The overhead projector
The overhead projector played a key role in school assemblies. Nothing to do with retail accounting, the overhead projector, or "OHP" as the tech-savvy science teacher called it, was used to project text and images, written on transparent plastic film with felt tips, onto a screen at the front of the hall.
Responsibility for the OHP was not offered lightly. It involved removing the plastic documents and replacing them with new ones when asked, and also raising or lowering the height of the projector if necessary, adding or removing slim books to the pile on which the machine was placed, should the image not adequately align with the screen. This took initiative, and the OHP monitor would need to make necessary adjustments quickly and unobtrusively, so as not to disturb the rhythm of the assembly.
I was only trusted with the task once. Red haired and prone to allergies, an unexpected sneeze blasted strings and blobs of bogeys onto the machine, which were subsequently displayed to the hall 3 or 4 feet high in glorious 80s technicolor.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Wed 19 Jun 2013, 13:49, 3 replies)

When we were at primary school
My friend George was so shy that he would do almost anything to avoid attention. This unfortunately led to a series of disasters because he did silly stuff – most noticeably queuing up for gym class naked because that was somehow preferable, in his mind, to admitting that he’d forgotten his kit.

Anyway. My favourite memory was when he held a fart in for so long in assembly, sitting on the floor as our genteel Scottish headmistress read a bible story, that eventually his fart literally whistled out through clenched buttcheeks, with a sound like a boiling kettle. He was sat there still cross-legged and visibly straining, with a face like an angry Buddha.

It was so weird that even a large group of 5-9 year olds looked on in stunned silence for a moment before collapsing in giggles. George had to go and sit outside the hall.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 13 Jun 2013, 13:33, 4 replies)

First day of secondary school
On our first day of secondary school we were all brought in for an assembly with the headmaster. The standard stuff about the choices you make in the next five years affecting the rest of your life, and that you needed to straighten up and fly right today, not two weeks before your GCSEs. To really drive the point home he singled out a boy to ask him a question. Unfortunately for him he singled out Alphonse. Alphonse was a Sudanese refugee who wasn't overly confident with the English language (that soon changed as he worked his bollocks off and ended up in top set English). The headmaster looked at him and asked in a booming voice: "You, boy, what will you do after you've finished school?"

"Sir! I am going to go home and read my book!"

After the laughter subsided he was praised for his eagerness to learn.
(Dowbocop, Sun 16 Jun 2013, 16:06, 2 replies)

It was still better than the Lord's Prayer
Back in the heady days of early 1991 I was a young first schooler with a terrible, terrible secret. I’d spent the previous summer on a couple of camping and caravanning holidays (that’s not it), often with extended family including aunts, uncles, grandparents & cousins. It was one of those cousins that I can now blame for planting the seed of my downfall.

Linda was 3 years older than me and to my eyes was probably one of the cooler people that I knew. The knowledge that over the summer holidays I would be able to hang out with someone older and cooler than me while hopefully learning something more about life filled me with joy. What I didn’t realise was that I was being unwittingly guided down a path that would lead to me to both embarrassment and debasement.

Time on those holidays was mostly spent playing some classic summer sports; swingball and boules, Scatch and Aerobie, interspersed with some casual sitting around on tree stumps listening to one of those new fangled Walkman devices. Linda had a canny little collection of cassettes to listen to on those long summer days as well! A mix of Top 40 recordings taken from Radio 1 on a Sunday night, NOW 19 featuring some early Massive Attack (I didn’t like them much aged 7) and the Holy Grail… Queen’s Greatest Hits 1 and 2!!
I’d never heard such wondrous singing in all my years, what with the looping harmonies and flat out hollering of Freddie, fat-bottomed girls left, right and centre, bicycle races ring ringing in my ears and the one from that sci-fi film with a booming Brian Blessed. However, it wasn’t any of those virtuous verses that captured my imagination at first but the incessant beat of We Will Rock You, the penultimate track on tape one. I could see how I might be that boy on the street; I probably did have mud on my face while kicking my can all over the place. And so it was that I started on my not so epic journey to stardom.

