” Forfar said.
“But I’ll be on a canoe trip by then,” he countered. “I want some assurance at least half the work will be done before I go.”
We all assured him it would be, knowing full well it would only mean work in some other subject would not be done. So he agreed that Open House preparations could continue, but the responsibility for completing them would be totally ours. He added that it would also be up to us to organize the events during the day itself.
Four days before Open House was to take place I poured out some of my disappointment in a letter home.
'The school council canceled Open House, but we Grade 12s protested, won, and now we have to run the whole preparation this Saturday while the staff sits back and points out where we've fallen behind schedule. Maybe this is not entirely so, but I have a hard time believing otherwise for there's very little cooperation with things like invitation mailing and getting professional advice.'
They may not have been professionals, at least in demolition work, but we did get some outside help. The weekend before, four Calgary fathers – all more accustomed to oil exploration than maintenance work – arrived for a visit. They immediately volunteered to close off the jagged opening left where the walls of the frame building had been severed from the Byfield house. Throughout the last week, enough of the work was done to permit the event to go ahead.
Early in the afternoon, the cars began to arrive on that sunny Saturday in June, filling up the front driveway and spilling out along the sides of the road. Junior boys had been assigned to provide tours for those unfamiliar with the school. The classrooms in the stone building were pretty bare, offering little to see, but there always seemed to be groups milling about, absorbed in some undoubtedly tall tale being told by their guide.
The dorms were a popular place as well, but still second only to the kitchen where the biggest tales were being told. Of course, the guests had a personal interest in what was going on in the kitchen since they would soon be sampling the variety of buffet dishes being prepared by Charlie the cook and his helpers.
Ever since the year the mayonnaise went rancid in the coleslaw because they had been prepared the day before, most things were cooked on the day itself. There was always roast beef, potato salad, coleslaw, buns, tarts, turnovers, and lemonade in quantities that we never saw at any other time.
Where there weren’t photographs, the walls of the dining room were covered with the Department of Mines maps showing the routes the canoe trips would be following. There was always a Grand Portage expedition from Thunder Bay to Winnipeg by the intermediate grades, and almost always a trip by the juniors down the Saskatchewan River. One of the senior grades usually did a trip on the Churchill River. On the floor in front of the maps sat piles of grub and camping equipment, partly on display but mostly in readiness for packing as soon as Open House was over.
In the meat room, visitors could watch sausages come off the assembly line and perhaps be persuaded to buy a package to take home. Out in the yard, the tour varied from year to year but always included stops in the barn, at the beehives, and at canoe racks where the school’s thirteen-canoe fleet was stored. Lacrosse games took place on the playing field and at some point, there was a canoe race to St. Peter’s where a snowshoe had to be retrieved and brought back.
The clang of the school bell was the signal the awards ceremony was about to begin. The occasion provided Mr. Wiens with one final opportunity to give a pep talk. They never had the same impact as, for example, after someone had disappointed him on a snowshoe run. But that was probably because with all our parents looking on he felt compelled to say nice things – to commend rather than chastise.
Needless to say, none of us in Grade 12 were singled out for academic honors during the ceremony. If it had been a bad year for class morale, it had been a disaster academically. I had never received so many failing grades on my report card. (Later I did receive a music award and cash prize from the cathedral choir, however.) Some of the responsibility lay with the masters whose time was too often occupied with other responsibilities. But there were other accomplishments, particularly in the area of meat selling. And I remember feeling proud of making the day a success.
In the two weeks left before our finals, we remained optimistic that much of the lost ground could be recovered. Every waking hour could now be devoted to studying since all the other students would be on canoe trips.
While we no doubt gained some ground it was not enough. When the results came out in July not one of us received our senior matriculation certificate. Some wrote supplementary exams in August to get through. It took me another year at an adult college in Victoria to complete mine.
Richard de Candole has been working in British Columbia and Alberta as a reporter and editor for over 40 years. Toughest School in North America is about his five years as a student at St. John’s Cathedral Boys’ School in Selkirk, Manitoba from 1962 to 1968. Richard lives with his wife Wendy in Qualicum Beach, British Columbia.
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