It had been raining, and I could see through the classroom windows that it was beginning to get dark outside. The rain-lashed footpaths reflected the yellow lights of the school building in their shimmering, mirrored surface, and as the art lesson neared its end, I started gathering my stuff together in preparation for the bell which would signal our release.
One thing was wrong however; my schoolbag was absent from its accustomed place under my desk. "Right, who's got my schoolbag?" I challenged, standing up and addressing the line of classmates to my side. "Is this it?" came a murmer from the far end. "Yeah, pass it along to me!" I said, and the bag was handed from one pupil to another until it reached me.
No fool was I! First thing I did was check the contents to ensure that nothing was missing. In actual fact, the reverse was true - at the bottom of my bag was a class paintbrush which didn't belong there. "Please Miss," I said to the teacher, "someone's put a paintbrush in my schoolbag." As it turned out, I'd have been better placing the brush in its pot with the others and saying nothing, but perhaps I was fueled by a subconscious desire to solicit an acknowledgement of my 'virtuous' nature.
Mrs. Barclay (dubbed 'Screamer Barclay' by we pupils) seemed unperturbed. "Put it in its pot!" was all she said - so I did. However, at lesson's end, she took a count of the brushes and discovered that some were missing. She decided that a search of the boys was in order, but not the girls. (Obviously, in much the same way that ol' QUEEN VICTORIA reputedly couldn't imagine women ever indulging in 'unnatural desires', Mrs. Barclay clearly considered females incapable of taking something that didn't belong to them. The settlements often arrived at in today's divorce courts suggest otherwise.)
Mr. McLEAN, the head art teacher, was sent for, and when he arrived, 'Screamer' explained the situation about the missing brushes. She concluded her summary of events by saying - and these are her actual words - "A brush has already been found in Gordon Robson's schoolbag." I regarded this as a gross misrepresentation of the facts, so I interjected and said "Yeah, and it was me who found it!"
I wasn't the subject of any undue attention as a result of Mrs. Barclay's less than stringent recounting of the facts, and it may be that it hadn't been her intention to cast me in the role of transgressor, but nevertheless it riled me at the time and still does whenever I think of it today, more than 40 years after the fact. Reputations often rest on such gossamer threads that I'm always prepared to stand up and defend mine at the drop of the proverbial hat.
Now, I'm sure there's a moral in there somewhere, but I'll leave you to figure it out for yourselves.
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Why not take advantage of our free therapy session and exorcise your demons of yesteryear by unloading them in the comments section? Go on - you'll feel much better for it.
4 comments:
Teachers, eh. How many of them are aware of the effect they have with their behavior on impressionable young minds; not enough in my experience and yours as well judging from this and earlier anecdotes you’ve posted. Makes you wonder what, if any, people skills they pick up at teacher training. Do teachers who have children of their own communicate with children any better?, or are we looking at behavior from people in general who would be just as tactless and clueless no matter what their home life? Enough rhetorical questions there? Funny how these things stay with you though, down the years. I wonder if creative people are more sensitive to interpersonal encounters than a variety of other psychological mindsets?, a couple of sporty / tradesmen types in the ranks of my in-laws never seem to come out with these sorts of recollections from their school days, or maybe they think themselves too macho to fess up. So, what time’s my next session Doctor Robson?
Same time next week, Mr See - my receptionist will give you a card to remind you.
Incidentally, Phil - such memories are usually pretty far from my mind most of the time, but when one is looking for something to blog about, it seems a waste not to press one's own vast array of personal reminiscences into service.
Yeah, can't say that they are at the front of my mind all of the time either, just coming back when prompted by accounts such as your post or scenes in books, or in film / TV. But the fact that they are there to come out means, to use the BBC cost-cutting analogy, that those 'tapes' were not wiped along with the multitude of other experiences in your life that remain completely forgotten, sometimes not even when someone shows you an old photo of yourself in that situation. "I don't remember being in that old tree house", for instance.
Eh? What photo? What treehouse? I don't remember that. (Hee hee.)
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