Wednesday, 17 November 2010


Duncanrig Senior Secondary School when it opened in the 1950s.
Designed by Sir Basil Spence.  Mural by William Crosbie

Well, you've read about DUNCANRIG art teacher Mr. BOB
BELL in a previous post - now let me tell you about Mr. SLOSS.
Funny thing about teachers, isn't it?  Most of the ones you liked, you
somehow knew their Christian names; the ones you didn't like or who
were unremarkable, you only seem to remember their surnames
or the fact that they were called "Sir" or "Miss".

A close relative of Mr Sloss
Without meaning to be un-
kind, Mr. Sloss looked like a
neanderthal:  thick, greasy hair,
a permanent 5-o'clock shadow
would've been proud, and dense,
bushy eyebrows from under which
he would fix you in a Karloffian
stare as if he was wondering what
you'd be like to eat.  That was the
other thing about Mr. Sloss.  His
enormous girth (shirt hanging over
his belt to complete a dishevelled
appearance) was ample testament
to the fact that he loved his grub
and had never gone without a
good meal in his life.
The art rooms were at the back of this block
I should perhaps
here explain (in
case things are done
differently nowadays)
that we had several
double periods of art
throughout the week
at our school.  One
day they'd be in one
teacher's class and
another day they'd
be in a different one,
and so on.  On this
particular day  it was
the turn of Mr. Sloss
to experience the unbridled joy of teaching our class absolutely nothing about
art.  We were given the task of drawing a still life (various boring, inanimate
objects which usually included an orange and a vase amongst them) and,
like the good pupils we were, we dutifully applied ourselves.

Because I was particularly good at art (I always got a double "A" in
exams) I would invariably finish before anybody else, and such was the
case on this occasion.  Mr. Sloss came over to view the result, and noticing
a minuscule hole in the paper from a sliver of wood on the lid of the desk (a
hole which would have been rendered invisible with the slightest pressure
from a fingertip), said, "Can't you even draw without getting a hole in the
paper?" - and promptly ripped up my drawing.  "Start again" was all he
said.  So I did - but even given my speed, my picture was not quite
finished before the end of the lesson.

The next art class I had a day or two later was under the auspices of
Mr. McLEAN, the head art teacher.  As I was getting on with whatever I
was doing, he suddenly said, "Gordon, I've been getting complaints about
you from Mr. Sloss."  Noticing my puzzled look, he went on, "Don't worry -
he isn't accusing you of swinging from the lightbulbs or anything, but he
says you haven't been applying yourself and are well behind the other
pupils."  Surprised, I explained to him what had happened and
assumed that would be an end to the matter.

Cut to the next time I was in Mr. Sloss's class.  I was just applying
the finishing touches to the drawing I had started previously when along
comes the man himself - who takes a quick look - then grabs it and rips it up.
"That's nothing like it!" he says, indicating the collection of objects on the table
in the middle of the room.  You guessed it - the next time I'm in Mr. McLean's
class, he informs me that once again Mr. Sloss has been complaining that I'm
still lagging behind the others.  I was astounded - and could only mutter
"Well, I wouldn't be if he didn't keep ripping up my drawings."

Another view of the famous mural by William Crosbie

Now, the usual procedure upon entering Mr. Sloss's class was this:  the
pictures we had previously worked on were left in a pile on a desk near the
door - for each pupil to search through for their own before assuming their
seat.  (Each picture had the pupil's name on it.  Other teachers preferred to go
'round the class, placing the pictures on the appropriate desk.)  The next time
we entered his class, the pictures were conspicuous by their absence.  For a
moment we wondered why, but the mystery was soon solved.  "Take your
seats and I'll call you out to collect your picture" he said.  This was
a first - he had never done this before.

He then proceeded to call out each pupil in turn to the front of the
class to collect their picture.  "Gordon Robson" he eventually announced,
so out I went to claim my pencilled masterpiece.  As I approached, he held
out the sheet of paper for me, and, naturally enough, I reached out my hand
to receive it.  Suddenly, he yanked it back, ripped it up and threw it on the
floor behind his desk.  "Absolute rubbish!" he bellowed - "Start again."

