I started school in 1998, so more than a decade after corporal punishment, but the dregs of the old world were still around. In my primary school especially, there were teachers who fucking resented children. By the time I was in high school in the late 2000s, though, things were much better. Heck I'd even say by the end of my GCSEs that I was matey with most of them. I've got a few of them down as friends on Facebook. Looking back, 2002 felt like the big turning point, when CRB checks came in and the dickheads who tried to get away with their own secret brands of corporal punishment in the 90s were filtered out.
The worst teacher I ever had was in my fourth year of primary school. Let's call him Mr Smith. A miserable elderly bloke who had very little time for children and even less time for me. I was a smart kid at school. I was in top sets for basically everything and I wanted to learn. Some days I'd want to chat more than I wanted to listen, but I was dedicated to my school work and I got great results on all my SATs in the end. I passed all 11 GCSEs, I went to uni with good A-levels, and eventually I got a masters. If you'd asked Mr Smith about me when I was eight years old he'd have painted a very different picture, such was his resentment for me. I can't even specifically remember what I did wrong, what with me being eight fucking years old at the time.
I know every kid says certain teachers hate them, but fucking hell, Mr Smith had it in for me like no teacher I've ever known. Even my mum and dad backed me up after one parents evening with him. They came away convinced he was talking about a different child. According to him, I was constantly disruptive, arrogant, and badly behaved. It was the only bad report I ever received from a parents evening. I thought my mum and dad were gonna bollock me and I went back to the car in tears, but without me saying a word in defence my mum just sat down in the passenger seat, turned round to me, and said "I don't believe him, there's no way he's just described my son".
I still remember the afternoon when Mr Smith found a way to hit me. It was one of those moments in your life that's so shocking it just imprints on you. I remember in my first years of infant school that some of the teachers would smack your arm if you were misbehaving, but they were gentle with it and you knew it was for your own good. The Mr Smith incident stills burns in my head a bit today, to be honest. We were going outside onto the playground for something - I forget what. He opened the door to the classroom and had 30 of us all line up single file round the edges of the room in an orderly queue so we could leave one by one.
He was holding the door against the wall by standing against it in the doorway.
We were all walking out of the room, one by one, in a constant chain/queue. My surname starts with W so I was about fourth from the back - he'd let about 25 kids walk out of the room before me and I was close behind the kid just ahead. But when it came to my turn, I was inches from the doorway when Mr Smith's right arm suddenly jutted out to block my path. He connected with the side of my head and shouted "Stop!" The shock knocked me to my knees. He'd fully clotheslined me and I sort of lost the ability to speak. I'd been smacked on the arm by teachers before, but I hadn't ever been walloped out of nowhere like this, and seemingly for no reason. As I was getting up off the floor I noticed his right hand was now pressing up against the doorframe, like he'd formed a barrier in front of me. He started shouting at me for walking too quickly and "messing about". I just kept my head down and said nothing for the rest of the day.
Something did change in me that day. I was a pretty happy kid but for the next few months I hated school for the first time. I just waited quietly for the year to end so that I wouldn't have to speak to him or see him ever again. Thankfully in fifth year we had a lovely young woman teaching us called Ms Johnston who I've honestly never forgotten because of how lovely she was (and, I later found out, she's married to a forum member who knows who they are). My personality definitely came back. Sadly in sixth year I had another teacher who I didn't get on with, Ms Scothern, but she never struck me or anything like that. Looking back, it was just a case of us not vibing and that's fine. She still knew I was clever, gave me positive reports at parents evenings, and she made sure I passed all my SATs, and even recommended me for the 11 Plus alongside some other kids (I didn't take it because I didn't want to go to a grammar school).
But I didn't even tell my parents about Mr Smith hitting me. Actually, I don't think I've ever told anyone about it until now. Weird.
100% this. Hitting kids was / is just plain wrong. And it rarely works / worked.Most of the teachers I met were decent human beings but interspersed with them were the sadistic cunts who liked hitting children, just like today the really badly behaved thugs got away with it and the good kids get the full force off these wrong 'uns.
Even though most teachers are decent human beings we can't allow corners for the nonces who hurt kids to legally hide.
I was what you would call a functioning swot but even I got strapped once, my Mam made sure it never happened again.