Once back home I dutifully sent a couple of blank cassettes over to Linda and asked her to tape me a copy of my new favourite albums. When returned, with the painstakingly handwritten track listings that used to be an art-form, I settled down to learning and transcribing the lyrics to We Will Rock You. For the remainder of the summer I was a one man Queen’s army ready to perform at any given opportunity. With some thigh drumming and overhead clapping providing the beat I’d sing/shout my heart out to anyone listening whenever I’d not already been given a clip around the lug and/or stern instructions to shut the hell up.
Obviously my parents grew weary of the warbling within a working week but there was still another week or two left of the summer holidays before back to school time. I hatched a plan and with the help of some willing and not so willing school friends I embarked on a series of gruelling rehearsals to form a new band; a more modern take on Queen, where the band members were more likely to be wearing a Gola shell-suit or some knackered Hi-Tec rather than the natty yellow get-up that Freddie seemed to favour.

We got back to school in early September and I was already itching to speak to my new teacher and ask how the school would feel about a break from the normal assembly structure. Would they really be willing to let a four strong band of 7 year olds perform without any teacher guidance or control?! Of course they would!! Looking back now I can see that I would’ve done exactly the same since I’m sure it gave the teachers enough mirth to last for the entire school year.
Both me and the rest of the band were excused from our lessons early and went to don our outfits for the big performance in what was a generally unheard of afternoon assembly. The clock ticked and the school hall PA system quietly hummed while the rest of the school excitedly filed into the hall to be greeted by a blank stage and a twitching curtain. The remaining four of us hidden behind the curtain holding our breath, this was going to be our/my big performance. We were going to nail it!

That was until the curtain pulled back, the drumming started and we saw the hall jam-packed with over 300 kids, teachers and some sneaky parents here for a laugh. My Brian May, my Roger Taylor and the other one all promptly scarpered, literally exiting stage right as fast as their little legs would take them. I was bereft but there was only one thing I could do and that was to go for it! (The show must go on etc.) I’ve got no idea how long the performance lasted but I’d say that it felt like a lot more than one lifetime. Overhead claps and slapping of thighs do not a good performance make even if my squeaky 7 year old’s voice is probably the closest I’ve ever sounded to Freddie Mercury. I’d also like to say that I left the stage to a standing ovation but that would be a bit of a fib. I was met with a generous smile from a friendly music teacher tucked behind his electric organ but apart from that, nothing, nothing but a sea of suppressed giggles and the general apathy of kids who’d rather be playing on the one and only school RM Nimbus!

Funnily enough I’ve not been much of a performer since those days and We Will Rock You is no longer my favourite Queen song…I do still remember the words though!

tldr; Dancing queen ruins assembly
(Band of Rain, Tue 18 Jun 2013, 12:07, Reply)

I can't unsee that.
I can, to paraphrase Robert Louis Stevenson, remember her as if it was yesterday. But I still can't work out why they would do this to us.

Granted, 40% of pupils left with no qualifications at all, some followed their mums into the oldest game in the world, one got banged up a couple of years later for murdering a grannie, etc, but still, there was no bloody need for that.

Our last assembly of school. The teachers emerged from the fug that was the staff room, reeking of smoke, and decided that they were going to do a 'gang show' of sorts.

Hmmm. Well, it started amicably enough, one teacher deciding to weave as many surnames as possible into a short story, 'I stood on a Sharp Flint' is the only sentence I can remember...

Skip to the end, the grand finale.

Miss Wells.

Ah Miss Wells, harridan of this parish. Horn-rimmed glasses, prim, proper, fierce. A pearl necklace worn without hint of irony. Retiring with us, that year. The head mistress no less.

The lights dimmed. The music started. *that* music. Often promising, rarely portentious. But of course, context is key.

Dressed in chiffon and rose-coloured taffeta, with a feather boa to boot, she proceed to gyrate in what we can only assume she thought was an alluring manner.

Layer one I can't remember clearly, as she didn't spend that much time in it, but layers two and three are the ones that are etched indelibly...Layer two was a black negligee. The merest suggestion of stockings and suspenders underneath.

Oh. my. god. For the love of all things bright and beautiful, please stop there.

And then the negligee came off.