That did it - I'd had enough!  I told Mr. Sloss exactly what I thought
of him in no uncertain terms, interrupting him as he was trying to address
the class.  The fury of my outburst must have taken him by surprise because
he didn't know how to deal with it - so he simply ignored it, as I continued my
outraged vent about victimisation in my best "CALIMERO" fashion.  Surely
I don't have to mention what Mr. McLean's topic of discussion was when
next I saw him?  Yup - Mr. Sloss's unhappiness with my work in his class.
Curiously, there was no mention of me having 'spat the dummy'.

View from one of the art classes
Hard to believe?
Wait - that's not the
end of it.  There was
an art class exam, held
across all the different
art classes we had.  In
other words, part of our
exam would be in one
class on one day, part
of it in another class on
another day, and yet
another part in - well,
you get the idea.

Because I'd been off ill on one of the exam days, myself and some
other pupils who'd also been absent, were allowed to sit the part we'd
missed on the first available occasion.  I'd already received the results of
the previous portions of the exam, and they were extremely respectable.
I fully expected a top score when I'd completed the remaining session,
so I was looking forward to it.

Mr. Sloss oversaw the exam that day, although he must've been
filling in for another teacher, because it wasn't his usual classroom -
it was Mr. McLean's if I recall correctly, but I'm not 100% sure.  Any-
way, myself and the few other pupils were taken into the room next door,
where we were left to draw a girl posing on a stool.  (A wooden stool - be-
have yourselves.)  As usual, I produced not only a good drawing but also
an accurate likeness of the girl herself.  When the time was up, we trooped
back into the room whence we had come.  Mr. Sloss looked through the
drawings, then held one up - "This one's good, whose is it?"  I recog-
nized it immediately - "Mine, Sir!"  Without looking up or saying
anything, Mr. Sloss dropped his hand as if a wasp had stung it.

Now comes the part that still rankles, nearly 40 years later.  When
I received the "final" results of my exam, the revised marks were the
exact same as they'd been before - that part of the exam hadn't been in-
cluded.  It's obvious that my drawing from that day had 'mysteriously'
disappeared and was never seen by anyone other than Mr. Sloss.  Now
who could've been responsible for that, I wonder?  Answers
on a postcard please.
One of my old art classrooms in 2007 - then being used for English

I once mentioned this bizarre behaviour to Mr. Bell, whose
response was simple - "Some of the art teachers are jealous of
you, Gordon" was his frank reply.  He looked embarrassed by the fact
- embarrassed for them, that is.  This cast my mind back to the first time
I'd encountered animosity from Mr. Sloss.  The class had been instructed
to acquire sketch pads, and - due to financial constraints - I'd been a little
slow in doing so.  My solution, after much bullying and threats of corporal
punishment from Mr. Sloss, was to remove the cover and slit the spine of a
spare, blank-paged jotter I had, fold it in half and then staple its new spine.
Next, one night at home, I drew a futuristically-clad figure amidst some
Kirbyesque-looking  machinery (conjured up from the depths of my
fertile imagination), lettered 'sketch pad' along the top, breathed
a sigh of relief and rested from my labours.

A day or so later, in art class, Mr. Sloss asked if I'd got myself a
sketch pad yet.  "Yes, Sir" I answered quite truthfully.  He looked disap-
pointed.  "Let me see it" he demanded.  I handed it across.  He studied the
cover for a moment, and then said "Who drew this?"  "Me" I replied.  Mr.
Sloss was having none of it.  "Nonsense," he raged, "if you could draw like
this, you should've left school ages ago and got a job."  It wasn't meant as
a compliment, and at 14, leaving school wasn't an option available to me.
"I repeat, who drew this?" he demanded.  "Me - if you don't believe me,
you can ask my dad" I said.  (I'd drawn it in the livingroom in front
of the TV, and my family had been present at the time.)

"Ask my dad," mocked Mr Sloss - "that's what children say!"  (As
I said - I was only 14.)  "I'll send it over to Mr. McLAUGHLIN at the
technical block and see if he recognizes what technical manual you copied
this from" he threatened, as if he expected the fear of discovery to make me
throw up my hands and confess to the crime of plagiarism. "Fine" I replied,
quite unconcerned.  He gave me a dirty look in return.  "Go and sit down!"
he ordered in defeat, tossing my sketch pad to me contemptuously.

