Mr. VALENTINE was a Maths teacher at DUNCANRIG Senior Secondary School who was regarded as a 'bit of a dish' by all the female pupils and a 'great bloke' by most of the male contingent, especially the sporty ones. If I recall correctly, he was involved in running the school rugby matches in some way, and one of his favourite jokes when recounting the most recent game was how surprised he was at how many of the 'under-15s' in the opposing side had seemingly cut themselves shaving that morning. (The implication being that the services of older 'ringers' had been procured to ensure victory.) Cue hoots of uproarious laughter from enthralled pupils eager to ingratiate themselves and curry the master's favour. If he's still teaching, he's probably still cracking that joke today.
Mr. Valentine married Miss HALL, an English teacher who insisted on inflicting a sadistic torture upon her students. She would read aloud a passage from STAN BARSTOW'S 'A KIND Of LOVING' and then, as some embarrassingly erotic paragraph beckoned, stop, look around, and ask some horrified pupil to take over. The pools of perspiration (well, I think it was perspiration) left under the desks at the end of the period could have filled a swimming pool, such was the terrified apprehension at being one of the 'chosen ones'. I know I wasn't alone in considering the possibility that the seemingly innocent and demure Miss Hall got her 'jollies' from listening to beetroot-red schoolkids reading 'dirty' words.
However, back to her man: I, alone amongst the schoolboy throng, wasn't fooled by his jovial and easy-going, bloke-ish manner, nor by the fact that he sometimes appeared on SONGS Of PRAISE on TV. "Why?" you may ask. And, having pretended you did, I shall now tell you.
******
One day, in Mr. Valentine's Maths class, I asked for permission to sharpen my pencil in the pencil-sharpener (what else?) next to the blackboard at the front of the room. As I set about my task, Mr. Valentine produced a box of SMARTIES and announced he was going to share them out amongst the pupils. What a guy! The class consisted of around five sets of desks, one in each corner of the room and (I think) one in the middle. I was making my way back to my desk as he went around the first group and, jokingly, I leant in amongst them with proffered palms as he dropped some Smarties into their outstretched hands. Stepping around me, he continued to the pupil on my left and, smiling to myself at my jest, I resumed my seat in one of the far corners near the large rear windows.
Eventually he reached the desks at which I was sat, and started to drop Smarties into the hands of my compatriots. Free Smarties - what a guy! When he got to me, he missed me out and continued to the student next to me. "Sir," I said, surprised, "you haven't given me any." He looked at me dismissively and retorted "You got some over there!", indicating the desks nearest the blackboard. "But you missed me out, Sir," I protested. "Stay after class 'til I have a word with you!", he replied.
So, free Smarties all 'round - for everybody except me! Did I say what a guy? What a b*st*rd more like! When the bell rang at period's end, although I was last in line, I slowly made my way towards the exit, but he made no attempt to stop me. At one point I actually looked straight at him as I approached the door, expecting him to pull me up, but he stared off into the distance and said nothing.
Even today, I wonder what it was all about. I had never caused any trouble in his class, never been cheeky to him and had kept a low profile. Did he genuinely think he'd given me some Smarties, then remembered that he hadn't and sheepishly abandoned his implied threat of punishment at lesson's end? Or was it simply a sadistic act against a 14 year old pupil to provide himself with a hilarious tale in the staff room at break-time of how he'd 'got one over' on that 'odious Robson creature'?
To this day, whenever I hear old classmates mention what a 'great guy' Mr. Valentine was, I smile a knowing smile, and think "Not to me he wasn't!" And, way back then, I always changed channels whenever his smug, hypocritical kipper popped up on Songs of Praise on the telly. He might've fooled the rest of them, but not me, no siree!
His name may be Valentine, but he sure ain't no saint! That's him below. If you ever see him scoffing some Smarties, knock them out of his hand for me.
******
Did anyone else ever suffer similar 'schooltime scandals'? Feel free to unburden yourself in the comments section.
34 comments:
Ye Olde School Days were not necessarily the best part of everyone’s formative years, eh? And being the formative years they did shape the mental make-up of your adult life. A responsibility I’m sure lost on many
of the gormless individuals filling in time in the teaching profession. Two spring to mind from my youth – one had the ‘amusing’ habit of making up, usually unflattering, nicknames based on the surnames of his charges at roll call. Much to the mirth of the other students, until their name was called! Did this twit realize how much fodder he was providing for the standard issue school bullies?
