Today would have been National Rubber Eraser day.

Today would have been National Rubber Eraser Day.

It would have been National Rubber Eraser Day but who knows what happened to that one? Are we really in the mood for some small concession to happiness or celebration? Can we really force a smile out of something so bizarre and ludicrous, maybe a touch bonkers? A dark, grey cloud of dejection has hung over the world for what now seems like forever and it can only be a matter of time before somebody declares an extension to the coronavirus lockdown. The world has been gripped by disease, death and dread. But hold on it's National Rubber Eraser Day or is it? Don't tell me that's been postponed. Surely not.

There has to come a point when you have to believe that there should  be a light at the end of the tunnel because if not, we'd have nothing to look forward at any point in the immediate or foreseeable future. And this is the whole crux of the issue. When exactly will we all lose track of the time or will that present sense of disorientation just drag and drag? The days are turning into weeks, time is taking its own personal holiday and the months are bumping along and accidentally crashing into the passing seasons.

But it is National Rubber Eraser Day so let's go for it. Hands up those who can still fondly think back to those halcyon school days when the good, old fashioned blackboard rubber was much more than some threatening, offensive weapon.We all remember when our teachers were almost driven to throw the said object at the snivelling, giggling kids at the back of the class who just refused to listen to their times tables.

Rubbers though should never be wiped or obliterated from our memory because they were rather like a metaphor for everything children were not supposed to do during a class lesson. A stubborn disobedience and a sense of reckless boisterousness were suitably punished with a swift throw of the board rubber right into the left shoulder blade of the mischievous miscreant. It was the most appropriate punishment for the kids who could never quite understand why any kind of deplorable misbehaviour or incessant talking throughout the lesson would not be acceptable. End of story.

But it may be the abiding memory of the blackboard rubber sitting snugly next to all those colourful chalks that leave you sighing with amusement. Every so often our class teacher would pick up his dusty chalks, scribble anything that came to their mind and before you knew it playtime had arrived fashionably late.

After a series of furiously scribbled dates, wobbly lines and a crazy collision of letters and words, the teacher would promptly launch into a massive session of rubbing out, smudging, wiping, dusting of the same board and then seemingly cleaning the blackboard in the same breath. Rubbers were curious looking school objects, there for painful chastisement when necessary and always on hand to just remove anything that might have unintentionally been written in some clandestine childish prank.

And yet rubbers were great were they not? How difficult would our school lives have turned out to be had the rubber not been there. We'd have spent aimless, confusing hours trying to make head or tail of hundreds of words, letters and numbers that hadn't been scrubbed from the board. Then suddenly the kids would let out the most terrific noise and rubbers disguised as missiles would be sent flying into orbit before the missiles turned into a barrage and a mini conflict would ensue.

Now though the conscientious students in the class would drop their heads into a serious pose of study, pencils and pens in hand, exercise books open at exactly the right page before embarking on the alphabet, grammar, maths, multiplication tables, division tables and cute little coloured pencil drawings to illustrate the point they were trying to make.

There was though one important item. It was that other tiny kind of rubber, perhaps the junior version of the blackboard rubber. This was some very small and probably insignificant rubber, normally grey or white which would be required when we'd accidentally used the wrong letter or word, and perish the thought, written sentences in English that were just a tad too long. The rubber was gainfully employed when you knew that your only last resort when all else failed was the rubber. You'd make that crucial mistake and rather than defacing your exercise books with innumerable crossings out and illegible ink marks, the rubber instantly solved your problem and bingo, your teacher would know exactly where you'd made the error.

The bell would signify break time and we would all frantically tuck away our rubbers, pencils, pens, protractors. compasses and slightly threadbare exercise books. Satchels and bags would act as some idyllic sanctuary for our rubbers.

Personal recollections of those spectacular primary school days would also include the famous desks and the rows of desks. Desks were our launching pad, the foundation stone for our education. Here was the one piece of furniture which would always be exposed to as much damage as the kids could possibly inflict. With thick ink blotter poised almost perfectly on the corner of the desk some of the kids would make no secret of the fact that this was the time when the desk would be converted into some Banksy like wall of graffiti.

Before we knew it blotting paper would be ruthlessly squeezed into a dark navy river of  more ink and then the graffiti artists would get to work on a classroom of tables and desks. Suddenly opportunity had given way to party time. With what can only be assumed to be the back of pens or pencils the kids would painstakingly scratch love hearts on the lids of our desks, names of their favourite football teams and some vile abuse that some of us couldn't possibly comment upon.

These were the days of adolescent rebellion, exploding hormones, teenage terror and naughty insubordination. No, we would not be told what to do because we knew best. We were the hip and mainstream kids on the block and nothing would ever stand in our way. We were fonts of all knowledge, pillars of wisdom and rubbers were utterly essential, indispensable, readily available in case our hitherto imaginative minds had deserted us and left us high and dry. Oh for the humble Rubber Eraser. School life would never have been complete without it.