Now, as you sit there reading this, perhaps you're wondering if
an adult teacher could really be so spiteful, mean, bad-minded, petty
and contemptible, but I can assure you that, in relating the above events,
I haven't engaged in the slightest bit of hyperbole or distortion of the facts
whatsoever.  It's all 100% true and accurate, and when I read nowadays of
all the trouble that teachers have to put up with from pupils, I'm reminded
that, back in my day, the shoe was often very much on the other foot.
Two wrongs don't make a right, of course - but you have to marvel
at the irony, eh?

 So - like Mr. Bell, Mr. Sloss also left an impression on my youth-
ful psyche.  Unlike Mr. Bell, however, it was for all the wrong reasons.
Poor Mr. Sloss - I hope he finally came to terms with whatever demons
tormented him and found a measure of peace.  I've no idea whether
he's still alive or not.  Nor do I much care, to be honest.

A couple of years ago, a newly-designed Duncanrig school (now
referred to as a High School rather than as a Senior Secondary) opened
next to the old one, which was then demolished to make way for houses
and flats.  However, 'though the original building may be gone, the mem-
ories still remain - and, despite any impression to the contrary you may
get from reading this post - most of them are pleasant ones.  Handy
thing, rose-coloured spectacles.


Anonymous said...

Kid, every school had a Mr Sloss or two. Had a PE teacher who put me on his hit list after I nut megged him playing football. His classic foaming at the mouth bellow was 'who do you think you are son, me? years later seeing that PE teacher in the film Kes playing football brought back memories of my own therapy needing physco.


Kid said...

One of our PE teachers was an overweight, stogie-smoking, track-suited oldie by the name of McDougal, who was far removed from being a model of physical perfection. You'd think the school would've employed someone who at least looked fit - or could run for a bus.

Anonymous said...

Kid, ....he could hardly run a bath springs to mind in the case of your Mr McDougal. Unfortunately my PE teacher was a dead ringer for Clint Eastwood right down to his hair style (no stogie or Magnum revolver thank God). On reflection this was probably his intended look /persona. To all us spotty five foot high twelve year olds he was an imposing figure. I saw him about 10 years ago and much to my horror he looked in better condition than myself!

Happy days, jumpers for goal posts etc


Kid said...

McDougal looked like the bald actor with tufts of white hair in 'All Gas and Gaiters', but there were also a couple of younger, undoubtedly fitter PE teachers as well. Couldn't say who they modelled themselves on 'though.

Mike said...

Thanks for sending me the link Kid, I read your post with a mixture of sadness and anger that any teacher could be so mean - then I remembered that at least one of my secondary school teachers was equally horrible to me, although to be fair, I was useless in his subject. Although I've never really thought much about this horrible little man since leaving school nearly five decades ago I might just think about writing a few incidents involving this teacher.

Kid said...

No problem, Mike - I thought it might interest you. (Hope the comment moderation feature didn't frustrate you too much.) I'll look forward to reading any posts about your old teachers.

Just to show you that they weren't all like that, you may also be interested to read 'A Tribute to Mr. Bob Bell'. Just type it into the Blogger Search box in the upper left-hand corner of my home page.

Hope you had a brilliant Christmas and that 2015 is a good one for you.

Mike said...

Thanks Kid, I did have a scout around this morning and read a few accounts of your school life. My sister had obviously read your story as well, as she commented upon it at lunch today!

Kid said...

Ah, fame at last. Tomorrow, the world!

Antiphon said...

I remember Mr Sloss well as I had him for art once a week when I attended Duncanrig between 1977 and 1978. He was every bit as bad as you describe, although fortunately he largely ignored me. I saw him treat other people in much the same way as he treated you, though, and I also remember how much he enjoyed hammering people with his belt. In many ways he reminded me of Mr Creakle, David Copperfield's cruel headmaster in the Charles Dickens novel.

I heard a few years back that he may have died. Apparently he was also a Labour councillor in Bothwell where he lived. I don't know if he was better at politics than he was at teaching!

Kid said...

Thanks for the confirmation, Antiphon. I did sometimes wonder if people might think I was exaggerating about him, but he really was most unpleasant. Almost 20 years after I'd left school and was doing quite well as a freelancer for Marvel and IPC, he walked past me as I was being served at a counter in John Menzies and gave me a grudging nod (I'd been featured in the local newspaper a few times by then), but I ignored him. Not so much out of rudeness, but because I was deep in conversation with the two female assistants (whom I knew) and he had nodded and passed me before I had time to think about it.