Mr Barrett
My A-Level economics teacher. Always rather strange. He would leave our lesson to photocopy something every 10 minutes. We knew he was having a crafty fag and maybe a quick snifter but little did we know what really went on. Well we was right about the fag part but not in the sense we thought. One day me and a few friends followed our teacher past the library where he would photocopy stuff and into the cupboard near the gym where all the mats were stored. There he met Mr Warden and they would get it on! We couldn't believe our eyes, one of the funniest things our innocent 17 year old eyes had seen. Trying to contain our laughter was hard enough, but after a certain comment from Mr Barrett, i think a little bit of pee came out. Direct quote: "oh i loved the way your dog licked my scrotum last night!".
We ran away without being heard, wondering who to tell or whether to blackmail him for great marks. 2 weeks later though Mr Barrett was in hospital for a few days and never returned to school to teach us. The rumour was that Mr Wardens dog bit his bollocks off.
( MagicallyInept Bored Sig., Tue 15 Nov 2005, 11:11, Reply)

Wierd Teachers
Our Drama teacher was a bit, well, not so much wierd, more totally insane..


We used to have Drama immediately after morning break on Mondays. One Monday, it was raining, so we were inside, and, coincidentally, standing outside the Drama Studio.


She came out of the Drama Studio, called us all in for our lesson early. Everyone who was there went in (she was that scary). She decided to lecture us all at great length that all men are rapists, and cannot be raped. Bear in mind I went to an all boys school.

Then, one of my friends came in the room (on time - he had gone somewhere else for the break, so missed being called in) and she put him in detention for smiling.


Then there was our History teacher who used to pop out for fag breaks every five minutes (literally).

Oh, and finally, my favourite. My O' Level maths teacher who spent a large part of the term lecturing us about the War, apart from one time when he lectured us about a trick women can pull with a bottle..
(Ok, I'll get me coat, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 10:49, Reply)

Evil weirdo playgroup leaders
Miss Price.

To a small group of boys from a certain junior school in Hereford, that name will make them shiver.

Miss Price wasn't weird, she was evil to the core. I know that everyone says "Oh we had, evil/weird/mad teachers, you had to be there etc, etc". Miss Price really was bad, bad, bad. On reading Watership Down and coming across the character General Woundwort, I instantly saw the similarity.

Miss Price was one of Satan's handmaidens and she *hated* boys. I mean really, really hated boys. Obviously that's why she chose to work in an all boys junior school (how does that work?).

She was in charge of playground discipline (so far so normal) and yes, everyone resents or respects those that disciplined them in childhood. She just took it that bit further; one way she humiliated children was her control of access to toilets - you had to ask permission, sometimes she would decide that you had to wait for ten minutes - not because there was anyone else in the toilet, just because I think she got a sick pleasure from watching small boys squirm (literally). This sometimes resulted in boys wetting themselves, that's the level she took it to.

She also cultivated her pets, other boys that she would trust to roam around the playground, particularly any area that she couldn't see, and report any wrongdoing back to her. She would then send her pet back over with orders to the malefactor to report to her, you then had to stand next to her, not speaking to anyone for the rest of the breaktime.

Thing is, it was mostly a pretty well behaved school and wrongdoing in her eyes often had no or very thin justification. I got told off once for jumping up and down. I was at the other end of the playground, on my own. I was being a Pirate Captain, I can remember that I was shouting "Get back to your cabins you scurvy dogs!" at no-one in particular. That resulted in one of Miss Price's pets (Paul W*r*ll. You w*nker) coming over and saying "I think you should stop that, Miss Price wouldn't like it!" I think I responded with "Avast you landlubber!" (I really liked pirate movies). So Paul waddled over on his little fat legs to report to his mistress. Sure enough, he was soon panting his way back over with orders for me to report for discipline. That's how it worked.

That's why her 'pets' were also tainted by association with her, even into secondary school. So that's why certain kids from our school like Paul were hated for the rest of their school life.

