Just after the war there was an interesting mix of teachers in the all-boys grammar school I graced with my rather grubby presence... Some of the younger ones were trickling back after being demobbed, others had been brought back out of retirement to fill the vacancies.
Our RI teacher was great, a Welsh novelist who wrote some pretty purple prose - I listened to his [i]Moulded in Earth[/i] on Woman's Hour and gained a new respect... no tweed jacket with leather elbow patches for him - always the bespoke suit. "Tell me boys," he said "how many of you smoke?" - hands rose, hesitantly. "Hmm" he said "smoke a pipe. It's much better for you..." End of subject!
A few years ago I found myself talking to a pleasant lady at a reunion (we had a sister girls school) - only to discover that her father was the teacher I loathed most! One day I had picked up my satchel, and some bread crumbs left from a jam sandwich (!) fell to the floor. He pounced, sent me to the headmaster, with a note - it apparently accused me of 'fouling the classroom'! The headmaster mumbled 'bit much, really' and let me go - obviously it wasn't the first time the man had gone over the top. I didn;t mention it to my new friend... nor did I tell her of the time I saw her father running for his life through the hall, pursued by a fifth form boy with a knife, both chased by the head shouting 'Don't do it, Jack! Don't do it..."
I certainly never saw 'Jack' again - I have no idea how it all turned out. Drama, in Muswell Hill!
Last weekend, in Rutland, the first statue in Britain of the late Elizabeth II was unveiled.