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Nine years apart from top image to bottom. I was too young to be in the top one, I had left for junior high one year before the bottom image was taken.
The teachers, a married couple in the image from 1952, shared 7 grades. There were only two classrooms; first and second grades were the lady's domain, while her husband dealt with the rowdy bunch, ages 9 to 14. He retired the following year after a long, long service.
The couple didn't have any children. From what I remember it seemed like a deeply unhappy marriage.
I sometimes brought them groceries that they had ordered from the store. They never went to the store themselves, they never participated in any activities outside school, they were quite isolated.
Every time I got to their house I could hear them fighting - verbally,hopefully - and I sometimes waited to knock on their door in stark fascination or maybe fear.. She would shout at him, while he was defending himself in a whining voice.
I mustered up courage and knocked on their front door and the effect was immediate, total silence.
It would take another minute before she opened the door, received the groceries and thanked me, almost embarrassed, I believe.
As young as I was I still understood enough to feel sorry for them. So much bitterness for so many years.
I met her many years later, she was a widow by then, we rode the train to Gothenburg together by a coincidence. She was like a totally different person, quite lighthearted and talkative.
With the new teacher a new era began in my little village. He was young and energetic, had visions for the school and even for the village. Television didn't really come until 1959 and people were starving for entertainment.
He started a society, that invited artists, explorers, lecturers etc. once a month and everybody who could walk would come to these occasions. It was a very stimulating audience for whomever was invited to show films or sing or just talk or whatever, the response from the audience was overwhelming.
There was one of the grownups who had the most bizarre laughter, it sounded like scraping a shovel on a concrete floor and we, the kids, were always waiting for that treat. He laughed and we were happy.
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