I and a friend were talking to a girl we knew years later and she was really upset. "What's wrong?" we asked. She was upset because her old Guide leader had died. She was apparently this really nice lady called Miss Price. The same Miss Price.

Our friend couldn't understand our shouts of "YES!" and handslaps etc at this news. That's because the Miss Price who hated boys and lived her life to make theirs a misery, was really nice to girls. Very attentive. Know what I mean? So that's what "embittered old repressed provincial lesbian with a man hating complex" means.

I'll never understand why people who don't like children choose to work with them. I don't like children all that much which is why I chose not to teach as a career.
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Tue 15 Nov 2005, 10:37, Reply)

Dirty Old Bastard
We called him "Moan" cos he was a moaning old cunt; taught woodwork. Full on paedo.

Country boarding school: he'd tuck the Year 7s' shirts in if they were hanging out, would look for your name tag down the back of your pants if you were new, would rub your legs through the blankets when sitting on your bed.

He'd use 4 drawing pins to post signs on the notice board.

He's dead now so I can slag him off. The prick.
(CMYK Excess consumption may have a laxative effect, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 5:13, Reply)

Hoo boy
There was a Physics teacher in my high school who was quite the man. Aside from being one of those "strange genius" types, he hated people talking in the hallway outside of his class. To the point of chasing them away while ranting and raving. He also used to perform experiments on the school field using metal garbage cans full of water and chunks of magnesium.

The best memory I have of him comes from when he was due in for some laser eye surgery, and for a month before hand, couldn't wear his contacts. Now, this fellow had very poor eyesight. He'd wear contacts and reading glasses daily. But for a month, he would wear two pairs of glasses while reading in class.

There were other teachers just as strange, but in more of a 'you had to be there' type way.
(chaoticmatter, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 3:37, Reply)

Mad as a bag of Badgers
Lots and lots of teachers.......

Mr C Sharp - music teacher! No, honestly, C Sharp! took us to London to the Junior Prom. Cue Richard Stilgoe memories (Jacobs Ladder stylee).

Dr Giles was our Chemistry Teacher that was a spitting image of Sir Clive Sinclair hence his nickname of 48k. THE most flammable man in the world, perminently eyebrow-less. Once set fire to the gas directly out of the taps "to warn you against doing it during the 2 years you little swine are with me". This caused the blackboard eraser to catch fire and the school to be evacuated. He is incredibly still at the school 14 years later.
On to 6th Form college. Drama Teacher Gr!g B@rk!r was a loon. Dressed like Andy Pandy and took us to Paris "to get pissed for a week" and explained it to the powers that be as a "cultural experience and chance to do street theatre". We got him mashed and persuaded him to be photographed leaving a sex shop looking shifty. He's now a principal somewhere I believe. His way to get you to do homework was amazing. He'd look so hurt and say "Richard, you are a bad person for not trying. How do you think I will be able to live with myself if I don't nurture your obvious talent? I've failed you, I need to get drunk." then he'd take you out for a beer and somehow 2 days later you would have magically done everything he had asked for.


And another b3ta hymen twangs open.......
(airliebird Has now found Twiglets in Sydney!!!!!!! yay!, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 2:00, Reply)

Civics teacher
I sometimes wonder if he took more than he deserved... nah he's strange. Mr. F loves his stapler, when it gets stolen he cries. Sometimes other teachers prank him, along with the kids. I've heard stories of his chair being partially disassembled, those little white snapper things thrown at him when he wasn't looking, he locks his stapler up with a padlock in his cabinet. Lessee... He's got these thick glasses that when you look directly at him, in the glasses you can see way around his head. He will NOT tell anyone anything about his personal life, and DEFINITELY not where he lives. Counted down to the first showing of Star Wars Episode III, and attended. No offense, I loved the movie, but it just adds to your imagination of his... character. Almost over-protective of rules. That's all I know, and it's only the beginning.
(procrastinatingmusician, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 2:00, Reply)

Mr. Easter
I had him for chemistry and physics. The guy was a genius, but a bit off his rocker too. Let's just say that everyday in class, we'd have to ask "What are you blowing up today?" I can't even count the number of times the school almost burned down because of him.
(pk, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 1:31, Reply)

Hi, my name is pgfcello and I'm an alcoholic
Well that's what this QOTW feels like, not that I've ever been, mindey.

