Talking about education in Spain is like opening a trunk full of memories, dust, and the occasional pang of nostalgia. We go back to times when teachers were genuine figures of authority, worthy of almost monastic respect. In the 1950s and 1960s, classrooms were what we would now call 'minimalist,' though without any aesthetic ambition: wooden desks, a green chalkboard, chalk, and a teacher equally ready to teach you mathematics or drill the catechism into you.
State schools were the great bastion of basic education, although fee-paying schools always existed for the elite, where children learned not only to read and write but also to dance the waltz and use cutlery correctly. And although the educational model seemed rigid, nobody was surprised when a teacher used a ruler not only for measuring but also for discipline. It was an age when memorization was rewarded over understanding; what mattered was not that you understood why the Earth is round, but that you could say it without hesitation.
There was, of course, a great irony in all this: although the education system promoted obedience and respect, in the end we all knew the neighborhood teacher was closer to a playground petty dictator than an open-minded educator. These were the years when academic failure did not exist because 'if you didn't pass, it was your own fault.' And if you failed, your best move was to prepare for a lecture at home that would make five hours of mathematics seem like a walk in the park.