The Education of Catholic Girls

by Janet Erskine Stuart

The subject of play has to be considered from two points of view, that of the children and ours. Theirs is concerned chiefly with the present and ours with the future, far although we do not want every play-hour to be haunted with a spectral presence that speaks of improvement and advancement, yet we cannot lose sight of the fact that every hour of play is telling on the future, deepening the mark of the character, strengthening the habits, and guiding the lines of after life into this or that channel.

Looking at it from this point of view of the future, there seems to be something radically wrong at present with the play provided for children of nursery age. In a very few years we shall surely look back and wonder how we could have endured, for the children, the perverse reign of the Golliwog dynasty and the despotism of Teddy-bears. More than that, it is pitiful to hear of nurseries for Catholic children sometimes without shrine or altar or picture of the Mother of God, and with one of these monsters on every chair. Something even deeper than the artistic sense must revolt before long against this barbarous rule. The Teddy-bear, if he has anything to impart, suggests his own methods of life and defence, and the Golliwog, far worse—limp, hideous, without one characteristic grace, or spark of humour—suggests the last extremity of what is embodied in the expression "letting oneself go." And these things are loved! Pity the beautiful soul of the child, made for beautiful things. II y a toujours en nous quelque chose qui veut ramper, said Pere de Ravignan, and to this the Golliwog makes strong appeal. It is only too easy to let go, and the Golliwog playfellow says that it is quite right to do so—he does it himself. It takes a great deal to make him able to sit up at all—only in the most comfortable chair can it be accomplished—if the least obstacle is encountered he can only give way. And yet this pitiable being makes no appeal to the spirit of helpfulness. Do what you can for him it is impossible to raise him up, the only thing is to go down with him to his own level and stay there. The Golliwog is at heart a pessimist.

In contrast with this the presence of an altar or nursery shrine, though not a plaything, gives a different tone to play—a tone of joy and heavenliness that go down into the soul and take root there to grow into something lasting and beautiful. There are flowers to be brought, and lights, and small processions, and evening recollection with quietness of devotion, with security in the sense of heavenly protection, with the realization of the "great cloud of witnesses" who are around to make play safe and holy, and there is through it all the gracious call to things higher, to be strong, to be unselfish, to be self-controlled, to be worthy of these protectors and friends in heaven.

There is another side also to the question of nursery play, and that is what may be called the play-values of the things provided. Mechanical toys are wonderful, but beyond an artificial interest which comes mostly from the elders, there is very little lasting delight in them for children. They belong to the system of over-indulgence and over-stimulation which measures the value of things by their price. Their worst fault is that they do all there is to be done, while the child looks on and has nothing to do. The train or motor rushes round and round, the doll struts about and bleats "papa," "mama," the Teddy-bear growls and dances, and the owner has but to wind them up, which is very poor amusement. Probably they are better after they have been over-wound and the mechanical part has given way, and they have come to the hard use that belongs to their proper position as playthings. If a distinction may be drawn between toys and playthings, toys are of very little play-value, they stand for fancy play, to be fiddled with; while playthings stand as symbols of real life, the harder and more primitive side of life taking the highest rank, and all that they do is really done by the child. This is the real play-value. Even things that are not playthings at all, sticks and stones and shells, have this possibility in them. Things which have been found have a history of their own, which gives them precedence over what comes from a shop; but the highest value of all belongs to the things which children have made entirely themselves—bows and arrows, catapults, clay marbles, though imperfectly round, home-made boats and kites. The play-value grows in direct proportion to the amount of personal share which children have in the making and in the use of their playthings. And in this we ought cordially to agree with them.

After the nursery age, in the school or school-room, play divides into two lines—organized games, of which we hear a great deal in school at present, and home play. They are not at all the same thing. Both have something in their favour. So much has been written of late about the value of organized games, how they bring out unselfishness, prompt and unquestioning obedience, playing for one's side and not for oneself, etc., that it seems as if all has been said better than it could be said again, except perhaps to point out that there is little relaxation in the battle of life for children who do their best at books indoors and at games out of doors—so that in self-defence a good many choose an "elective course" between the two lines of advantages that school offers, and do not attempt to serve two masters; they will do well at books or games, but not at both. If the interest in games is keen, they require a great deal of will-energy, as well as physical activity, a great deal of self-control and subordination of personal interest to the good of the whole. In return for these requirements they give a great deal, this or that, more or less, according to the character of the game; they give physical control of movement, quickness of eye and hand, promptitude in decision, observance of right moments, command of temper, and many other things. In fact, for some games the only adverse criticism to offer is that they are more of a discipline than real play, and that certainly for younger children who have no other form of recreation than play, something more restful to the mind and less definite in purpose is desirable.