The other was a phys ed teacher (a subject loathed by me only marginally more than maths!), who was rather too quick with a back-hander to the head for anyone he perceived as being ‘out of line’. Quite the norm back in the 70s but hugely out of order itself now! Anyway he took a dislike to me for reasons unknown and successfully turned me off all things sports related throughout my adult life. Thanks for listening. Kid’s therapy blog coming up?
Now there's an idea! Actually, I can think of a whole load of teachers who, based on how they treated pupils, simply wouldn't be allowed to teach nowadays. What a bunch of sadistic psychos and social inadequates some of them were. Like you, Phil, I hated PE, and always contrived to find some excuse to avoid participating. Most other subjects, I lost myself in daydreams or doodling for the duration of the period. The only one I enjoyed was Art, because then I was 'officially' allowed to do what I did in the other lessons anyway. Thanks for commenting.
School teachers, they're pretty weird people. I've met a few of 'em who've left the profession and they still retain that authoritarian outlook, even the ones who imagined themselves in the trendy teacher role. I suppose it's to be expected, they're almost always completely institutionalised, you know moving straight from being a student to being a teacher. That was the case at my school, except for a few ex army an one ex merchant seaman. We had few women at my school, Fanny King the history marm a real harridan that one. We had reasonably attractive french teacher, can't recall her name, she always aloof but one day I did take a rather ill considered risk at a jest, which would be difficult to explain it was a daft school thing. Anyway her reaction was pretty angry at first and she shouted my Christian name in alarm. I responded with a -who me- look but I knew I was in deep trouble, especially with my record but then she let just a hint of smile cross her features. Wouldya believe it, there was a human being in there after all.
Don't be such a tease, DSE - tell us what you did. Pinch her bum perchance? Go on, spill the beans. We have a right to know.
Sorry Kid my lips are sealed but that's a pretty good guess.
You naughty rascal. I don't suppose she was actually French by any chance?
No she wasn't I'm afraid, we did have a French teacher who was French for a while, she was rather incongruously called Miss Plunkett and you wouldn't hurry to pinch anything of hers I'll tell you that for nothing. We had a few of 'em, all women for some reason, even had a student from Senegal who didn't actually last the entire lesson and left in tears, an incident which i regret to admit, was in no small part down to me. There was kudos from the lads but all the girls in the class wanted to knife me, not very proud of it now either.
Our French teacher was a guy - I don't remember any female French teachers, so lucky you. Perhaps I might've been more interested in learning the lingo if it had been some nubile young Mademoiselle taking the lessons.
You must have gone to a bit of a soft school - in mine, the girls WOULD have knifed you. They were so hard, they could crack walnuts in their eyelids.
I had a German teacher of German parentage - she must have had something going for her as my best friend ended up marrying her.
Not while he was still in her class, I take it?
Almost - in Year 11 she organised a student exchange program; he stayed over there a year - when he came back, she split with her husband, and they were married a couple of years later (not sure exactly because he dropped all his former friends when he came back).
Wow! One of them must have been good in giving lessons in something, eh? Oral German, perhaps. Cheers, B.
Can honestly say that some of my teachers in the 1970s would not be allowed within 100m of a school building today. Some of the female teachers were just as handy with the hands on teaching methods with a tug of hair a favourite punishment. I always think school days are best viewed through rose tinted spectacles, the reality would be a bit hard to bear for many.
Ken.
Talking of female teachers, we had one in primary school who left many a bruise on the arms of pupils while repeatedly punching them for spelling a word wrong, or whatever. (I know her name, but I've temporarily forgotten it. Miss Haye maybe?)
No, it wasn't. I've just remembered - Miss Dale.
I too have a total disrespect for this guy, I remember being a pain in the butt at school anyway however, on a particular rugby training day he invited me to tackle him while he showed the others how to parry a tackler. I twice put him on the floor with perfectly good tackles but consequently was given the belt and sent to Dr Cook for the privilege.
On another occasion he decided to belt me in the class for no good reason, I refused so sent to stand outside the staff room where he and 2 other teachers decided to get physical and hold me while he belted me. I ended up being suspended for defending myself.
I think the feeling of hatred was mutual as he hated me and I him. To this day I hold that same hate for those school days, even though I admit to being a pain in the butt.
I hope that teaching standards have changed and the sadistic swines are never allowed near kids again.
To finish, I missed the day they pulled Duncanrig down but would have been the best thing I had seen in years.
Today's kids don't know how lucky they are - it's a safe bet they've never experienced things like you describe. Although there were a few teachers I had no time for, I never harboured any bad feeling about the school building itself, and actually quite miss it. The new one will probably need to be rebuilt in around 25 years.
