The Child under Eight Part 16

Without doubt, the only aim in giving poetry to children is to help them to appreciate it, and the only method to secure this is to read it to them appreciatively and often.

Besides such anthologies as _The Golden Staircase,_ E.V. Lucas's _Book of Verses for Children,_ and others, we must go to the Bible for poems like the Song of Miriam, or of Deborah, and the Psalms; to Shakespeare for such songs as "Where the Bee Sucks," "I know a Bank," "Ye Spotted Snakes," either with or without music; to Longfellow's _Hiawatha_ for descriptive pieces, and to Scott and Tennyson for ballads and songs, and to many other simple cla.s.sic sources outside the ordinary collections.

In both prose and poetry, probably the ultimate aim is appreciation of beauty in human conduct. Clutton Brock says, "The value of art is the value of the aesthetic activity of the spirit, and we must all value that before we can value works of art rightly: and ultimately we must value this glory of the universe, to which we give the name of beauty when we apprehend it." Again he says, "Parents, nurses and teachers ought to be aware that the child when he forgets himself in the beauty of the world is pa.s.sing through a sacred experience which will enrich and glorify the whole of his life."

If all this is what literature means in a child's experiences of life, then it must be given a worthy place in the time-table and curriculum and in the serious preparation by the teacher for her work.

CHAPTER XXII

EXPERIENCES OF THE NATURAL WORLD

The first experiences the child gains from the world of nature are those of beauty, of sound, colour and smell. Flowers at first are just lovely and sweet-smelling; the keen senses of a child are more deeply satisfied with colour and scent than we have any idea of, unless some faint memory of what it meant remains with us. But he begins to grasp real scientific truth from his experiences with the elements which have for him such a mysterious attraction; by the very contact with water something in the child responds to its stimulus. Mud and sand have their charms, quite intangible, but universal, from prince to coster; a bonfire is something that arouses a kind of primeval joy. Again, race experience reproducing itself may account for all this, and it must be satisfied. The demand for contact with the rest of nature is a strong and fierce part of human nature, and it means the growth of something in life that we cannot do without. We induce children to come into our schools when this hunger is at its fiercest, and very often we do nothing to satisfy it, but set them in rooms to look at things inanimate when their very being is crying out for life. "I want something and I don't know what to want" is the expression of a state very frequent in children, and not infrequent in grown-up people, because they have been balked of something.

How, then, can we provide for their experience of this side of life? We have tried to do so in the past by object and nature lessons, but we must admit that they are not the means by which young children seek to know life, or by which they appreciate its beauty. We have been trying to kill too many birds with one stone in our economic way; "to train the powers of observation," "to teach a child to express himself," "to help a child to gain useful knowledge about living things," have been the most usual aims. And the method has been that of minute examination of a specimen from the plant or animal world, utterly detached from its surroundings, considered by the docile child in parts, such as leaves, stem, roots, petals, and uses; or head, wings, legs, tail, and habits.

The innocent listener might frequently think with reason that a number lesson rather than a nature lesson was being given. The day of the object lesson is past, and to young children the nature lesson must become nature work.

It is in the term "nature lesson" that the root of the mischief lies: nature is not a lesson to the young child, it is an interest from which he seeks to gain more pleasure, by means of his own activity: plants encourage him to garden, animals stir his desire to watch, feed and protect; water, earth and fire arouse his craving to investigate and experiment: there is no motive for pa.s.sive study at this juncture, and without a motive or purpose all study leads to nothing. Adults compare, and count the various parts of a living thing for purposes of cla.s.sification connected with the subdivisions of life which we call botany and zoology; but such things are far removed from the young child's world--only gradually does it begin to dawn on him that there are interesting likenesses, and that in this world, as in his own, there are relations.h.i.+ps; when he realises this, the time for a nature lesson has come. But much direct experience must come first.

