The Hidden Schools of St. John’s

I’ve been trying to find my way around St. John’s for ten years. First as a summer visitor, and now as a semi-permanent round-the-bay dweller. It ain’t easy for a Toronto girl who thinks in straight lines and four-corner intersections. Apparently the streets in St. John’s evolved from cowpaths that led up and down and around the many hills. Cows don’t know about straight lines. Or street signs. Or traffic lights. Before I realized that the best way to find anything in St. John’s is just to keep driving in circles until your destination materializes before your eyes, I spent a lot of time swearing, pulling over to the curb and struggling with fold-out maps.

This week I discovered that St. John’s likes to hide its schools. As a concept, it appeals to me. A secret, no, an invisible school, hidden away between streets, where children are protected from the outside world. People can only find the schools when the moon is full, or when the fog lifts, or by learning a magic spell.

My first experience with this was when I tried to find way into Bishop Feild School on Monday. I could see it, but I couldn’t get there. It was a bit like the castle in Sleeping Beauty: protected by high hedges, one-way streets and dead ends. Yesterday I visited two more schools that were tucked away from the bustling world: Macpherson and Bishop Abraham.

Macpherson wasn’t so hard to find, because the entrance was actually on the same street as its address — but it stood alone down a long driveway in an in-between place that was neither a city block nor a park. Like Sleeping Beauty’s castle, it was spooky and quiet when I arrived at 8 a.m. The door was unlocked, and the only living person was a janitor, who could have been a ghost now I come to think of it. Gradually people started arriving and I was delighted to do my presentation for big group of very well-behaved children. Actually, they were unnaturally well behaved… maybe they were ghosts too, or under an enchantment.

Then I was in a rush to get to Bishop Abraham, which the teacher had assured me was just a few short blocks away. I kept my Silky dress on, loaded my books into the car, and screeched out of the driveway, after consulting a map for the exact location of 196 Pennywell Road. (Okay, so I still use maps.)

I got to Pennywell Road, no problem. But then I ran into trouble. I kept seeing those traffic signs that warn you that a school is nearby, but the school never appeared. After a few blocks, I realized I was 200 numbers past the address, so I turned around. I was supposed to be there at 10:30. It was 10:40. I don’t like being late.

I had seen a big building called “Bishop’s College” and I wondered if this could be the place. I hauled into the parking lot and accosted someone, who pointed away over some scrubland and fences — and there it stood. Bishop Abraham School. I could see it but I couldn’t get there.

I drove back the way I had come, catching glimpses of the school between houses. Finally I found a side street I could turn into, and that led me into a between-the-streets place where the school sat in the sun, waiting for me.

I got a great welcome from the teachers and the kids, and the presentation went very well. There were even some grade twos there, usually a bit young for my ghost stories, but they sat as if bewitched, eyes big, clutching their friends in the really scary parts. Then I sold a lot of books, which is always very satisfying.

I like to think I’m catching on to the way things work in Newfoundland. But my expectations are still Ontario. If an address is 196 Pennywell Road, I expect the school to be there, right between 194 and 198. Not so. I should know better by now. My own house has two different street names and an invisible number that doesn’t relate to any other houses. This summer, new street signs  with different names suddenly appeared on my road.I tell couriers I’m the last house on the road to the lighthouse. That seems to work.

Next week I’m going to Paradise for the first time. I wonder if the cows planned the streets there. I’ll soon find out. I think I’ll give myself an extra half hour, just in case.

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