There was bad teaching practice around that time, but Valentine was not one of them. All the rugby and fishing trips were in his own time and unpaid. I'd have to say, a mug of cement to harden up would be the cure.I had a teacher in primary who used to hit me with her walking stick and a head master who'd use the buckle of his belt when punishing my soon to be swollen hands. Not to be condoned and totally counter productive, but I did kind of deserve it a wee bit.
Well, I hear what you're saying, but how do you account for Bill Mc's reminiscence above? And there are quite a few former pupils on the Duncanrig Facebook page who have far from fond memories of the man. Going by my own experience, I think it's spiteful behaviour for an adult to withhold Smarties from one 14 year old pupil in the entire class. It's small-minded in the extreme in my view, but at the end of the day, I guess it's a case of take him as you find him - but I didn't find him very charitable in his attitude towards me.
Duncanrig the 1970's 4 year survival course!
Ex- Army PE teacher that aye used to smoke cigars whilst taking the class register. He often used to leave the still smouldering butts behind which were passed about to those with inquiring minds to try a puff.
The other PE teacher took a deep dislike to me from day 1...reasoning unknown.
The other PE teacher, younger guy had a very pale face dyed black thinning hair, acne scarred face and cold blue eyes that just projected hate.
Well we all got taken to the Dolan Baths for swimming, which I thought would be a rare treat from the usual. All had to line up and he checked all our feet- one kid got sent back out in tears - Verruca? I felt for him as he had to do the long walk of shame back to the changing rooms.
He took us all up the the diving board. He pulled me out ( hated me) he said right run along the board, jump, do a tumble turn and dive in! I was completely out my comfort and experience zone. Never had even seen anyone else do that never mind do it myself. Well pressure was on as he and about 20 other kids were all watching. Someone actually said " aw sir c'mon!" he wheeled around and bawled " SHUT UP!!"
So there I was at the precipice. I ran along did a bounce tucked in to attempt a turn but landed flat on my back. The pain was unbelievable it felt like all the skin had been ripped off my back.
I came back up to the surface trying to swim with one hand and rub my back with the other - which was futile given the size of the affected area. I got out and he marched me back to the diving board and ordered me to go again " AND GET IT RIGHT THIS TIME!!" Again someone said "Sir?!" He wheeled around and gave them the death stare.
Well I knew I had no choice I ran along and did the exact same a 2nd time. This time I was sure the skin on my back was trailing behind me in tatters and demons were chucking salt on my open wound. I managed to get to the side and up the stair rails and climbed out everyone was in shock and silence - except him - his eyes exuding hatred. I walked to the diving board head down to hide my tears and he just pushed me back with a look of utter contempt.
Not sure where it came from - it was defo a F-U moment tho' . I ran screaming down the diving board like a kamikaze knowing full well a 3rd wrong attempt would be the end of me. Somehow I did a full turn came out and landed as a dive. I was so relieved! When I surfaced every kid lined up on the poolside was clapping - but not him, he just looked like he had eaten something really disagreeable.
He never asked anyone else to do it after me, just to 'try a dive'. I was so glad that lesson was over and I have never felt the need ever since to try such a thing again. Aye Duncanrig 4 year survival course
When you think about it, such behaviour from teachers was nothing short of cruelty and wouldn't be allowed nowadays. As an adult (allegedly), I'm not overly-fond of teenagers myself, but were I a teacher back then, I don't think I would have subjected pupils to such torture. McDougal (or MacDougal) was the teachers name who you refer to, and he was hardly the epitome of physical perfection, was he? How the hell he ever wound up with that job is a total mystery. Thanks for the interesting and entertainingly-written comment - even if the events it describes would have been far from entertaining for you at the time.
If I can recall another wild moment that should have been about me learning Maths.
There was a teacher nicknamed " Button-head" why I don't know but that was how it was.
Maths was hell for me back then, I just wasn't a natural and really struggled with it.
I always thought " Button-head" looked like something out of a very old Victorian photo, even though he wasn't really very old.
Well yet again I seemed to have attracted the wrong attention from a teacher. I found I learned best from 'shared learning' i.e. asking others to share the bits I didn't understand. I was wiling to try - but he didn't like my methods so made me sit alone. Of course I got further behind and more and more frustrated.
He got sick of me in his class obviously, and one day he sent me on an errand to go to the school office. I was to pick up a pile of photocopies and go around various classes in the school and delver them.
