My First Day at School

For every little person, one of the greatest experiences is surely the first day of school. So many years have passed since then, yet I still remember it as if it had been only yesterday.

Father bought me a beautiful black apron for school, embroidered at the front, and white slippers. The wealthier children said those slippers were 'made of milk'. I did not care, the important thing was that, in my own opinion, I was properly dressed.

I simply could not wait for that first journey to school. Mother went to the village early in the morning to buy piglets, and I could not wait for her to return. I put my primer, pencil case and coloured pencils into a pillowcase and marched off to school by myself. I do not know why I had not been bought a schoolbag then; I got one later. But there was certainly plenty of laughter over that pillowcase.

There were three teachers in our class: Mr Paap, Mrs Taavet and Miss Otti. I remember the last of them as a very kind person. I liked her nature-study lessons best. She sat in front of us and told stories about nature and animals. She described everything so vividly that we sat quietly and listened with interest.

One spring she fell ill with a fever and missed school. I went into the forest to pick cranberries for her. They were especially good in spring. Later she recalled that act of concern from a child several times.

As teachers often move from one school to another, she too did not remain our teacher forever. Many years passed and I knew nothing about her. Then school reunions began to be organised, and I saw her again when I was already an adult. She had aged considerably.

I was travelling there by bus, together with other teachers and former pupils.

On the bus I wondered aloud whether my first-grade teacher might also be coming. Another teacher asked who that had been. I said Miss Otti, and to my great surprise and joy she replied, 'Look, there she is sitting over there!' We were both very happy. We hugged, cried and laughed. For several more years we exchanged letters and cards, and I saw her once more when she came to perform at the Türi cultural centre with a dance group from Põltsamaa. The last time, she held my hand and the hand of another former schoolboy and still called us her children. Then our friendship came to an end. I sent her a card, but this time the reply came not from her but from her sister, who wrote that she was gone — she had died of pneumonia.

I am very sorry for that, but also grateful that my first teacher happened to be such a kind and dear person, someone I can still remember today.