It was old built of rough local stone, mud and rough sawn native pine.
There was a crack down one corner wide enough to insert your hand.
No toilets or running water, just two foot tracks over the hill to the nearby creek, one for girls and one for boys.
A wobbly teacher’s desk, a dozen or so old student desks and two chalk-boards on easels were the only furnishings.
It was winter – dry, desert cold, with morning frosts and a freezing daytime wind.
For warmth we’d feed a pine log through the doorway into the open fireplace to feed a meagre fire, our only source of warmth.
I keep a photograph of it still, though the memory is so rich. The chalkboard date is 24th April 1963, although I had started there three weeks earlier on April Fools Day, but it was no prank. This was a place of learning, and I was both teacher and a learner.
Mostly written for myself and our grandchildren, but why not share it.