Really Miss Wells, what were you thinking? That we were all biddy fiddlers? Did you lose a bet? Did the cookery and metalwork teachers, caught inflagrante in the stock cupboard, have something on you? A bizzare tryst? We will never know.

But the sight of a 60+ year old woman wobbling around the stage in a bra and knickers watched by 200 teenagers, through barely parted fingers?

Yeah gods.
(Countryslicker, Sat 15 Jun 2013, 19:25, 9 replies)

The shart to end all sharts
A few fart/shart related tales on here already, but I assure you that none are as embarrassing as this one.

I must have been about 10 years old and my class had been doing a project about volcanoes. I was stood on the small stage alongside a few of my classmates including a lad caleld Jeremy, ready to talk about the rather impressive paper mache volcano the class had constructed. Totally out of the blue, without warning, and with comical timing that most professionals could only dream of, Jeremy's arse decided to erupt like Vesuvius. My recollection of the noise is a squirting sound which was part fart, part gush. The bum gravy shot down Jeremy's legs and started to seep out of the bottom of his trousers onto his shoes. His face contorted into an expression of horror and embarrassment, whilst the rest of the school hall went through shock, horror, disgust, and uncontrolable laughter in a very short space of time. Jeremy was ushered off the stage (crying) by one of the few teachers who managed to keep a straight face, and from that moment on was known as Shitty McSquitty.
(Sonic promises not to spray it in her eyes next time!, Fri 14 Jun 2013, 5:49, Reply)

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 13 Jun 2013, 15:24, 35 replies)

"... and because we take this very seriously, Callum is going to stand up and explain to everybody why what he did was wrong. Callum."
*humble shuffling to front*
"So ... why did you throw Justin's satchel onto the motorway?"
"BECAUSE HE'S A CUNT!"
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 13 Jun 2013, 23:31, 4 replies)

We got our local comprehensive from IKEA, and they delivered it flat pack.
So, that was my introduction to school assembly.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Sun 16 Jun 2013, 16:36, 5 replies)

Dawkins would be proud...
When I was training to be a teacher, I taught in a lovely C of E village school, set in the lush green hills of the west country. Taking a reception age class to assembly is usually relatively entertaining, as the little tikes can barely restrain themselves from shouting out at every available opportunity. As this class had one or two children who were more vocal than your average five year old, I was encouraged by the the main class teacher to sit with one of them, whom I shall name Archie.

The assembly begins with the headteacher lighting a candle and the whole school murmuring 'Jesus is the light of the world'. The headteacher then asks the assembled mass, "What do you know about God?"

Little Archie begins furiously whispering. I encourage him to raise his hand if he has something to say, which, to my surprise, he complies with. The bespectacled and cardigan-wearing old lass, who was the sort of headteacher you couldn't ever imagine shouting, leans down and kindly asks Archie, "What can you tell me about God?"

There is a hush around the hall as all ears crane to hear what the one of the youngest of our gathering has to say about theology.

"God died a very long time ago. Now he's gone." Archie replied, beaming. As a vaguely agnostic Hindu, it was all I could do to repress the belly laugh at the expression of revulsion and horror that crossed the headteachers' face.
(Ragathi wants to know where his evil twin is on, Sun 16 Jun 2013, 16:34, 2 replies)

Respect
When in the 4th year of secondary school, my headmaster was outed as a cross dresser by one of the national newspapers. After the scandal, he went away for a few months only to return after Easter. By then everyone had more or less forgotten about it and there was no prior notice that he was coming back (he was still a he at this point). On the day of his return we walked down to the assembly hall as usual and as we got closer we could hear Aretha Franklin's song Respect blasting out at full volume over the top of the sound of 500 teenagers sniggering. We took our places, I sat next to Daz who was one of the quietest people in the school. After a few minutes the headmaster managed to get everyone to settle down and stop giggling. He switched off the music (which had been the same song playing on a loop) and turned on the overhead projector. He said "The Rs" and wrote down 1.Reading, 2.Writing and 3.Arithmetic. "Today we are going to add a fourth R" as the music quietly started again, "Can anybody tell me what it is?" There were a few moments of almost silence when quiet Daz shouted "RANSVESTITE!". The entire room burst into laughter - including the teachers, most of whom had to cover their faces and leave so that they weren't seen to be laughing. The headmaster was unable to stop everyone laughing and had no backup as there were only a couple of teachers left in the room, so we all get sent back to our form rooms. For anyone interested, the headmaster did become a headmistress.
( swaza I'm bad, I'm bad. You know it. I'm bad., Fri 14 Jun 2013, 18:14, 5 replies)

Relatively Evil
When my younger sister was in primary school the local vicar took an assembly where he had a large cardboard box on stage. He told the kids that inside the box was "The Most Evil Creature in the WORLD" and they had to guess what it was.