Well when I got to the school office and explained my mission, it transpired there had been some admin cock up - that was none of my doing. I was sent to speak to A and B and go figure out what had gone wrong with the various parties.
I did try but some of the folks involved were not available. After a big faff about I was told to return to class and explain to 'Button head' that my mission was not possible and why.
I chapped the door to return to class and then went up to him to explain the admin saga and why I wasn't able to fulfill what he has asked of me.
Well...he had a complete meltdown!
He grabbed me by the lapels and began shaking me violently. When I say shaking me I mean with so much force I was not able to control my bottom jaw that was clacking like a Spanish castanet. It seemed to go on a long time and I truly felt I was passing out as my head and body shook withe the force he was putting in.
This was in front of the whole class - I heard someone say "SIR!?"
He stopped but not out of compassion but because he ran out of energy to continue.
He yelled at me to go back to my seat - dazed and embarrassed out my mind I stumbled to my seat and desk to sit alone.
I never told my parents later, as I worried about the repercussions. I just let that horrible unforgiving moment slip away behind me.
Years later, now the height of a man I found myself walking passed Duncanrig one day.
There, Lo and behold 'Button head' walking alone coming out the school. He looked just as I remembered him - I felt enraged and looking for justice.
I walked up to him and asked if he had the time?
He was much smaller than I remembered him as a schoolboy.
It was in that moment that I realized that had I grabbed him and shook him as he did me then I would become all that I despised.
I said 'thank you - I have become a better man than you ever shall.'
He looked puzzled and probably never even realized who I was.
Mr Valentine - I was never in his class, but I mind he helped run the 'Modelling club' ( nothing to do with topless models sadly) and I built a model glider and got to see others flying remote control airplane models.
Duncanrig - the 4 year survival course :)
If you read the note on 'Leave your comment', you'll see that I operate a comment moderation option, which means that your comment, once you've submitted it, won't be published until I've read and approved it. Just to save you submitting the same comment several times.
Button-heid was Mr. Miller (or maybe Millar - can never remember). There's a story about him on the blog. If you type Schooltime Scandals' into the blog's search box, you should be offered every post I've ever written on the subject. Must be honest and say I'm surprised at your story because I never witnessed him being violent or aggressive. I did get belted unfairly by him on one occasion, but I don't think it was personal. Strange thing is that some former pupils seem to think that all (or at least most) Duncanrig teachers were wonderful. Go figure, as they say.
Miller that was him yes! He did that in front of the whole class of 20 or so, everyone saw it but he got away with it as I never followed up as I should have. I did tell my parents many years later, but far too late to do anything about it other than reminisce.
Sorry posting multiple, read the section but was unsure it had actually gone through. I'll take a look thru' the blog thanks! You've given me a chance to off-load a few old demons from my distant past.
I'll send you the bill for the therapy session. I wonder how many other former pupils were 'scarred' by their experiences at school to such an extent as us, eh?
The tale you recount of the voluptuous teen pushing you resulting in you getting the belt by Millar., I mind her well and her potty mouth.
I was in the class next door and heard the goings on - I had forgotten about it - never did quite know quite what had happened thanks for clearing that mystery up.
It really amazes to hear of those who had an alternative reality going on to my own. Duncanrig was hellish in so many ways.
I mind on my last day leaving the school gates for the last time giving the V sign with both hands and shouting F.U. to the whole damn place.
I was very glad to be gone!
Amazingly I got an email out the blue from some Duncanrig rose spectacle wearer. They told me it wsa getting demolished but they were holding it open for folks to have a 'trip down memory lane' first. I was thinking more like Auschwitz, it should be left standing for all the world to see and learn from it. However I replied the only way I would be attending would be if I could drive the Bulldozer.
I'm not scarred I don't think, just very aware of what lurks in the hearts and minds of others given rank and position over others. I don't see myself as moulded by my experiences, I like to think I have remained true to my own personalty...much as you have in your accounts of getting the belt.
On my last day, which was the end of term for the Christmas holidays, I'm not quite sure whether I fully realised the significance of leaving school for the final time or not, or was aware of the coming changes to my day-to-day life after the holidays had ended. Up to the first day of not going back, it just felt the same as every run up to Christmas in previous years. So I don't recall feeling any elation when I walked through the gates on my last day. As it turns out, I returned for a 'jumble sale' in the school a year or two later, and eventually took night classes for Higher English, as I hadn't sat any Highers before leaving. (Actually, I also used to take short cuts through the Old Block corridor when I was going to Hairmyers Hospital shop looking for US comicbooks.) I regard the school as part of my life and find myself wishing it was still there. When it was demolished, it felt like that period of my life was almost being demolished with it.
