Some of the stories I grew up with come from around the world and down through the ages. Well at least over 100 years ago. One that I use to tell every so often is Joe Greens Lunch. Set way back in the 1800s.
It was a little past noon, and a merry group of boys were seated on the grass under the trees that shaded the academy playgrounds. A little later they would be scattered in very direction at their play, but first they must attend to the contents of the well-filled pails and baskets of lunch.
"I would like to know," said Howard Colby, "why Joe Green never comes out here to eat his dinner with the rest of us. He always sneaks off somewhere until we get through."
"Guess he brings so many goodies he is afraid we will rob him," said another.
"Pooh!" said Will Brown, throwing himself back upon the grass; "mostly like he doesn't bring anything at all. I heard my father say the family is badly pinched since Mr. Green was killed. Mother said she didn't pity them, for folks had no businesses to be poor and proud."
"Well," said Sam Merrill, "I know that Mary Green asked my mother to let her have some sewing to do; but then, folks do that sometimes who aren't poor."
"And Joe is wearing patched pants," said Howard Colby.
"I'll tell you what, boys," said Will, "let's watch tomorrow to see what the fellow does bring. You know he is always in his seat by the time the first bell rings, and we can get a peep into his basket before roll call."
The boys agreed to this, all but Ned Collins, who had sat quietly eating his dinner. He had taken no part in the conversation. Now he simply remarked, as he brushed the crumbs from his lap: "I can't see what fun there will be in that and it looks mean and sneaking to me. I'm sure it none of your business what Joe brings for dinner or where he goes to eat it."
"You're always nicer nice, Ned Collins," said Will contemptuously.
Ned could not bear to be laughed at. His yes flashed for a minute, and then be sprang up, shouting; :Hurrah, boys, for football!" In 5 minutes the whole playground was in an uproar of fun and frolic.
The next morning at the first stroke of the bell a half dozen roguish faces peeped into the classroom. Sure enough, there was Joe Green, busily plying his pencil over the problem of the algebra lesson. It was but the work of an instant to hurray into the cloakroom and soon the whole group were pressing around Will Brown, as he hold the mysterious basket in his hand. Among them, in spite of the remonstrance of yesterday, was Ned Collins.
"it's big enough to hold a day's rations for a regiment," said Harry Forbes, as Will pull out a nice white napkin. Next came a whole newspaper - a large one, too; and then in the bottom of the basket , was one cold potato. That was all. Will held it up with a comical grimace, and the boys laughed loudly.
"See here," said Howard, :lets throw it away, and fill the basket with coal. It will be such fun to see him open it!"
The boys agreed, and the basket was soon filled, and the napkin placed carefully on the top. Before the bell rang, they were on their way to class.
Ned Collins was the last one to leave the room. No sooner did the last head disappear, then quick as a flash, he emptied the coal into the box again, replaced the paper, and half filled the basket , large as it was, with the contents of the bright pail that Aunt Sally delighted to store with dainties for his dinner. Ned was in his seat almost as soon as the rest, and all through the forenoon he looked and felt as guilty as the others, as he sway the sly looks and winks they exchanged. Noon came, and there was the usual rush to the cloakroom for dinner baskets; but instead of going out the yard, the boys lingered about the door and the hall. Straight by them marched Ned Collins, his pail under his arm.
"Hello, Ned," said Sam Merrill. " Where are you going now?"
"Home," said Ned, laughing "I saw Aunt Sally making some extra goodies to eat this morning, and they can't cheat me out of my share."
"Ask me to go, too," shouted Howard Colby. At that moment the boys spied Joe Green carrying his basket into the schoolroom.
"I should think he'd suspect something," whispered Will Brown; "that coal must be awful heavy."
Joe disappeared into the schoolroom, and the curious yes that peeped through the crack of the door were soon rewarded by seeing him open his basket.
"Hope his dinner won't lie hard on his stomach," whispered Howard Colby.
Joe only wished to get his paper to read, for he took by the corner, and pulled; but it stuck fast. He looked in with surprise, and then took out, in in a sort of bewildered way, a couple of Aunt Sally's fat sandwiches, one of the delicious round pies he had so often seen in Ned's hands, a bottle of milk, some nuts and raisins. It was dinner fit for a king, so Joe thought, and so did the boys as they peeped from their hiding place. But Joe did not offer to taste it; he only sat there and looked at it. Then he laid his head on his desk; and Freddy Wilson, one of the smaller boys, whispered , "I guess he's praying," as they all stole away to the playground, without speaking a word.
"That's some of Ned Collin's work" said Will Brown after a while. "It's just like him."
"I'm glad of it, anyway," said Sam Merrill. "I've felt mean all forenoon. The Greens are not to blame for having only cold potatoes to eat, and I don't wonder Joe didn't want all us fellows to know it." Will Brown began to fell uncomfortable.
"Father says Mr. Green was a brave man," said Sam, "and that he wouldn't have been killed, if he hadn't thought of everyone else before himself."
"I'll tell you what," said good-natured Tom Granger, "I move we give three cheers to Ned Collins."
The boys sprang to their feet, and swinging their caps in the air, gave three hearty cheers for Ned. Even Will Brown joined in the chorus, with a loud "hurrah."
Later that day, Sam Merrill explained the whole matter to Ned; but he only replied; "I've often heard Aunt Sally say it's poor fun that must be earned by hurting someone's feelings."
My Mum tells of watching the migrants learning about Australian culture in the camps during the late 40 and 50s. She use to teach kindy. Especially about sandwiches for lunch. At times they would have really thick slices of bread with meat. Finally they slowly got the idea about thinner sandwiches. You might find that weird but way back then bread was not always cut like it is today for you to buy.
This story brings to mind one of the assignments I have given one particular class this year to plan what goes into a lunch box for toddlers, primary aged children and a teenager. How things have changed from this story, no longer do we use coal to heat the schoolroom or carry things in small baskets or billycans, plus governments and health departments have outlined to parents and canteens what can be put into lunch boxes to helps to reduce the chance of young people developing obesity. Then there is the way we keep things cool so children don't get food poisoning. Yes things have changed.
This story also makes me think in about the global village we now live in. Our friends and neighbours are not the ones living close to us any more. We need to consider the needs of the people in the countries close to us and further a field like the famine that is occurring through out certain areas in Africa and how the west has plenty of food. We should be helping others and not giving them out. Some of us do sponsor children, or send money to assist in these times. The pictures I have used for this part come from the book Hungry Planet. Where it explains in show in graphic deal the types of food that people from the world eat for a week.
Lloyd, E (1949). Scrapbook Stories from EllenWhite's Scrapbooks. Pacific Press Publishing Association. Mountain
View, California