In setting out the furnis.h.i.+ng of the school the need for this activity is implied. No school worthy of the name can do without a garden, any more than it can do without reading books, or blackboards, indeed the former need is greater: if it is possible, and possibilities gradually merge into acceptances, a pond should be in the middle of the garden, and trees should also be considered as part of the whole. It is not difficult for the ordinary person to make a pond, or even to begin a garden.

In a school situated in S.E. London in the midst of rows of monotonous little houses, and close to a busy railway junction, a miracle was performed: the playground was not very large, and of the usual uncompromising concrete. The children, most of whose fathers worked on the railway, lived in the surrounding streets, and most of them had a back-yard of sorts; they had little or no idea of a garden. One of the teachers had, however, a vision which became a reality. She asked her children to help to make a garden, and for weeks every child brought from his back-yard his little paper bag of soil which was deposited over some clinkers that were spread out in a narrow border against the outside wall; in a few months there was a border of two yards in which flowers were planted: the caretaker, inspired by the sight, did his share of fixing a wooden strip as a kind of supporting border to the whole: in two years the garden had spread all round the outside wall of the playground, and belonged to several cla.s.ses.

An even greater miracle was performed in a dock-side school, where to most of the children a back-yard was a luxury beyond all possibility.

The school playground was very small, and evening cla.s.ses made a school garden quite impossible. But the head mistress was one who saw life full of possibilities, and so she saw a garden even in the sordidness. Round the parish church was a graveyard long disused, and near one of the gates a small piece of ground that had never been used for any graveyard purpose: it was near enough to the school to be possible, and in a short time the miracle happened--the entrance to the graveyard became a children's flowering garden.

Inside the school where plants and flowers in pots are numerous, a part of the morning should be spent in the care of these: few people know how to arrange flowers, and fewer how to feed and wash them; if there are an aquarium or chrysalis boxes, they have to be attended to: all this should be a regular duty with a strong sense of responsibility attached to it; it is curious how many people are content to live in an atmosphere of decaying matter.

If the children enjoy so intensely the colour of the leaves and flowers they will be glad to have the opportunity of painting them; this is as much a part of nature work as any other, and it should be used as such, because it emphasises so strongly the side of appreciation of beauty, a side very often neglected. It is here that the individual paint box is so important. If children are to have any sense of colour they must learn to match very truthfully; there is a great difference between the blue of the forget-me-not and of the bluebell, but only by experiment can children discover that the difference lies in the amount of red in the latter. By means of discoveries of this kind they will see new colours in life around them, and a new depth of meaning will come to their everyday observations. This is true observation, not the "look and say" of the oral lesson, which has no purpose in it, and leads to no natural activity, or to appreciation.

It is difficult to satisfy the interest in animals. In connection with the Nursery School the most suitable have been mentioned. The transition and junior school children may see others when they go for excursions.

At this stage, too, children have a great desire to learn about wild animals, and the need often arises out of their literature: the camel that brought Rebecca to Isaac, the wolf that adopted Mowgli, the reindeer that carried Kay and Gerda, the fox that tried to eat the seven little kids, Androcles' lion, and Black Sambo's tiger, might form an interesting series, helped by pictures of the creature _in its own home_. It is difficult to say whether this may be termed literature, geography, or nature study. The difficulty serves to show the unity of life at this period. Books such as Seton Thompson's, Long's, and Kearton's, and many others, supply living experiences of animal life impossible to get from less direct sources.

As children get older, and have the power to look back, they will feel the necessity of keeping records; and thus the Nature Calendar, forerunner of geography, will be adopted naturally.

Another important feature in nature experiences is the excursion.