Disturbing memories I have but a few:

Chemistry teacher took great pleasure in belittling us little'uns with large helpings of sarcasm and seeking out insecurities, just like the Pink Floyd teacher.

Form master once punched me in the ribs knocking the wind out of me, and while I was writhing on the floor, kicked me in the head, bless'im.

And finally my music teacher who hated me intensely. Not viciously, but in a disturbingly cold and sneaky way. (Remember those teachers who were always right and you were always wrong?) I still have nightmares about him. Worst thing is that he was a bloody priest. One nightmare culminated in his head morphing into a devil's.

But reading some of the comments here, I had it pretty easy.
(roysin, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 23:56, Reply)

norwegian teachers are weird...
I`ve had a lot of weird teacher. The one I had in science when i was 16 was great. he would jump around the classrom everytime he was happy, and one time when he was illustrating how the life of a wasp was, he pretended to be one and ran around the classroom making "bzzzz" sounds. we all loved him.

Then there was the teacher I had in economi. She would bring different books every lesson (she would read everytime, as she hated us). her alltime favouite was a book about penises, complete with pictures. she commented all the pictures, out loud, and made every girl look at the picturesand we had to say what we thought.

and then there is the teacher i had in norwegian and history. he had survived some fire/acid accident and his face was totally ruined. we were all petrified of his. ( he kinda looks like edgar in the first MiB movie). and he was mean, never learned our names and tried to touch my boobs every lesson.



my dad is a teacher aswell, but he is NOT weird, he`s just cool=) my dad is stronger than your dad.
`
I wont excuse my grammar(or spelling), I`m a viking!!=) HEIA NORGE!!
(Norwegian20, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 23:51, Reply)

Super-Head
The headmaster of my old Secondary School/6th Form quite literally passed into legend as I went through the school.

He's taken over so many schools* that he's practically never seen back at Hip-Hop** High School.
The Year 7s(first years) speak in hushed tones about how they swear they saw the mythical Pauxman** stalking the corridors one lunchtime. There are even those who say he was once known to teach classes.

He now employs a double to walk around the site and keep belief in him up.(Genuine sightings often make the local papers.)

I saw the real Mr. Pauxman** at the train station today, which is odd becuase I was two towns over from his education realm.
I asked him when he was going to officially declare his empire's independance from Britain, his response was a cryptic one:

"That's gone beyond a joke now."

I took this to mean either he was not amused; or that his revolution will come soon, and I will be the first with my back against the wall.
At this point I became nervous and retreated to my book.

*At last count under his direct control were 3.5 Secondaries, a Primary and another in close alliegance.

**Name changed to punnular reference people from my school might get.
( TK-421 wasn't at his post on, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 23:47, Reply)

In year 4
I spent more time playing rounders and singing Beatles songs while Mr. M. played guitar than I did learning.
(matthyaouw, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 23:33, Reply)

He wasn't weird
but his name was a beauty! I went to a private school in Leytonstone called Oxford & Elson House. Our maths teacher was called Peter Clutterbuck, and yes all permutations were exhausted.
( Captn Hood-Butter is not dead yet., Mon 14 Nov 2005, 23:17, Reply)

Venting
Had plenty. But here goes nothing...
Went to a Catholic boarding school in Dorset, run by proper 'monks' (De la Salle brothers, if you care.) Couple of them were actually very cool (one left the order to marry one of the (female) teachers, another married an ex-6th Form girl I believe).
Brother Kevin (Kevin O'Toole was his 'proper' name), on the other hand, was a fucking paedo. In charge of the Junior boarding Division - basically boys from the ages of 8-11. Molested them whenever they were homesick and went to his room because they were upset about being away from their Mums and Dads. Believe me, I know - I was one of his victims. Filthy fucker. I hope he's dead now of some painful wasting disease. If he ain't, and somehow finds out I have posted this - so sue me you fucker. I'll stand up in court and tell the judge what you were like. And I know I wasn't an isolated incident, cos I walked in on him doing the same thing to some other poor kid. If anyone else knows about him and his activities, you can message me through the site. All I can say now is thank fuck for counselling.
Vent over
/re-lurk
(AlohasRyk, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 23:08, Reply)

