Something had to give in the little two-room schoolhouse. Teachers who could be hired were unqualified. Some, like most of our parents, had only finished the "third reader". Even those who could be enticed to teach did not stay long. Father persuaded the school district to permit the Urseline nuns of Kentucky to teach in the Glennonville public school. They would abide by all the public school rules and not teach religion during regular school hours. They came to our community in their black habits and starched white bibs. Their long black rosaries attached to their waists jiggled as they walked. We could hear them approaching from afar and we students instantly quieted down.

If we thought the razor-stropping Papa had given us at home was bad, we had seen nothing yet. The nuns had switches, rulers, and wooden paddles at the ready. Any missed lesson, messy homework, or urinary accidents was cause for whippings.

Sister Mary Clement started each day with the first and second graders lined up to go forward to her desk. They held out their hands for the ruler to be applied with great whacks. I usually escaped these daily whippings. I had been a dutiful little girl and had prepared my lessons well. But one day, I was requested to stay after school. I was the only one who was chosen for this honor today. I was sure that I would get a gold star. Sister went outside and came back in. I was eagerly awaiting my prize. But to my horror, she had a long switch hidden in her skirts. Whack, whack, the switch came down on my thin little back and legs. I was then told to go home and advised " Don't you tell your parents about this" What had I done wrong? I could not recall an infraction of the rules.

I had been betrayed. But that evening when I prepared for bed, the stripes could not be hidden. Papa got on his horse and paid Father Peters a visit. Father told him that religious could not be sued nor arrested. I was not beaten again but my faith and trust in teachers had been destroyed forever.

The first grade was fraught with danger. Our first confession and first Holy Communion were scheduled at the end of the school year. All the children made a practice confession in the church. We entered the frightening dark confines of the confessional. We knelt down on the little prayer bench. Our chins just reached the holes in the screen meant to separate the priest from the penitent. This was only a practice run but in a few days it would be the real confession. Father Peters would be scowling at us through the holes. On this practice day Sister Mary Clement stood near by with the door propped open. Martha Stockman began her confession: "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession. I told a lie; I did not say my morning prayers and I stole six rocking chairs". Sister's response was quick and sure. She jerked the offending child from her knees, dragged her out of the confessional. "How could a little girl steal six rocking chairs? I'll teach you to lie in confession". The ruler appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Whack, whack, and whack. I learned very quickly that it was safe to tell the priest that I had lied, disobeyed my parents and had impure thoughts. I did not mention rocking chairs.

The nuns taught us the Palmer method of writing with endless repetitions of sticks and ovals. We were drilled in the arithmetic tables and spelling. We dared not go out of the lines in our coloring books. We arrived at school before the official start of the school day for our catechism classes. The first question in the catechism was "Why did God make me?" The answer ? "To know him, love him and serve him and thereby gain heaven". The one lone Protestant student was not required to attend catechism classes. He was the grandson of the alleged ax murderer. We envied him and prayed for him. A non-Catholic would be condemned to Purgatory. He grew up to be an officer of the law. Perhaps he skipped Purgatory and is safely in Heaven.

My brothers and I walked to school every day. The mud was deep during the winter. Once I got stuck in the mud and could go no further. At the sound of my cries, my brother backtracked to pull me out of the mud. He lifted me up and out of the mud but my shoes remained stuck in the mud. The shoes must be retrieved. One brother held me aloft while the other pulled the shoes out of the mud and jammed them on my feet. As the day wore on the mud caked and dried. I was a tired little girl trudging home from school that evening with all the extra weight I was carrying.

The school was toasty warm after we arrived at school. Our hands were red and cold but were quickly warmed. The wood stove had been fired up earlier that morning. The older boys replenished the fire with wood as the day wore on. The wood fell into the stove with sparks flying like fireworks on the fourth of July.

We carried our lunches in lunch boxes or little blue lard buckets. Lunch usually consisted of cold biscuits smeared with plum jam. We eagerly awaited the end of the school day with our bellies crying. Soon we would be home with Mama, eating an afternoon snack of roasted peanuts or a bowl of hot beef soup and a cup of cocoa. She always greeted us with, "Hello Sammy" to my brother, and an "hello Susie Q" for me. There was never a time that she was not on the back porch waiting for us after school.

We had wooden pencil boxes that been purchased each fall with money from the cotton crops. We kept our pencils and erasers in the black lacquered boxes. This was a treasured little box that belonged to each child. The school provided black inks and pens with gold colored nibs. These pens were to be used for special assignments in school. It was very difficult to keep the ink from smearing, If one dipped too much from the bottle, a drop of ink would ruin the assignment. If too little was used, the nibs made only scratches on the paper.

We children studied our homework by the light of the kerosene lamp. Each evening after school it was our responsibility to clean the lamp chimneys. The wicks had to be kept at just the right height. It they were rolled down too much, there was the danger of the wick getting into the kerosene and causing an explosion. If turned up too high, the flame would blacken the chimney with soot. This soot had to be meticulously cleaned from the chimney. We pumped water for the evening use, spilling a great deal on the floor as we carried it into the house. We carried stove wood in for the evening. We peeled potatoes for our supper. Our brothers herded the cows in from the pasture and did the evening milking. I can't remember learning to milk but years later I was the hero for my small children when I climbed over a fence and milked a nanny goat. Her bag was full and she was crying for relief. Milking came naturally. Certainly at some time in my childhood, I must have learned to milk cows.

Spelling bees and relay races were a great part of the public school competition. The Glennonville school children were loaded in the back of a cattle truck and taken to the County seat for the events. Our school always won the spelling bees. The other children stared us at us from afar. We were so different. We wore calf length dresses, high top shoes and white cotton stockings. The other young girls wore dresses above their knees, ankle socks and patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Strange women in black dresses accompanied us. Glennonville students must excel or there would be no more funding by the district. Our very school survival was at stake. We did excel, perhaps because of the rigid requirements of the nuns. But all in all, the contests were fun. The paddles had been left behind for this one day.

Margaret as a high school freshman

Eventually, the eight grades were supplemented by a high school. Father Peters was determined that his young people of the community would not be left behind. He decided to teach the students himself. Many of the German parents saw no need for this foolishness. The youngsters were needed on the farm. But Papa and his brothers insisted that their high school age children be allowed to attend. His most promising daughter had gone to Loretta Academy in St. Louis. It was hoped that after this schooling she would find a good husband. It is a mystery where money was obtained for this. Perhaps from the whiskey still hidden in Grandpa's woods. Or perhaps, my Aunt Florence, who was Father's lifelong housekeeper, persuaded Father Peters to send my sister to school.

1947 Senior Class. Left to right: Margaret Smith, Conrad Fieser, Clara Siebert, Dorothy Krapf, Gertrude Stenger, Theresa Knott

Father Peters gathered the half dozen students in the rectory for the school. They studied Latin, Algebra, Literature and the other subjects required for a diploma. There was a liberal dose of morals and ethics. Art classes consisted of drama, choir, and the application of gold leaf to the altar trim. The first high school class graduated in 1939.

With the success of this first school, funding for a permanent school was found. The WPA workers built the school and the Urseline nuns taught. The nuns continued to teach in the public school in Glennonville until the school districts were consolidated after WWII. I graduated with six of my classmates in 1947. I was eager to leave home and Glennonville behind.