Teachers

Alan had a post on his blog, way back in May, about his school daze.

He asks what school was like for his extensive readership/fans, which teachers we loved and which ones we hated. There's also a really cute picture of him. Click here to see it.

My favourite teacher was the English master, Mr Valentine. I called him my funny and wonder to this day if people knew what/who I was talking about. He was the most inspiring man alive when I was at school. He encouraged all of us to express ourselves on paper (regardless of our ability to spell) and to read the most outlandish and often pornographic books. Ok, they weren't altogether porny, but for a boy of twelve, the mention of a blooming nipple, a clear and visible sign of orgasm, it was pure porn.

English classes before Mr Valentine were as dull as ditch water. We read in silence and then wrote about it, week in, week out. Mr Valentine got us to act out alternative outcomes, to write the most shocking things we could think of and to watch plays with the vilest of language. We read and performed Pinter's The Dwarfs (arguing about the spelling) - and it totally blew my mind. My life changed that day. I realised I just might like the things adults liked as well as the things that children liked. I think that that was the day I started growning up.

My most hated teacher was Dr Read, our Maths teacher. He was a complete wanker. Superficially, he was a nothing, a total wank-stain, wearing what looked like a suit from a charity shop, dirty shoes and ties with yesterday's lunch still on them. I've never judged people on how they look. Judging books by their covers is a very silly thing to do, but, well, it just got worse. If the surface was wank, the inside was scat. He would let us into the class, tell us to work from a certain page in our text books - and then leave! We'd not see him again until the next lesson! If any pupil needed help, we just had to help each other. There was no teacher to ask. No wonder my Maths GCSE was shit. I think I got a C, which is only just a pass (in old speak).

The most weird teacher was Mr Rogers. He was the PE master but also took us for French in the second year. I'd have been between the ages of twelve and thirteen then. We'd have a spelling test every Monday morning. If a pupil got less than four, he'd get detention . Yes, he, we were an all-boys school then. The whole lesson was conducted in French. He'd ask, "Less than four?" which, in French, is (I believe) "Moins que quatre?" and everybody would laugh. It sounded like he was asking "Wank a cat?" The boy who laughed hardest got the plimsole. Not a very nice man. His French accent was rubbish. It sounded like a cross between some Indian sub-continent dialect and Welsh. He'd also get into a stress in translation classes if someone translated petit pois as small peas. "Not small, just bloody peas!" He had terrible varicose veins. We called him Prince and would sing, "Purple veins..." behind his back.

Other fabulous teachers were Miss Mann and Miss Galpin. They were a couple and lived together. Some people took the piss out of them, but I thought they were fabulous. I took history as a GCSE because of Miss Mann and am glad I did. She was such an inspirational woman and very enthusiastic about the subject.

I also loved Miss Humphreys and Miss O'Hare who took us for French at various points during my school career. They were wonderful women and I loved them. Miss O'Hare was a lesbian, as was Miss Peake, the art teacher who came over from the girls' school when we mixed in 1985.

Another teacher to come over from the girls' school was nicknamed Weeble. She looked like one and we'd sing, "Weebles wobble but they don't fall down!" I wish I could remember her name. I see her in my mind and can only think Weeble! She was a state. She stank of sweat and had a severe facial hair problem.

Miss Whale was fabulous. She was like a Mother/Grandmother figure - you could tell her anything. She was unshockable and trustworthy. She never once betrayed my confidence.

Oh, there was another lesbian! Miss Yeates! My school was full of dykes! And poofs! My typing teacher was outrageous! A total Mary!

We had a lot of fun in school. Various trips to France, to museums, theatres. It was fun, fun, fun. But there were some nasty children. They'd shout, "Queer!" and other such things. Water off a duck's back. Once they realised they weren't getting to me, it kind of tailed off, but there was always the odd jibe. I'd usually respond with, "Straight!"

On one trip to France, Kim Baker got drunk - and pregnant! A teacher had to escort her back. On another trip, Genevieve Clere was put up in a museum! It was an exchange programme. We'd stay with a family and then the youth from that family would come and stay with us. It was hilarious. But poor Gen. She didn't get her own bedroom and had to sleep on the floor in a museum. Her exchange partner's Father was the care-taker there.

The place I stayed in was ridiculous! There was no through corridor, just a succession of rooms. Mine was the final one, so had to walk through other people's bedrooms to get to it. Imagine walking through the boy's parents' bedroom. I was sure they'd be having sex all the time, so never went through when I knew they were in it. Once, I was so desperate for the loo, I tipped all the cola from a plastic bottle I had in my room, and tiddled in that! I'd also lie there listening to Radio 1 on long wave, just so that I could hear the English language!

I'd been there a day and couldn't find the bathroom. I asked the Father of the house if I could take a bath. He said I couldm later. When I got back that afternoon, there was an old tin bath in the kitchen. He gestured to me to get in - and wouldn't leave! I was in no mood to expose myself to a relative stranger. I didn't have a bath for two weeks, only washing myself (from top to toe!) at the sink in the toilet. Goodness only knows what they thought of me.

Of course, the boy, Fred, came to stay at my house, too. He was a total misery. Night times were terrible. His room was at the other side of the house, but I could still hear him masturbating ferociously for hours on end. Mum's room was right next to his. Goodness!

I enjoyed most things about school, but was so glad to leave. I'd never want to go back.

Oh, I must tell you this. Once, in a Home Economics class, Michael Wright asked Miss Leach if she was on the game.

"What game?" she asked.
"The game!" came his response. The whole class roared with laughter and we all got detention.

Did I ever tell you about Tania Moore's lycra dress, dear reader? Not sure If I did, but I think I'll leave that for another time. I need to put the pasta on!