A Blackboard Secret from Pruszków: Preserving the Rhythm of "Nasz Dom" - An archival photo from 1925–1927 and a family memory of Kaytek the Wizard.
Looking closely at this historic photograph from Nasz Dom (Our Home) in Pruszków, taken between 1925 and 1927, one particular detail written in white chalk immediately caught my eye: “Dziś cisza od 11–12 godz.” (Today Silence from 11:00 to 12:00).
When I attended kindergarten in post-war Poland, this mandatory "hour of silence"—the after-lunch quiet time—took place at the exact same hour. It is profoundly moving to see that this educational tradition of mid-day rest and regeneration was already hardwired into the daily schedule of Maryna Falska’s and Janusz Korczak’s institution a century ago.
During these early Pruszków-years, the daily routine was strict, and the children worked hard alongside the educators to run the home. This midday hour of absolute quiet was essential for the community to rest. Furthermore, it provided a vital window of time for the student council and the educators to meet in quiet and prepare the cases for the Children's Peer Court, which—as the blackboard states—would be read "as before – in the evening."
Nasz Dom was, in many ways, an educational ecosystem that mirrored the principles born at Korczak's Orphans’ Home on Krochmalna Street. My father, Pan Misza (Michał Wasseman Wróblewski), was a cornerstone of this daily mechanism, working shoulder to shoulder with the Old Doctor to put the children to bed each night.
A delightful and very personal family anecdote ties into this evening routine. Pan Misza often complained—always with a warm smile—about the Old Doctor’s bedtime habits. While the primary task of the educators on duty was to calm, soothe, and ease the highly energetic crowd into sleep, Korczak would wander into the dormitories and begin reading aloud the raw manuscripts of his upcoming books.
Most notably, he would test out draft chapters of Kaytek the Wizard (Kajtuś Czarodziej). Instead of bringing silence and sleep, the Doctor’s brilliant storytelling would ignite a wave of pure excitement, completely waking up the children’s vivid imaginations—much to the practical despair of my father, Pan Misza, who was left to restore discipline.
This historic blackboard and these intimate memories serve as living proof that great pedagogy was not born out of dry academic theories. It was forged in the authentic, chaotic, and beautiful reality of daily life—filled with warmth, humor, and an unconditional love for the child.