For these during playtime some semblance of solitude is exceedingly desirable at school where the great want is to be sometimes alone. It is good for them not to be always under the pressure of competition—going along a made road to a definite end—but to have their little moments of even comparative solitude, little times of silence and complete freedom, if they cannot be by themselves. Hoops and skipping-ropes without races or counted competitions will give this, with the possibility of a moment or two to do nothing but live and breathe and rejoice in air and sunshine. Without these moments of rest the conditions of life at present and the constitutions for which the new word "nervy" has had to be invented, will give us tempers and temperaments incapable of repose and solitude. A child alone in a swing, kicking itself backwards and forwards, is at rest; alone in its little garden it has complete rest of mind with the joy of seeing its own plants grow; alone in a field picking wild flowers it is as near to the heart of primitive existence as it is possible to be. Although these joys of solitude are only attainable in their perfection by children at home, yet if their value is understood, those who have charge of them at school can do something to give them breathing spaces free from the pressure of corporate life, and will probably find them much calmer and more manageable than if they have nothing but organized play.

There are plenty of indoor occupations too for little girls which may give the same taste of solitude and silence, approaching to those simpler forms of home play which have no definite aim, no beginning and ending, no rules. The fighting instinct is very near the surface in ambitious and energetic children, and in the play-grounds it asserts itself all the more in reaction after indoor discipline, then excitement grows, and the weaker suffer, and the stronger are exasperated by friction. If unselfish, they feel the effort to control themselves; if selfish, they exhaust themselves and others in the battle to impose their own will. In these moods solitude and silence, with a hoop or skipping-rope, are a saving system, and restore calmness of mind. All that is wanted is freedom, fresh air, and spontaneous movement. This is more evident in the case of younger children, but if it can be obtained for elder girls it is just as great a relief. They have usually acquired more self-control, and the need does not assert itself so loudly, but it is perhaps all the greater; and in whatever way it can best be ministered to, it will repay attention and the provision that may be made for it.

One word may be merely suggested for consideration concerning games in girls' schools, and that is the comparative value of them as to physical development. The influence of the game in vogue in each country will always be felt, but it is worth attention that some games, as hockey, conduce to all the attitudes and movements which are least to be desired, and that others, as basket-ball, on the contrary tend—if played with strict regard to rules—to attitudes which are in themselves beautiful and tending to grace of movement. This word belongs to our side of the question, not that of the children. It belongs to our side also to see that hoops are large, and driven with a stick, not a hook, for the sake of straight backs, which are so easily bent crooked in driving a small hoop with a hook.

In connexion with movement comes the question of dancing. Dancing comes, officially, under the heading of lessons, most earnest lessons if the professor has profound convictions of its significance. But dancing belongs afterwards to the playtime of life. We have outlived the grim puritanical prejudice which condemned it as wrong, and it is generally agreed that there is almost a natural need for dancing as the expression of something very deep in human nature, which seems to be demonstrated by its appearance in one form or another, amongst all races of mankind. There is something in co-ordinated rhythmical movement, in the grace of steps, in the buoyancy of beautiful dancing which seems to make it a very perfect exercise for children and young people. But there are dances and dances, steps and steps, and about the really beautiful there is always a touch of the severe, and a hint of the ideal. Without these, dancing drops at once to the level of the commonplace and below it. In general, dances which embody some characteristics of a national life have more beauty than cosmopolitan dances, but they are only seen in their perfection when performed by dancers of the race to whom their spirit belongs, or by the class for whom they are intended: which is meant as a suggestion that little girls should not dance the hornpipe.

In conclusion, the question of play, and playtime and recreation is absorbing more and more attention in grown-up life. We have heard it said over and over again of late years that we tire a nation at play, and that "the athletic craze" has gone beyond all bounds. Many facts are brought forward in support of this criticism from schools, from newspapers, from general surveys of our national life at present. And those who study more closely the Catholic body say that we too are sharing in this extreme, and that the Catholic body though small in number is more responsible and more deserving of reproof if it falls from its ideals, for it has ideals. It is only Catholic girls who concern us here, but our girls among other girls, and Catholic women among other women have the privilege as well as the duty of upholding what is highest. We belong by right to the graver side of the human race, for those who know must be in an emergency graver, less reckless on the one hand, less panic-stricken on the other, than those who do not know. We can never be entirely "at play." And if some of us should be for a time carried away by the current, and momentarily completely "at play," it must be in a wave of reaction from the long grinding of endurance under the penal times. Cardinal Newman's reminiscences of the life and ways of "the Roman Catholics" in his youth showy the temper of mind against which our present excess of play is a reaction.