The sisters and brothers who taught were very good at the Catholic bit - it was the Christian bit they struggled with.My mother and her siblings were taught by nuns at a Salford school in the mid to late 50s. One nun in particular was known for being over keen (to say the least!) with physically punishing the children.
One afternoon one of the mothers had enough after her daughter was caned badly on her hands. She waited until the nun came out of the school one afternoon with some of the children (my aunt included) on their way to a Mass.
"Sister" she called, and gestured to the nun, "could I have a quick word?"
At which point the mother took the nun's cane off her and beat her with it. She then got hold of the nun with her bare hands and smacked her a fair few times. Somebody eventually got her off the nun.
Police were called and my aunt says it was the most exciting school event ever and none of the kids wanted to go home ;-)
Same here..Yew Tree High, Wythenshawe 78-83 was my school. I got punched in the head by the French teacher just for talking in class. Not in French.Went to a comprehensive in Wythenshawe through the 70’s and suffer the ruler and the strap and one sadistic fucker who had a size 12 black plimsoll that he’d chalk an X on before whacking you on the arse with it. A few teachers also liked to throw the blackboard eraser around too…
Was it Cu#t?we got caned (and not in a good way) - history teacher was a bit of a sadist I believe - he was called Weardon, bet you can't guess his nickname!
Absolute sadistic cunts that enjoyed hurting children.
I always said that one day I would go back and kick the living shit out of half of them.
Thankfully, I grew up and out of it.
Surely not Mr B with the booming voice who married another teacher at AGS.....we used to shout "KNICKERS DOWN" from the top floor of the tech block as they walked to the car at lunchtime.Went to Ashton Grammar in the mid seventies , on the whole most of them were decent.
I found it was the older teachers who were more sadistic.
Thinking back the sports teacher seemed to enjoy taking a plimsoll to your arse if you forgot your kit.
On one occasion I’d not done my geography homework (again) I’d barely got out my explanation when I received a thunderous right hook to the ear, fuck me it hurt , the classroom stayed silent all lesson .
Years later I was doing some work there when who walked passed but said teacher . Remember me I said , he looked quizzically then said my name . Remember the clout you gave me for not doing my homework , he grinned nervously.
I bet you couldn’t do it now hey .
He turned and walked away , wanker .
we got caned (and not in a good way) - history teacher was a bit of a sadist I believe - he was called Weardon, bet you can't guess his nickname!
My Mum had MS so myself and my sister would get her up, dress her, make her breakfast etc etc, sometimes we would actually have to shower her before we went on our merry way. So we were often late for school but that did not deter us both getting the cane across the end of our finger tips even though we explained why we was both late. School was brutal and I just wagged it from the age of 14.
Are you called Clive Allen & your teacher was called Peter Reid by any chance?Shocking. It was always hard to tell your parents that a teacher didn't like you because, like you say, every kid must say it. I remember having that feeling about the odd one or two though. I remember a trial for the school team and the physics teacher (who I felt didn't like me because I didn't enjoy his lessons) was running the school team. He asked me my position, I said forward. We went out and had a match, I think my team won 3-1 and I scored all three. All the lads were congratulating me and saying I was definitely in. He announced the squad back in the changing rooms and I wasn't in it. A lad asked why I wasn't named. He turned to me and said "I know you scored a hat-trick but I didn't feel like you worked hard enough." Wanker.
Mr Mack , sure he was a Burnley fan, six fingered c##tSurely not Mr B with the booming voice who married another teacher at AGS.....we used to shout "KNICKERS DOWN" from the top floor of the tech block as they walked to the car at lunchtime.
I remember him, think he arrived in my second/third year, never taught me but, didn't seem a twat and didn't have anything notable about him discussed around me.Went to Ashton Grammar in the mid seventies , on the whole most of them were decent.
I found it was the older teachers who were more sadistic.
Thinking back the sports teacher seemed to enjoy taking a plimsoll to your arse if you forgot your kit.
On one occasion I’d not done my geography homework (again) I’d barely got out my explanation when I received a thunderous right hook to the ear, fuck me it hurt , the classroom stayed silent all lesson .
Years later I was doing some work there when who walked passed but said teacher . Remember me I said , he looked quizzically then said my name . Remember the clout you gave me for not doing my homework , he grinned nervously.
I bet you couldn’t do it now hey .
He turned and walked away , wanker .
Mr Mack , sure he was a Burnley fan, six fingered c##t