'Inspired by a now distant lesson (that taught me not much about science but plenty about grammar school boys and pack culture), I still find myself wondering about karma and the terrible loneliness and helplessness that can be experienced by teachers, even in a room full of students (who, perhaps, should know better). Maybe you know what it's like. Maybe, you've offered your opinion on teachers without having walked in their moccasins. Either way, please spare a thought for dear Old Jackarse (I've no idea why we called him that, by the way).'
The humming began as soon
As Old Jackarse entered the room.
To this day, I don't know why
The class sought to destroy this guy
Who could list amongst his crimes:
Being somewhat behind the times,
Rather skeletal in his appearance,
Curs-ed with good manners and lenience.
Such attributes, as a rule,
Might be welcome in a school.
But we had little regard
For learning or trying hard.
Instead, our collective brains
Went to work derailing trains,
That otherwise may have wended
To places our parents intended:
Hobnobbing, Bigwigging, High Rolling;
Not Coasting, a-Cruising and a-Strolling.
Was it karma that took us to sticky ends?
BEWARE! - please - of following your friends...
It was Jenkin, so sarky,
Who began the anarchy
Of smiling and purring the note
That his peers adopted by rote.
Mackenzie and Stephens were next
And sir, he quickly became vexed.
"Stop it, please," he requested.
"Stop what, sir?" Jenkin jested.
By this time,
The next line,
Of boys had joined the harmonic.
We must have appeared demonic
To the science teacher at the front,
Who continued to wilt from the brunt
Of thirty boys colluding
In a teasing tone exuding
Arrogance and disrespect.
"Sorry sir; your lesson's wrecked!"
As if the poor man didn't know
But he slammed a ream down, just to show
That he had lost complete control
And every pupil on the role
Was instantly silenced and austere.
"IT'S IMPOSITION TIME!" came the inevitable jeer.
Crushed, sir scurried out of the room.
In the same moment, perhaps, we sealed our doom.
Being kids, we quickly forgot about,
Old Jackarse and his walking out,
The fact that he was just like us
Had feelings, a mum, and took the bus.
But to a man, we paid the price,
Of tormenting teachers and not being nice.
Jenkin drowned in a vat of cola.
Mackenzie (it's ironic) was driven over (he was a driving instructor).
Five were blown up, while serving in the army.
Stephens was claimed, by the Boxing Day tsunami.*
Carroll vanished, down a rather large hole.
Newton fell – splat! – from a telegraph pole.
Elson lost a fight, with an alligator.
Winter burnt his bum on a radiator.
Staveley, by a rotor blade, was tragically speared.
As for Colbourne, he simply… disappeared.
Weightman was unlucky, in a football wall;
Thompson choked on a ping pong ball.
In London, Brice was squashed on his bike.
Arnett was gulped by the Hythe Canal pike.
Robinson dissolved in a chemistry lab.
Whitey dozed off in the back of a cab.
Dicky Bishop was flattened behind a door
And Cowling was eaten alive by the poor.
In short, I'm the only one standing today.
So how, you may ask, did I get away
Without perishing, along with my petulant peers?
The secret behind me surviving these years
Is that I was handed a fate worse than death.
And I will pay til my very last breath.
For not only did I make this unvarnished confession;
I also went and joined the noble profession!
The humming began as soon
As Old Jackarse entered the room.
To this day, I don't know why
The class sought to destroy this guy
Who could list amongst his crimes:
Being somewhat behind the times,
Rather skeletal in his appearance,
Curs-ed with good manners and lenience.
Such attributes, as a rule,
Might be welcome in a school.
But we had little regard
For learning or trying hard.
Instead, our collective brains
Went to work derailing trains,
That otherwise may have wended
To places our parents intended:
Hobnobbing, Bigwigging, High Rolling;
Not Coasting, a-Cruising and a-Strolling.
Was it karma that took us to sticky ends?
BEWARE! - please - of following your friends...
It was Jenkin, so sarky,
Who began the anarchy
Of smiling and purring the note
That his peers adopted by rote.
Mackenzie and Stephens were next
And sir, he quickly became vexed.
"Stop it, please," he requested.
"Stop what, sir?" Jenkin jested.
By this time,
The next line,
Of boys had joined the harmonic.
We must have appeared demonic
To the science teacher at the front,
Who continued to wilt from the brunt
Of thirty boys colluding
In a teasing tone exuding
Arrogance and disrespect.
"Sorry sir; your lesson's wrecked!"
As if the poor man didn't know
But he slammed a ream down, just to show
That he had lost complete control
And every pupil on the role
Was instantly silenced and austere.
"IT'S IMPOSITION TIME!" came the inevitable jeer.
Crushed, sir scurried out of the room.
In the same moment, perhaps, we sealed our doom.
Being kids, we quickly forgot about,
Old Jackarse and his walking out,
The fact that he was just like us
Had feelings, a mum, and took the bus.
But to a man, we paid the price,
Of tormenting teachers and not being nice.
Jenkin drowned in a vat of cola.
Mackenzie (it's ironic) was driven over (he was a driving instructor).
Five were blown up, while serving in the army.
Stephens was claimed, by the Boxing Day tsunami.*
Carroll vanished, down a rather large hole.
Newton fell – splat! – from a telegraph pole.
Elson lost a fight, with an alligator.
Winter burnt his bum on a radiator.
Staveley, by a rotor blade, was tragically speared.
As for Colbourne, he simply… disappeared.
Weightman was unlucky, in a football wall;
Thompson choked on a ping pong ball.
In London, Brice was squashed on his bike.
Arnett was gulped by the Hythe Canal pike.
Robinson dissolved in a chemistry lab.
Whitey dozed off in the back of a cab.
Dicky Bishop was flattened behind a door
And Cowling was eaten alive by the poor.
In short, I'm the only one standing today.
So how, you may ask, did I get away
Without perishing, along with my petulant peers?
The secret behind me surviving these years
Is that I was handed a fate worse than death.
And I will pay til my very last breath.
For not only did I make this unvarnished confession;
I also went and joined the noble profession!
*This is completely true, sadly. I hesitated before including this line but then I thought about Jez - such an entertainer and legend in his own (far too) short life time - and felt that there could be no omission. RIP Jez. After planning on featuring the entire register of the boys in 4/5S, I couldn't track down a definitive list and came up a bit short. Who did I miss, I wonder?
What they said...
'Good skills/memories!' - Andrew
'I wonder who the teacher was?!' - Mat
'Good skills/memories!' - Andrew
'I wonder who the teacher was?!' - Mat