Froebel says: "Not only children and boys, but indeed many adults, fare with nature and her character as ordinary men fare with the air. They live in it and yet scarcely know it as something distinct ... therefore these children and boys who spend all their time in the fields and forests see and feel nothing of the beauties of nature and their influence on the human heart. They are like people who have grown up in a very beautiful country and who have no idea of its beauty and its spirit ... therefore it is so important that boys and adults should go into the fields and forests, together striving to receive into their hearts and minds the life and spirit of nature." It is evident from this that excursions are as necessary in the country as in the town, where instead of the "fields and forests" perhaps only a park is possible, but there is no virtue in an excursion taken without preparation. The teacher must first of all visit the place and see what it is likely to give the children. She must tell them something of it, give them some aim in going there, such as collecting leaves or fruits, or recording different shapes of bare trees, or collecting things that grow in the gra.s.s. These are examples of what a town park might yield. Within one group of children there might be many with different aims. During the days following the excursion time should be spent in using these experiences, either by means of painting and modelling, or making cla.s.sified collections of things found, or compiling records, oral or written. Otherwise the excursion degenerates into a school treat without its natural enjoyment.

With regard to the inevitable gaps in the children's minds in connection with the world of living things, such pictures as the following should be in every town school: a pine wood, a rabbit warren, a natural pond, a ditch and hedge, a hayfield in June, a wild daffodil patch, a sheet of bluebells, a cornfield at different stages, an orchard in spring and in autumn, and many others. These must be constantly used when they are needed, and not misused in the artificial method known as "picture talks."

There is another side to nature work. Froebel says: "The things of nature form a more beautiful ladder between heaven and earth than that seen by Jacob; not a one-sided ladder leading in one direction, but an all-sided one leading in all directions. Not in dreams is it seen; it is permanent, it surrounds us on all sides."

Froebel believed that contact with nature helps a child's realisation of G.o.d, and any one who believes in early religious experience must agree; a child's early questions and difficulties, as well as his early awe and fear show it--he is probably nearer to G.o.d in his nature work than in many of the _daily_ Scripture lessons. All his education should be permeated by spiritual feeling, but there are some aspects in which the realisation is clearer, and possibly his contact with nature stands out as the highest in this respect. There is no conscious method or art in bringing this about; the teacher must feel it and be convinced of it.

Thus we come to the conclusion that the Nursery School nature work can be safely left to look after itself, provided the surroundings are satisfying and the children are free.

In the transition and the junior school there should be no nature lessons of the object lesson type, but plenty of nature work, leading to talks, handwork, and poetry. The aim is not economic or informational at this stage, but the development of pure appreciation and interest. There can hardly be a regular place on the time-table for such irregular work, comprising excursions, gardening, handwork, and literature at least, and depending on the weather and the seasons. There should always be a regular morning time for attending to plants and animals and for the Nature Calendar, but no "living" teacher will be a slave to mere time-table thraldom.

CHAPTER XXIII

EXPERIENCES OF MATHEMATICAL TRUTHS

By means of toys, handwork and games, as well as various private individual experiments, a child touches on most sides of mathematics in the nursery cla.s.s. In experimenting with bricks he must of necessity have considered relative size, balance and adjustment, form and symmetry; in fitting them back into their boxes some of the most difficult problems of cubic content; in weighing out "pretence" sugar and b.u.t.ter by means of sand and clay new problems are there for consideration; in making a paper-house questions of measurement evolve.

This is all in the incidental play of the Nursery School, and yet we might say that a child thus occupied is learning mathematics more than anything else. Here, if he remained till six, he did a certain amount of necessary counting, and he may have acquired skill in recognising groups, he may have unconsciously and incidentally performed achievements in the four rules, but never, of course, in any shortened or technical form. Probably he knows some figures. It is best to give these to a child when he asks for or needs them, as in the case of records of games. On the other hand he may be content with strokes.

Various mathematical relations.h.i.+ps are made clear in his games or trials of strength, such as distance in relation to time or strength, weight in relation to power and to balance, length and breadth in relation to materials, value of material in relation to money or work. By means of many of his toys the properties of solids have become working knowledge to him. Here, then, is our starting-point for the transition period.

AFTER THE NURSERY STAGE

Undoubtedly the aim of the transition cla.s.s is partly to continue by means of games and dramatic play the kind of knowledge gained in the Nursery School; but it has also the task of beginning to organise such knowledge, as the grouping into tens and hundreds. This organisation of raw material and the presenting of shortened processes, as occur in the first four rules, forms the work also of the junior school. To give to a child shortened processes which he would be very unlikely to discover in less than a lifetime, is simply giving him the experience of the race, as primitive man did to his son. But the important point is to decide when a child's discovery should end and the teacher's demonstration begin.

