Algebra! I used to dread algebra at school...really dread. Maths in general to be honest but it was algebra in particular. I could never make any sense what use it would be in future life. Really what use is it? I’ve never used it many, many years later...AT ALL! See I was right!
I think it was the teacher more than anything. It was at an all boys
school “as rough as guts” as they say. It was so bad, I tell you no joke, that
it had Dartmoor in large black letters painted on the red tiled roof. Dartmoor
was an infamous prison back in the UK where I was originally from. It was an end
of school prank some years before by some high school leavers. An attempt had
been made to remove the said letters but that made it worse and the black
paint spread making it even more easy to see.
Anyway back to algebra. While there were some amazing teachers I remember
one Mr Bowles his name was an English teacher; my favourite subject. He was a
student teacher I remember and he gave me a book of English poetry when I left
his year of teaching that I still have that to this day.
Again anyway back to algebra. I would have been aged around 12/13. I was
so upset about this teacher I never even told my parents the reason why or
anything about it. I would often go missing from school on maths day. He had
his favourites from my class...enough said! I guess there must have been many
from many other classes in the school. The other boys thought it a joke and
didn’t mind when he called them up to his desk to sit behind it on his knee;
while he “supposedly” checked their work while his hand wandered.
He never called me, when I was there, ..thankfully...maybe I looked too
nervous and horrified but it still upset me. He would also take his favourite
group of boys to the local swimming pool every Friday afternoon after school. I
know because I lived nearby and would see them all walking down the hill past
our flat.
I have often wondered, even now hearing about teachers and others in charge
many years later and things that had occurred, if that teacher ever had any
trouble years later. I wouldn’t be surprised! I did think of writing to my old
school years ago but decided against it. Let sleeping dogs lie and all that. I
wont name the school or the teacher but his name and face are indelibly scrawled
on my mind.
I didn’t like gym either come to that for a similar reason and was always
making excuses not to take part in a class...an attack of athletes foot was a
usual one but that can only last so long. Or some other vague malady. Didn’t
like getting undressed with others...although I have been told nothing to be
ashamed of..the mind boggles I know!
Maybe it was because in the large communal shower after gym or sports the
teacher would sometimes get in there also with the boys.
The funny thing is when we were selling up our home to move overseas the
gym teacher was someone who called in to buy some of our furniture. He was
married to a lady my mother knew at work.
Married...but I found out much later that they often are!
Its a wonder I survived school now thinking back...but I did and was
pleased to leave at the first opportunity.
In my days anything to do with
university was never even on the horizon. That was for children of an entirely
different...for a better word...class! It was the UK after all and the class
system still rules. I would love to have studied now looking back but it wasn’t
to be. I enjoyed English even though maybe some of my grammar is misplaced now
at times I know!
Haven’t done so bad though...no regrets....
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