Education in 1620-1750?

<img src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/libapps/accounts/114387/images/Copiers.jpg"; style="max-width:400px;float:left;padding:10px 10px 10px 0px;border:0px;" alt="Home - Clackamas Middle College - Research Guides at Clackamas ..." />But for all the jollity, all the smiles and uplifting stories, I could not escape a nagging sense of sadness. A bitter feeling that it was all just a veneer, a performance rather than a true expression of solidarity. How they ever managed to go on to live anything even resembling a normal existence is a mystery to me. But somehow, they did. They knew the value of life, you see, understood how precious and precarious it is. They had survived: they owed it to those who did not to keep going. This, let us not forget, is supposed to be a prince of the realm. A man whose sense of duty and gratitude to the nation that gave him everything - status, a privileged education, gilded opportunity, a lavish wedding, homes, baubles, you name it, was such that he found even performing the most basic royal duties far too onerous and tiring, instead preferring to fabricate a pathetic victim narrative to justify his spectacular dereliction of duty. Prince Harry is a classic case in point. He's older, of course, but his man-child mentality puts him firmly in this bracket. His contribution to the VE Day celebrations consisted of sitting down with a reporter working for the BBC, slagging off the Monarchy and school tutoring near me the Government and whingeing about his own safety concerns. Forget that an entire generation ran towards Nazi Germany to protect HIS great-grandfather's Crown and HIS country; the real injustice here is that poor Harry doesn't get motorcycle outriders any more. Yesterday, it finally admitted a ‘lapse' in what it described as ‘our usual high editorial standards' for failing to challenge the prince on his claim that he is the victim of a ‘good old-fashioned establishment stitch up'. If only. These days the ‘establishment' couldn't be trusted to sew on a bloody button. Watching the Red Arrows, seeing the faces of the crowd, listening to the stories of the veterans, I felt a sense of wistful longing for a nation, a people, a spirit and, above all, a clarity of purpose that I fear no longer exists. And may never exist again. How many of them will play their part in ridding the world of a true evil? How many will stand up for what's good and right, regardless of their own sacrifice? How many will still rise to their feet, two years shy of their 100th birthdays, to salute the marching band? There is more passion, more vitality, in someone like Joy Trew, 98, a great-grandmother from Bristol who served as a corporal in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, than in your average 18-year-old, sitting in their bedroom watching TikToks or feeling triggered because someone's misgendered their cat. I have no doubt that his experience was by no means unusual. We wave our little flags today, pile the cream and jam on our scones, chink our teacups. But what that generation endured is hard to fathom, decades on. No technology, no phones, relatively basic medicine, no touchy-feely therapy sessions.