This is the period when we are accustomed to speak of beginning "abstract" work; it is well to be clear what it means, and how it stands related to a child's need for experience. When we leave the problems of life, such as shopping, keeping records of games and making measurements for construction; and when we begin to work with pure number, we are said to be dealing with the abstract. Formerly dealing with pure number was called "simple," and dealing with actual things, such as money and measures, "compound," and they were taken in this order. But experience has reversed the process, and a child comes to see the need of abstract practice when he finds he is not quick enough or accurate enough, or his setting out seems clumsy, in actual problems. This was discussed at greater length in the chapter on Play.

For instance, he might set down the points of a game by strokes, each line representing a different opponent:

John ||||||||||||||||

Henry |||||||||||

Tom |||

He will see how difficult it is to estimate at a glance the exact score, and how easy it is to be inaccurate. It seems the moment to show him that the idea of grouping or enclosing a certain number, and always keeping to the same grouping, is helpful:

John |||||||||| |||||| = 1 ten and 6 singles.

Henry |||||||||| | = 1 ten and 1 single.

Tom ||| = 3 singles.

After doing this a good many times he could be told that this is a universal method, and he would doubtless enjoy the purely puzzle pleasure in working long sums to perfect practice. This pleasure is very common in children at this stage, but too often it comes to them merely through being shown the "trick" of carrying tens. They have reached a purely abstract point, but they cannot get through it without some more material help. The following is an example of the kind of help that can be given in getting clear the concept of the ten grouping and the processes it involves:

[Ill.u.s.tration: Board with hooks, in ranks of nine, and rings]

The whole apparatus is a rectangular piece of wood about 3/4 of an inch thick, and about 3x1-1/2 feet of surface. It is painted white, and the horizontal bars are green, so that the divisions may be apparent at a distance; it has perpendicular divisions breaking it up into three columns, each of which contains rows of nine small dresser hooks. It can be hung on an easel or supported by its own hinge on a table. Each of the divisions represents a numerical grouping, the one on the right is for singles or units, the central one for tens, and the left side one for hundreds: the counters used are b.u.t.ton moulds, dipped in red ink, with small loops of string to hang on the hooks: it is easily seen by a child that, after nine is reached, the units can no longer remain in their division or "house," but must be gathered together into a bunch (fastened by a safety pin) and fixed on one of the hooks of the middle division.

Sums of two or three lines can thus be set out on the horizontal bars, and in processes of addition the answer can be on the bottom line. It is very easy, by this concrete means, to see the process in subtraction, and indeed the whole difficulty of dealing with ten is made concrete.

The whole of a sum can be gone through on this board with the b.u.t.ton-moulds, and on boards and chalk with figures, side by side, thus interpreting symbol by material; but the whole process is abstract.

The piece of apparatus is less abstract only in degree than the figures on the blackboard, because neither represents real life or its problems: in abstract working we are merely going off at a side issue for the sake of practice, to make us more competent to deal with the economic affairs of life. There is a place for sticks and counters, and there is a place for money and measures, but they are not the same: the former represents the abstract and the latter the concrete problem if used as in real life: the bridge between the abstract and the concrete is largely the work of the transition cla.s.s and junior school, in respect of the foundations of arithmetic known as the first four rules.

Games of skill, very thorough shopping or keeping a bankbook, or selling tickets for tram or train, represent the kind of everyday problem that should be the centre of the arithmetic work at this transition stage; and out of the necessities of these problems the abstract and semi-abstract work should come, but it should _never_ precede the real work. A real purpose should underlie it all, a purpose that is apparent and stimulating enough to produce willing practice. A child will do much to be a good shopkeeper, a good tram conductor, a good banker; he will always play the game for all it is worth.