Ah the delights of Duncanrig... Mr O' Neil of 'the Rubber Hut - or Nuthut ' fame.
We had to go there a few days as our regular teacher was pulling a sickie.I mind he just sat there and read a German newspaper and as long as the kids were quiet he never gave a toss. We were amusing ourselves with our own card games and playing 'Paper Scissors Rock' etc. Don't know what we were supposed to be learning but it was clear he wasn't caring. I mind at one point him lighting up a fag in class and smoked whilst having his coffee and lounging in his chair reading the paper.
One guy was larking about in the Rubber Hut and he grabbed him and pushed him up against the wall. He ordered him to stand on his tip toes against the wall. He drew a chalk half circle round his feet and told him if he crossed that line he would get the belt. Poor kid was on his toes best part of the hour.
The Rubber Hut was a no-mans land where they sent kids who were struggling and needing help - and they just got no help. It was just a dumping ground where he and others loafed and passed time - he took no shit from his prisoners and took every opportunity to have an easy life and still get paid.
Duncanrig a place ran by societies cast offs, where we were stamped, graded, labelled, showered with opinions and then sent on our way. It really was a 4 year survival course - truly was.
I like to be positive but I really struggle to find positives from my days in that place. Well I liked the school meals, the dinner ladies were nice and they did a great job in keeping us all fed...there was always that to look forward to each day.
I left Duncanrig convinced I must be stupid, unteachable in some way. I went back to education later in life to prove them all wrong.
I went to college then to Uni and achieved 1st Class Honours and an MSc. It was nice to graduate twice, but it was tinged with grief that I had that potential all my life and it was just frittered away in my youth.
There will always be the nay sayers and " aye you should have stuck in when you were at school" and "you will look back one day and see they were the best days of your life". Well there really wasn't anything I could change about my days there - were they the best days of my life? Well near 50 years on since I first set foot in the place and well... I can grimace and reminisce at least. I made my achievements in life despite Duncanrig - not because of any aid I got from them.
I thought Mr. O'Neil was a great guy. I'm sure I related a story about him on the blog somewhere, will have to try and find it. (Maybe it's in the form of a response to a comment.) Of course, it wasn't just the dunderheids who were in the nut-hut, it was also those with free periods and nowhere else to go, which is why I found myself among that select few on occasion. I never really thought of the school as a survival course and look back on my time there quite fondly, but I probably couldn't wait to be quit of the place at the time.
As stated previously Mr Miller had me shaken but not stirred, Mr Cowan led me to the Dolan baths and truly had me out my depth.
Mr O'Neil had an easy life as a non-teaching teacher, as I unwillingly shared his second hand fag smoke in class.
There was a male French teacher who had a gift of catching the dreamers in his class. You would see him suddenly reach out and grab the board duster and throw it with considerable speed and accuracy. The dreamer would be rudely awoken by a board duster clumping them on the head from afar with an accompanying cloud of chalk dust upon impact. The look on their face was a sight to behold as the chalk dust made their hair white and they sat and had the WTF! moment.
Heard he did finally get called to account after many years of this, as the wooden end caught someone and cut them.
Then there was a music class - hey a real piano!
I went into class early one day, I had managed to work out the Skye Boat folk song.
Mr McCrae came in, lulled by my solo I thought and came to nurture. He sidled up to the piano and slammed the lid down on my fingers. I kept that little incident to myself thinking it was just me. My younger sister though told me he had done that to many others her included. What a vile man to do that to kids!
Then I was belted for not being able to do Maths, which oddly did not motivate nor enhance my desire for the topic.
I can laugh now thinking back at my report card it said 'must try harder.'
Looking at my new timetable...Woodwork! might be the thing.
The woodwork teacher was a young guy, in touch with the youth surrounding him. I genuinely like him.
We were getting a demo of our project, demonstrating various techniques and introducing the woodworking equipment.
He was on the band saw, all observing him make the cuts - marked from a template previous. He clearly got distracted, as he clean cut half his thumb off - right in front of us all.
It happened so quickly - next we were all looking at his cleanly severed thumb. He grabbed his stump with his other hand to block any bleeding and stood trying to comprehend the reality.
Some little shit started laughing.
I could see he was going into shock, I pulled up a chair and invited him to sit which he did.
I told him I was going for help but he barked "NO!" it was just his pride as he became visibly slumped as the reality bit.