music lessons of course
he he he...
Mr. G*****n, the head of music... or Wiggy.. or G***wig- because he had this hair that never seemed to change at all... u kinda got the impression he was a failed conductor or musician- well, how DO u earna living? Teach at a reputable if shite public school in north london!
He was rather highly strung and had this ridiculous voice - kinda like harold bishop!...
anyway, 3rd year music exam (can u believe it?) comes around, and we're not talking, "can u play an instrument?"- no, it was "how much of the thrillingly dull text book have u remembered?"- and i mean a 70's book on classical composers.... well 14 year old boys aren't really that into classical music...
so he tells us that we must seat ourselves with at least 3 chairs between every pupil, to stop cheating. well naturally, we all sit right next to each other.... which was like pressing the bright red "LAUNCH" button in a nuclear silo...
striding across the stage, he starts to pick up furniture, and hurls it off the stage at high velocity (fortunately not actually AT us) while screaming about how badly behaved we were... the chairs shook us up.. the TABLE... well, suffice to say, we moved pretty quickly, though pass rates in music weren't very high....
(Ferradura pitching curveballs from leftfield, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 23:02, Reply)

My Fifth Grade Teacher's Motto: Thank Heaven for Little Girls
Lucky me, my fifth grade teacher was a pedophile and I was his favorite student. I was an extremely quiet, well behaved, virtually invisible child, but he regularly reprimanded me in class for misbehavior that didn't occur, then gave me detention after school with him as "punishment". When my grades dropped and my personality seemed to change completely, my parents sent me off to a child psychologist, where they learned what was going on. My parents wanted me transferred to another school and to sue the school and the teacher. To avoid a messy legal situation, the school district transferred me to another class within the same school, and he was ordered to have no contact with me. Unfortunately, he was allowed to keep teaching and no charges were ever filed (keep in mind that this was the 1970s and the law in the U.S. tended to turn a blind eye towards things like pedophilia and child abuse - they were "family problems"). To top things off, Mr. Pervy Pedophile turned around and married my favorite teacher. I wonder how long he was out there teaching and f***ing up young lives?
(bunnybutt, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 22:48, Reply)

The Good, the Sexy and the Pervy.
A friend's teacher:

Mr.Reeser.

The guy was THE substitute teacher to have. There was nothing you couldn't get away with. Talk, goof off, leave class unexpectantly. He'd always let them get away with not doing the assignments, and if the movie was boring, he let them ignore it and talk. My friend got on an obscene chat site so manny times under his eye. He was actualy INTERESTED in watching some of them play games on the computer. The guy rocked. Batty, but awesome. The schoolboard tried to suspend his substute teacher's liscense at Groves, and half the school left class to protest. So they threw in the towel. He can't teach classess, but he's now a hall deputy.

Which to you American subscribers, makes more sense than it does to me. :) Seeing as we Brits don't need our corridors patrolled like a military camp.

Another friend's sophomore chemistry teacher was also a semi professional track competitor and - yes, you guessed it - she just used to alwaysperch on the edge of her desk in short skirts and drove all the testosterone-fuelled jocks absolutly insane. She was reputably the hottest chick in that school.

~
My own contribution? Bless dear Mr. P***e. "Head of Religious Studies" (narf, he was the ONLY RS teacher in that shithole!) In Birmingham, in the northern poor sink-slum suburb area. It wasn't a normal comprehensive school either. Guessed where it is yet? I don't really care.) Onwards!
All we did for RE was watch the Simpsons. No, wait. In year 7, we did a 10-question answer sheet which was easily done in ten minutes. That was a year's work. Zing!

The greatest coup was in yr 11 though - the dreaded GCSE year. At the beginning of the year, we were all handed a HOOGE booklet of photocopied questions. "Practice for the exam" quoth he.

