04-01-2014, 02:42 PM
21
Re: From my Diary.
School days 1953-1964I disliked my junior school teacher Mr Sebbourne intensely. He was a bully, stingy with praise and quick to put us down, me especially. Although I wasn’t aware at the time, I had just discovered how useful humour can be, sometimes. One bright summer’s day we went out to the park to learn about trees. For making a silly remark and smirking I was sent to the head master for three whacks on top of the three already applied to my already that day for not being able to recite the Lord’s prayer.
My teacher eyed me up on my return with his wobbly eyes, daring me to speak. This tyrant, along with the local sweet shop keeper and devout church side’s man who regularly short changed us kids, put me off of religion until I was in my thirties.
The form master at senior school seemed to find me exasperating. The truth was that I found school work well within my scholastic abilities I became lazy, bored and idle. “Robert is making the dangerous mistake of picking and choosing what he wants to do at school.” So said Mr Elms on my school leaving report. I wasn't surprised at this comment, after all he had been telling me for years. It was a tad unforgiving of him to add that Robert had done all that he had been asked to do. I was damned with faint praise. I don't blame him, he was a product of his times and spot on in his assessment and indeed I would be the first to admit that I have managed to be very picky all of my days, despite what time and tide have thrown at me
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I started as I meant to go on. This was demonstrated by my first day at school in 1953. My mother was dismayed to find me back at home within an hour of leaving me in the classroom with the teacher Miss Blake. With hands in pockets I nonchalantly explained that it had been quite nice but I didn't think I would go back. Mum wasted no time in marching me back and my shouts of,
"But I want to be a celebrity when I grow up" were wasted. I was back with these rough children and their snotty noses, silver sleeves and nits. The boys spent far too much time competing with each other to see who could project their wee the highest up the side of the high brick wall enclosing the playground. The girls played dibbs endlessly or skipped, or mixed and matched or discarded their peers coldheartedly.
I grew very fond of my class teacher, Miss Blake. I watched her for hours. Miss Blake made up for the unpleasantness of the school. . She was naturally blonde with lovely soft wavy hair pulled back into a sort of bun at the back of her head. When she was close by, in her fluffy twin set and pink cheeks and warm womanly softness, the air was fillet with her fragrance. I was her slave…
I didn't mind when she began to get very plump, but soon after this development she stopped coming to school. A bad tempered serious lady, Miss Ellis took her place in the class. Not in my affections though. I hadn't noticed Miss Ellis during the time she helped Miss Blake, but now she was our teacher and life took a sharp downwards turn.
She stood next to my desk with her hands piled upon one of my books reeking of Lifebuoy soap. "Why is your workbook empty boy?" she snarled at me. I was about to say that it was obviously because I hadn't done any work, when her hand grabbed my wrist and slapped it.
Things got worse, but not for me. One of the many less able children was bullied unmercifully by Miss Ellis and he eventually broke his arm when the carrboard box she has put him, in on top of the wardrobe fell to the floor. He wasn't very bright, before or after the fall.
04-01-2014, 05:37 PM
25
Re: From my Diary.
Originally Posted by Patsy
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We all have to fill in the gaps now RJ ......
Enjoyed reading that RJ. Isn't it amazing how sharp our sense of smell is when we were kids, some smells we never forget like the smell of the water in the swimming pool, whatever they put into it, not a bit like the canal water where I learned how to swim. When I was in infants school we had a large nun as the teacher, when we did something wrong she would put us under her desk, sometimes two of us at a time, I'll never forget the strong smell of soap, overpowering.
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