I said "Sir - please?" he turned an gave me a look of someone desperately in need of help. I took that as a 'yes' I quickly left not sure where to go next.
I found a class a few doors down and chapped the door. A voice boomed " come in!" an older teacher I had never seen before. I didn't want to shout all the details in front of the class, so I asked politely if I could speak to him in the corridor about a matter of some urgency.
He gave me an angry stare and said 'this better be good.'
In the corridor I relayed to him the teachers name, class number and what had happened and that he needed help.
He said " this better not be wind up!" I was aghast I was just a kid and up to now I felt I was acting with adult like life-skills. He bundled me into the classroom stood me at the front of everyone and strode off to check out the validity of my story.
I don't remember seeing that young teacher again, but I hope the technology of the early 70's was suffice to stitch his thumb back on.
I'm wondering if the French teacher might've been Mr. McKenna. He was the guy who taught me absolutely nothing about French, although that might've been more my fault than his.
Mr. McCrae's other trick was slapping down hard on pupils' heads (one at a time obviously), almost sending them into unconsciousness. At least, he did with me when he slapped my napper one day for no reason.
Scary story about the woodwork teacher. Like you, I hope they managed to restore his thumb.
Did you ever have Mr. Smith as your maths teacher?
Might have been Mr. McKenna the name rings a bell - goodness you've a good memory for all this. Can see you on Mastermind....humming the theme tune here doo doo di doo "and your specialist topic?"... "Duncanrig Secondary 1972 - 1976."
LOL!
Well no, I got nought from French either except another dismal failure on my yearly report card. Dodging the Duster was not enough in itself it seems.
I did go to 'French speaking' night classes as an adult and spent 3 months in Nice, France trying out my schoolboy French which was fun. Not a duster in sight.
Mr Smith I mind the name but no not in his class - I don't think anyway.
I can recall another incident, in Metal work this time.
We all had to wear these boggin grey overall jackets that were way to big. I felt the school was well funded tho' as there were lathes.
Anyhooz..there was a kid operating the lathe next to me as part of a project we were to carry out. He reached over for something and his overall sleeve got caught in the spinning chuck. It dragged him right over the lathe to the other side - I instinctively reached for the red dead stop button and pressed it.
He was very lucky - next step was his arm getting wrapped around and ripped off by the lathe. The teacher just said to the kid " you were lucky there" and carried on as before.
I mind too at Assembly it was announced they were looking for door-to-door can rattlers for the RSPCA. Well I had a rescue dog as a family pet and so felt an affinity. I went to the school office and signed up as an official RSPCA door to door Can Rattler.I kinda hoped it might make me more attractive to the opposite sex as well.
So my parents didn't want me wandering the length of E/K in my fund raising - I was limited to a few local streets. The upshot was I never really raised that much but did my best.
I took the tin back to the teacher who had spearheaded the campaign and handed over the tin with a smile. She then complained it was 'very light' and accused me of dipping into it. I could see lassies I fancied in the same queue overhearing the slander. I'm sure its why I never lost my virginity sooner. Dae yer best eh?!
PE I didna mind doin... but got pulled out by Cowan and given six vicious strikes of the belt some of which missed my hands and left purple bruises on my wrists and forearms instead. My crime - he apparently told everyone to stop talking... only I never heard him say it. Like you I refused to show weakness and just stood and took it. I really wish I could go back in time and tell him to F.O. when he demanded by his authority I should raise my hands and be punished like that.
I'm sure there must have been pockets of kindness about and folks making good in the general melee of the school. I guess its only natural for the big bad and ugly to be recalled though - just seems to be so much of it to choose from.
It was a crucible of sorts we were in and certainly a lot of precious feelings were crushed in the process of forming us into educated adults.
I wonder if any of the teachers got yearly reviews where " must try harder" was typed and branded into there psyche?
I smiled and nodded in the 80's when I heard about corporal punishment being outlawed in Scottish schools. I could imagine the Janny going round the classes wi' a grey sack cloth on a trolley gathering in all the tawse in a declared amnesty week. Teachers in the staff room all sweating over what to do next.
That all belongs in the psst and hopefully no child will ever have to suffer that kind of barbaric brutality ever again - good riddance and to all who sailed in her!
Nah, I was there from 1970 to 1974. The tawse was certainly misused and abused, but I think kids get away with far too much nowadays, to the extent that the shoe is on the other foot and it's teachers who now get the sh*tty end of the stick. They can blame their predecessors for that turn of events though. As for the incident with the collecting tin, it reminds me of the old saying - no good deed goes unpunished.
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