And where were they photocopied from?

...exam day. Open booklet. All the questions were exactly the same as on the "practice" booklet.

SCORE!
I must add, he -was- a nice guy for the most part. One of the very few nice chaps in that shitty excuse of an eduicational institution.
~~~~~~~
Let's not forget the PE teacher, S.H.

He was rumoured to have invaded the changing rooms one day while the boys were getting changed out of they gym clothes. Worse still, the tutor's office in the Sports Hall was directly opposite said changing rooms - and the doors were always kept open. He was a right perv, we suspected.

Even better was the revenge. On a large bus, full of kids. To the tune of Spice Girl's Viva Forever came the haunting words:

o/~Viiivaaa Mol-lestaaaah...I'll be waaai-tiiing, iin the sho-wahhhh...o/~

A few months later, he quit.
(FightingComet got Boost Power on, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 22:42, Reply)

In my 5th year at primary school
Had this old fella calld Mr Rolf who everyone was scared of cause he was sytricked and was in the war (and always reminding us if it).
Well I really liked him and he was really nive to me when my dog was put down.

Aaaaanyways, there was a naughty boy in our class that always tried to see how far he could go (he was scared of him too) and was picked up by the face by Mr Rolf a couple of times as well as shook.

I even have it written in my diary when he threw a chair so hard he snapped its leggs off.

I moved north soon after finishing primaryschool and found a teacher who chould be his twin, Strict as hell but somehow we got along
( Blobcat Less Jaffacakes this year, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 21:49, Reply)

Grammar Schools
I went to a grammar school, breeding ground for weird teachers.

The most memorable was Mr Payne. He had a nickname for everybody. I had several; as he'd call me by any surname ending -son. Confusing when we already had a Parkinson in the class.

He was also boarding master of the 1st-3rd year boarding house. Various stories circulated about incidents in the swimming pool. He was renowned for showering naked in the communal showers in the gym; then stepping out with a towel wrapped round him to engage people in conversation while they were changing.

He also took us for moral issues, which we studies in the 3rd year for a few weeks. We had been prewarned about this, though it was still a suprise when he suddenly came out with the fact he had lost his virginity at the age of 32. Most of us were shocked at the fact he was even married.

Looking back, despite his weirdness, he was a decent teacher, and an alright sort of bloke, albeit not one you'd go down the pub with.


There was also Mr Bonney, a chemistry and PE teacher. He was a crap teacher, and hated you if you didn't like rugby. In a year of him teaching us we did just 2 practical experiments. He was an alcoholic with a permanent red nose, and wore the same tracksuit to school every day, though he would sometimes come to school in a suit which provoked general hilarity.

Bonney is most memorable for giving a homework out with 10 questions, which he had assinged letters instead of numbers. He had managed to get the alphabet wrong, crossed out a few letters in the wrong order, and replaced them. The thing is, they were still wrong. But he photocopied the work and gave it out, and so the legend of the BonneyBet remains more than just word of mouth.

During the 3rd year, we had a Canadian exchange teacher for French lesson. We made her life hell. Foolishly, she gave us email addresses of her class back in Canada, and we emailed them. They told us her nickname - big bird. Next lesson, she entered the room to a chorus of the Sesame Street theme, and promptly left in tears. We got a major bollocking for that, and the entire class signed a 'sorry' card.

Those are the memorable ones; there was also Dr B, who had a fondness for setting his desk alight, Mr R who enjoyed creating fireballs, Mr G who now teaches French with a ventriloquists dummy, Mr B who had an obsession with Grog clay.

School Days - best days of my life?!?
(insert username here, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 20:54, Reply)

Not very interesting or amusing, but
At primary school, my teacher (who supposedly had a degree in English) was amusingly stupid, and made English grammar mistakes which I could spot a mile away at 7 years old.

And if anyone found the work too easy and wanted to do something harder, she'd instantly get out the most boring work she could possibly think of, so they wouldn't do it and she wouldn't have to bother doing anything different. She'd also make people stand up on tables and point at them with a long ruler which she called her Silly Stick. Why she didn't just use her penis I don't know, but never mind.
