1. Women living in remote villages who were illiterate and who were not
involved in any modern social activities. There were still a considerable
number of such women at the time our study was made. Their interviews were
conducted by women, since they alone had the right to enter the women's
quarters.
2. Peasants living in remote villages who were in no way
involved with socialized labor and who continued to maintain an
individualistic economy. These peasants were not literate.
3. Women who
attended short-term courses in the teaching of kindergarteners. As a rule,
they had no formal schooling and almost no training in literacy.
4. Active kolhoz (collective farm) workers and young people who had taken short
courses. They were involved as chairmen running collective farms, as holders
of other offices on the, collective farm, or as brigade leaders. They had
considerable experience in planning production, distributing labor, and taking
stock of output. By dealing with other collective farm members, they had
acquired a much broader outlook than isolated peasants. But they had attended
school only briefly, and many were still barely literate.
5. Women students admitted to teachers school after two or three years of study. Their
educational qualifications, however, were still fairly low.
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John Lustig on 21 Mar 12The suburb of Saffron Park lay on the sunset side of London, as red and ragged as a cloud of sunset. It was built of a bright brick throughout; its sky-line was fantastic, and even its ground plan was wild. It had been the outburst of a speculative builder, faintly tinged with art, who called its architecture sometimes Elizabethan and sometimes Queen Anne, apparently under the impression that the two sovereigns were identical. It was described with some justice as an artistic colony, though it never in any definable way produced any art. But although its pretensions to be an intellectual centre were a little vague, its pretensions to be a pleasant place were quite indisputable. The stranger who looked for the first time at the quaint red houses could only think how very oddly shaped the people must be who could fit in to them. Nor when he met the people was he disappointed in this respect. The place was not only pleasant, but perfect, if once he could regard it not as a deception but rather as a dream. Even if the people were not "artists," the whole was nevertheless artistic. That young man with the long, auburn hair and the impudent face-that young man was not really a poet; but surely he was a poem. That old gentleman with the wild, white beard and the wild, white hat-that venerable humbug was not really a philosopher; but at least he was the cause of philosophy in others. That scientific gentleman with the bald, egg-like head and the bare, bird-like neck had no real right to the airs of science that he assumed. He had not discovered anything new in biology; but what biological creature could he have discovered more singular than himself? Thus, and thus only, the whole place had properly to be regarded; it had to be considered not so much as a workshop for artists, but as a frail but finished work of art. A man who stepped into its social atmosphere felt as if he had stepped into a written comedy.
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