"At six years old I crossed Palma alone to go to school"

PalmaAt six years old, I used to cross Palma all by myself to go to school, in a city where children moved with a freedom unthinkable today. I walked from Pere Garau to the Sant Francesc school. In the sixties, families granted much more freedom to their children, and this premature autonomy ended up forging a strong sense of independence.

The first school memories I have are linked to the nuns. I must have been three or four years old when I started with the Franciscans; in a space that did everything: school, daycare, and refuge. At that time, public offerings for young children were practically non-existent, and many families relied on congregations to look after their children while parents worked. We prayed a lot, but we also played and spent our hours protected within that world of the playground, classroom, and chapel.

At five years old I spent time with the Augustinian nuns on Sant Miquel street. To learn to read, they put us in small groups: each with their book open in front of them, and we read one after another, with the nun listening attentively. To write, the system was more individual. We had calligraphy notebooks where we copied samples with infinite patience. We also prayed a lot, and there was space for singing and making a little music. Sometimes I even stayed for lunch.

Children 'free'

Then I went to San Francesc. I must have been six years old and I went there all by myself. Today it may seem strange, but it was another city. I left Pere Garau and crossed the Gerreria, passed by the Porta de Sant Antoni and the Plaça de les Columnes until I reached the school. People trusted us, and we children moved around with a freedom that would be unthinkable now.

At Sant Francesc I only stayed one year. We had those old desks with inkwells, and we wrote with wooden-handled pens. Only children went there. There was discipline, a lot of discipline. If you arrived late they scolded you; someone was made to kneel and, from time to time, a ruler fell on the fingers. But, if I am to be honest, I don't remember it as a particularly traumatic experience. It was the system that existed.

The great change came when I went to Sant Josep Obrer. That school was born linked to a new parish and with a different will, more open, with aspirations to renew many things within the Church. The soul of the project was Sebastià Arrom, who even argued with the bishop because he wanted the center to be called Sant Josep Artesà and he defended the name Sant Josep Obrer.

In the hands of the bishopric

Over time, Primary courses were created there and then a delegated private Secondary section that depended on the bishopric and was linked to the Institut Ramon Llull. The director was Rosselló Bordoy. I met extraordinary teachers there: Antoni Bernassar, Gayà, Llodrà… People with a great vocation and with a very advanced idea of education for that time.

I even got to go to the current Son Gotleu complex when it was nothing more than a field with nothing. Boys and girls went separately, although in some cases at Batxillerat some girls were incorporated. We did a technical baccalaureate that combined humanities with science and technology.

At Sant Josep Obrer there was also a scout group and many activities: theatre, sports, excursions. There was an atmosphere of openness that went beyond classes. This doesn't mean there wasn't indoctrination. We had subjects like Formation of the National Spirit. There was also religion, confessions, and participation in ceremonies. And, viewed with today's eyes, there was a lack of sensitivity towards students who had difficulties or who simply deviated from the norm. The system was homogeneous: everyone the same. If you were a different student, you were lost.

Everything was taught in Spanish; no one would have dared to do it any other way. But, in private, there was no problem speaking in Catalan. It was common in the playground or outside of class. At Sant Josep Obrer, we even started to have some Catalan classes. Seminarians used to come and teach us very basic things. It was a small thing, but for us it was already a small sign that times were beginning to change.

'My School Years' is a series from ARA Balears that reconstructs what education in Mallorca was like decade by decade through first-person testimonies.*Text elaborated from the testimony of the interviewee