(The Worminator I have discovered that Quavers are nice, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 20:52, Reply)

Maths teacher pees himself in cupboard
Yes, I'm sure this has been done to many teachers in the past, but many years ago at my school a certain maths teacher made the mistake of going into his storeroom whilst leaving his keys in the lock. Needless to say, his class locked him in there and went home (this was near the end of the school day).

The cleaners found him the next morning, having pissed himself and been apparently crying quite a bit. He was off for the next few months for undisclosed 'health' reasons.

I've always felt quite guilty laughing at that story though because ever since then the guy has been sort of demented and just received constant abuse from even the youngest students in the school but just carried on as if people weren't shouting "sheep shagger" and "wanker!" behind his back every time he went down the corridor. At least he's retired now...
(wraithUK, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 20:17, Reply)

After two stories of bad weird teachers at my shool, have a good one
As they are thankfully very much in the majority.

It concerns Mr P, a physics/maths teacher about whom I have posted before on this board. To set the scene, he is Polish, has a goatee beard, long curly hair and wears a monocle. Even outside of school he always wears a cream suit with a large flamboyant bow-tie.

He seldom teaches us much, preferring instead to let us watch videos or regale us with anecdotes. My favourite of these concerns the time when he was at univerisity sharing a flat with, in his words, an absolute tosser. He decided to deal with said tosser as only a physicist knows how.

He waited till tosser was out, and then, ingeniously, gave thousands of those small circles of paper you get from hole punches a static charge with a few friends, and proceeded to blow them under the gap between the door and floor of his flatmate's room.

Because they were charged, they stuck fast to every single one of his possesions exposed to the air, and flatmate returned to a room looking not unlike a winter wonderland. Apparantely they were a devil to get off, which was, ultimately, the idea.

So, Mr P: top bloke.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 18:47, Reply)

South London Independent All-Girls School...
So yes, a high proportion of grade-A mentalists.

Every month, the teachers would have to give an assembly. Clearly none of us ever listened, until the day Mr. S, one of the maths teachers, walked onto the stage with a massive cassette recorder, put it down, pressed play, and walked out of the hall. What followed was a random tape full of conversations with his wife that sounded like they were under water. Cue the head and the deputy head running out of the hall to find him. I think he left shortly afterwards due to his nervous breakdown.

Dr. W, the chemistry and CDT teacher, who according to our English teacher, was prone to spontaneous combustion, which was why, even in deepest winter, all the windows had to be open. Rumour had it the stains on the ceiling were from him exploding. Nearly killed us all once by deciding at the last minute that his demonstration would have been better off in the fume-cupboard, but didn't quite make it in time. Then had to deal with 20-odd girls falling off their stools high off the fumes. Once cut the ties off my science overalls with a pair of tin-cutters because "they looked unsafe". Used to let us burn stuff in the labs as we were "showing an interest in science". Great bloke. Mad as a box of frogs.

Miss. M, English teacher who lived in an attic with no T.V. (clearly odd) but she did have a "wireless". Used to tell us it was rude to sneeze (wtf?). Had a complete nervous breakdown and the head of department told us she'd gone on an extended gambling holiday in Monte Carlo.

Frau. F, the German assistant. Blatant lesbian. Found me sat in reception once waiting for my Mum to pick me up, 'cos I'd had an asthma attack. She dragged me off to the staff dining room to "recuperate" and then insisted I tried her breathing exercises, decided I wasn't doing it correctly, so she stood behind me and put her arms around my waist and squeezed as I breathed in. At this point, the head of German walked in, looked at the pair of us, and just went "Oh, sorry!" and ran out the room as if she'd caught us at it on one of the tables. Once I moved onto A-Level German, I had lessons on my own with her, as there were only 3 of us doing the course. She used to quiz me at length about things like how I'd felt about started my period, and what did I do with my boyfriend, and what were my views on hardcore pornography? Looking back perhaps I should have reported this behaviour.

