Tangent: Teacher's teeth

I had a lovely teacher in Standard five. His name was Mr Salamon and he was about 5' 2" inches tall ( if that!). He had a loose set of false teeth which wobbled when he talked, making him spit at anyone sitting in the front row.
One day he was giving us a Geography lesson, when the blackboard on the easel behind him toppled forward, hitting him on the back of his head, and ejecting his false teeth on to the carpet in front of him.
Without any hesitation, ignoring the giggles erupting from the room, he calmly picked them up, wiped them off with a spotlessly clean handerchief, placed them back into his mouth and carried on with the lesson.
What a gentlemen, what a star.
I loved him from that day and forever more.

I have a few small dentures in my mouth, but thank goodness they aren't loose and don't make me spit.

Motherly Joss

We had an English teacher in Grade 6 called Mr Potter. he was so typically 'British', an old fuddy duddy, charmingly old fashioned and eccentric. He always called me 'Motherly Joss' and it irritated me so much. It was such a plain, boring, dull nickname. I often wished he had called me 'Princess Joss' or even 'Queen Joss' would've been fine. Specially as I was plain, fat and dull in those days!

Just as I adored my teacher in Grade 2, so I absolutely worshipped Mrs Purchase, who I had for English in Grade 8.
She was a minute woman, probably the age I am now, and she was superb. She revelled in Literature, groaned over Grammer and encouraged all forms of Drama. She was years ahead of her time in her teaching methods and she gave me such a passion for Romeo and Juliet and poetry, specially odes. She was a great fan of the ode!
All I wanted to do was to 'follow in her footsteps' and become as good a teacher as she was.
I have succeeded. Thank you Mrs P

Life at sixty

I loved acting and actresses and everything to do with Hollywood.
When I got to High School I joined the Daramatic Society and the first role Iplayed was of an old woman.
Wearing Ma's green dress, green hat and (faux) crocodile high heels (all of which have come back into fashion again), I felt so grand. so fine and so old!
Unfortunately I can never play the role of a sixteen year old now, but feel like one inside!

Measles and love

At the end of my second year at school, I got measles and couldn't see my teacher (who I absolutely adored and worshipped). I was so upset, and the more I begged to go to school, the more angry Ma got. I felt my life was going to end right there and then if I couldn't say goodbye to her.
Maybe that's one of the hidden reasons why I have always loved teaching this age group, and hate saying good bye to them on the last day of the year.

Report time

I never excelled at school and 'report day' was torture for me. I knew before she even opened the sealed envelope (wonder why Dad never did it), that I was 'in for it'. The worst thing, besides the low marks (never failing, just low) was the fact that every teacher seemed to find me too chatty, too loud, too chatty, too chatty! Nowadays I would be labelled as ADHD or whatever the latest term for 'hyperactivity' is. I was restless, fidgety, bored with my lessons, and wanted to be free. I remember looking out of the window most of the time (when I wasn't chatting) and wishing I could just leave that dreary room and that even drearier teacher behind and flee. The comment I always got was 'you can do better'. I did succeed after school in all my studies, but by then I didn't need or want her praise. I have always said 'Well done, I am proud of you' not only to my own sons, but also to the hundreds of kids that I have taught in the past 39 years of teaching.

None are so blind as those who will not see.

I had the most awful twitch by the time I was about 9. I could barely see anything without my eyes giving way to a frantic involuntary contraction, which screwed up my whole face and made me look even more peculiar than I already was. My parents took me to a child Psychologist (which was quite a 'ground breaking'thing to do in the Fifties) as I was extremely nervous by then. Of course I was! I had not only witnessed my brother having an epileptic fit, but was then warned by my mother not to play at school during playtimes ever again, but to watch him all the time. The psychologist admonished my parents for placing this heavy burden on such a young child, and suggested that I was given a plain pair of glasses (sans prescribed lenses) to help me to get over the twitch. And it did work for a time, till a boy in my class told me one day with glee in his voice that they were 'not real, just plain glass'. I was devastated and ran home and threw them in my beloved pram( see 'Pram or rubbish dump?') and never wore them again. They shoud've sent that brat to the Psychologist!

Pram or rubbish dump?

As I've already mentioned, I loved that pram. It was actually blue and seemed larger than life. It was roomy and warm and dark. No, I didn't actually get in it, but I would've if I could've. Not only did it house my dolls, but it also had my whole life in there too. Scraps of paper, incomplete homework assignments, dirty clothes, as well as my 'plate' which was supposed to be in my mouth helping somehow to correct my crooked teeth. Every now and then, actually more regularly than that, specially if something was missing, like a school shoe, Ma used to come storming in and fling everything out on to the parquet floor and yell, 'Now clean it up, how many times have I told you to keep this clean?. There was no answer to that question. It was my pram and as such it shoud have been left alone, my personal property, mine and mine alone. After tidying it all neatly, I don't think it took half an hour before it was being comfortably refilled once more, Aaaah, peace and my pram.