And finally, Mr. D, the Latin teacher. He wore the same green hairy suit all week, and stank to high heaven. Then someone saw him during the holidays, and he was STILL WEARING THE SUIT. Clearly we'd found the source of the odour. He was also a terrible perv and told us our skirts weren't short enough, and that we all needed a good spanking.

How these people were allowed to teach children is beyond me.
(helpermonkey, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 17:33, Reply)

Another one
Miss Big scary ginger bearded lesbian, says it all really, she taught maths.
Then there was enormously fat maths lady who was so fat and droned on that it inspired us to actually do some maths to cure the boredom.
(lankymike, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 17:29, Reply)

Teaches
i've had some weird ass teachers. lets see my current science teacher is only about six years older than me. he made his own space godzilla suit that won some prier at some place. next he came in in a fullaniken skywalker suit, fashioned himself. the only thing he didn't make was his boots which were riding boots...

next my third grade teacher Mrs. Depisqualo i think thats how it was spelled. she would wink at everyone..,. I'M IN THIRD GRADE FOR CHRIST SAKE...
(EvilHippie, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 17:24, Reply)

See if you recognise these schools...
MIDDLE SCHOOL

Mr H*****d (P.E) used to wear an enormous piece of wood with a hole in it on a bit of leather around his neck, and had one of those long beards that looked as if he’d glued it to the very bottom of his chin. No other facial hair. The girls were afraid of him.
Mr H***h (my form-tutor) used to have a legendary set of nicknames for every individual in every class. Some were really good too.
Mrs M****y (Music) was a sweet old Welsh lady who was usually arseholed by late afternoon.

SECONDARY SCHOOL

Mr B********w (History) used to have a blackboard in his classroom with a whiteboard held up above it at a right angle by some rope and pullies. This was for films & slides to be projected onto. Every week we would throw various waste up onto the whiteboard (half empty yoghurt pots, sods of earth, unwanted sandwiches, etc). Without fail, every time he required the use of the whiteboard he would lower it down and get covered in all the stuff we’d lobbed up there. Without fail he would go crimson and march out of the room, only to return with Mr Smith the maths teacher, who was sufficiently strict to give us a bollocking.
Mr B*****y (Art and Design) was a pretty cool, skinny, long haired cockney who would from time to time lose the plot and threaten to “punch holes through” our heads.
Mrs W*******s (English & Drama) was lovely. She used to go bra-less and wear baggy grey V-necked jumpers. I reckon she loved it as much as we did when she bent over the desks to help us. I still have a crush on her.
Mr P***y (Maths) was a Geordie who used to say “easy peasy chocolate squeezy” and “two turds” when explaining fractions. He was also a big fan of painfully jabbing us in the chest during a bollocking.
Mr H**f (Metalwork) used to offer us “slipper or essay” when we’d done something that deserved punishment. The “slipper” was in fact the sole of a plimsol, and was administered to the backside whilst one was standing on two painted footprints. No-one ever chose the essay. That would have made you a poof. He was also a Jehovah’s Witness so we’d send him Christmas cards every year for a laugh.
Miss A*****d (Physics) Used to boast about the fact that when she was at school herself she’d put aspirin into Coca Cola and get really high. According to her the formula of Coca Cola at the time allowed for this. She was into all the coolest music too.

SIXTH FORM

Mr M****r (Art) Legend, this one. 5 foot high crew-cutted brummie who used to swear like a trooper. Those of us who were doing ‘A’ level art often spent free periods catching up on work in his classroom whilst he was taking a class of 13 year olds. Often he would shout things at them such as “Mr Smith, you are using a paint roller, not masturbating a fucking camel”. Loved him.
Mr J*****n (Deputy Head). Complete cunt. Used to stare at your bollocks when, for whatever reason, you were sitting in his office.

There are many others.

Hello SquidInk and Andysith. I have a funny feeling you two were at my last school…..
( BobbyParadise, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 16:52, Reply)

The obsessive compulsive chemistry Jones...

(..As opposed to the unintelligibly aggressive Geography Jones - the erm..Geography teacher).

Used to have a habit of leaving pauses during speaking in the hope that his keen as mustard students would pipe up with the correct word/element/compound etc.

We used to have a lot of fun chucking nonsense in there i.e.

"Magnesium is a silvery light weight metal that can burn in nitrogen and........?"

"Hell"
“Stuart’s Mum's knickers”
“Badger nipples!” etc etc etc

A fantastic learning tool? Possibly. The weird thing was that he spoke the same way outside of the chemistry lab. I once heard him having a conversation with his wife that ran along similar lines...

“Your mother is staying with us on ...?"
“Saturday”
“I will cook a ....?”
“Pork roast”

It was almost like he was reaffirming his own knowledge - constantly.
I suppose it saves all that messy lesson preparation.
Still, he's probably........?
“dead”
“retired”
“smelly”
"Badgers nipple"
.... now.
( Woolworth Smells of festive spices, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 16:42, Reply)

Argh! Teh Memories!
Nuns! Reverse!
Conveniently The Ancestral Home was opposite a primary school, so a few months after my 5th birthday I was marched across the road with my bright shiny new bag of coloured pencils and introduced to the slightly scary world of "school".
Enter Sister Mary Cyprian. A bitter, twisted Irish catholic nun with a chip on her shoulder the size of HMS Belfast. She marshelled twenty five of us into a classroom and began calling out names. As had the others I answered when my name was called and was rather surprised to be dragged to the front of the class by my hair, shoved forcefully into a corner and told to stay there in silence until she had time to think of how to deal with me.
For the next half hour the rest of the class had a lesson of some kind, no idea what, whilst I stood in a corner wondering what made me different, and why she hated me for it.
The other children are ushered outside to run around for breaktime. I am told to stay standing in the corner and pray for gods forgivness for my sins.
Having parents who considered god to be an outmoded relic of an obsolete belief system I had no idea what to do.
So asked how you did praying.
I was promptly dragged, screaming by now, being pulled along by your hair really hurts when you're five, to stand in the lunch hall as an example of wickedness for the other pupils.
Fortunately Mr. Keene, the deputy head and excellently sane person was close enough to hear me wailing and stepped in to find out what was happening.
He sat me down in a comfy chair with a book of bright colours and took the penguin off to have a quiet word. Which quickly escalated into the sound of high pitched harpy screaming punctuated with low pitched incredulous bellows.
Some little while later, and still slightly tearful I was gently escorted to a different classroom and introduced to Miss Prichard who was, as I considered it, a very nice lady. She didn't scream or shout when told my name. She gave me a pencil and asked me to write letters one at a time. That was easy.

Reasons ? Well it was almost seven years later before I found out exactly what the hell that and other incidents, including a certain nun with a meter rule and me with two broken fingers, were all about.
Leaving the school and final interviews with Mr. Keene, now headmaster, I finally got to ask him why the nuns hated me so much, why they were prone to flying into fits of rage at the very sound of my voice and basically refusing to actually teach me anything.
He hauled out my school record, a large file in two distict sections , pulled a piece of yellowing paper from the front and handed it to me.
It was the form my parents had filled in to apply for a place at the school. Beutifully headed at the top with the words "St. Albans and St. Stephens Catholic School" and with a little box half way down labeled "Religion". It was completely filled with the word "NONE" writ large in my father's bold handwriting, which had been crossed out several times. Scribbled in beside it, in the same hand as that in the box reserved for the school admittance board the four deadly letters "C of E".

Thirty years ago now, but I still _really_ hate Nuns.
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 16:40, Reply)

Sneep
Useless Information is the biggest, 41 pages of responses. Is it just me or does that totally sum us lot up perfectly?

I can't believe I just clicked through all of the previous QOTW's to find that out, I should really go and do some work before a) I get fired and b) the overmods start shouting at us for posting things other than answers.

P.S. After this weeks question I'd be willing to bet if you made next weeks 'weird pupils' you might just beat that record. Just a thought.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Mon 14 Nov 2005, 15:44, Reply)