It was my sister.

I think she was supposed to represent "Human Beings" but I doubt it was a coincidence that she was from an atheist family who never went to his church.
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Fri 14 Jun 2013, 14:33, 4 replies)

They called him Sog
it was our very first assembly in infant school and one poor unfortunate kid got caught short & wet himself. And Because we were five and had no vocabulary or imaginations he earned the wonderful nickname Soggy Bum.

Thing is it stuck right through school by junior school he'd embraced it (by then it was just Soggy or Sog). I'd tell my mum I was going to Soggy's house she'd know who I meant, even the teachers called him Soggy.

I bumped into him years later "oh hi So...." I stopped what was his name? I can't call a 30 year old Soggy can I? I must know his name they called it out in the register every bloody day
He was looking at me smirking "It's Robert you Plum but if it makes you feel better you can call me Sog"
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 14 Jun 2013, 9:45, 3 replies)

Drumming
When I was about 8 or 9, I was quite excited to see a drum kit set up at the front of the hall one assembly. To this day I have no idea why, but one of the older kids had been given permission to play the drums in assembly.

The headmaster built it up to be something quite exciting and asked the boy what he would be playing.

'The theme from Dallas' came the proud response.

Now I don't know what the headmaster was expecting but even before he started playing I knew this was going to be awful. It was. 2 minutes of 8 beat and nothing else.

We never had live music in assembly again, which was probably a blessing.
(Inflatable Giraffe Punctureless since 1985, Wed 19 Jun 2013, 21:02, 2 replies)

With a grim face, the Deputy Head walked onto the stage..
.. and sadly announced that the headmaster had died in her sleep.

Wesley laughed. Loudly.
( mugwump In summary then, oh no. Chris., Mon 17 Jun 2013, 16:49, 5 replies)

I've seen things you wouldn't believe
Piss pouring over parquet flooring. A deputy head's breakdown. A shit left inside a baby grand piano. All these moment are lost in time like little gobs in the communal urinal.
(Brigadier an old boot sitting on a man's face - forever, Sun 16 Jun 2013, 13:33, 14 replies)

"Good Morning, Mr. Dog, Good morning teachers, good morning everyone"
One morning were all sitting in the school hall waiting for The Headmaster to arrive. As in probably all schools ,the protocol was that when he arrived we would all stand while he walked down the aisle, got up on to the stage, he would say "Good morning" then we would reply "Good morning sir" then he would say "Sit down" then assembly would begin. Well this particular morning just before he arrived a stray dog walked into the hall and trotted down the aisle, large as life wagging his tail as if he owned the place! Well "Great minds think alike" as they say, with that EVERYONE stood up! Half the teachers burst out laughing while the other half went positively ape. One old guy shouted "Will someone please get that bloody dog out before the head sees it!"
(Mackeson_drinker, Sat 15 Jun 2013, 14:46, 1 reply)

Edward bear goes bump, bump, bump
I went to a high achieving state school in Derbyshire. I loved school and the vast majority of my teachers and everything about it. I'm clearly a product of a good system because now I'm, well, also a teacher!

My year group quickly achieved infamy as the worst in the school, coming to a head in Year 10 when two boys, including the son of a councillor, were expelled for smoking weed on the school buses, the first permanent exclusions the school had seen in eight years. This resulted in a stern talking to or so about the dangers of drugs etc etc.

Not long after, one of the more chavvy lads, not being the brightest of sparks, decided to skin up on a school trip. He was caught by the teachers, and following the precedent set with the other two boys was swiftly expelled. What followed shortly after results in the single most bizarre experience of my education.

The-then head of middle school Mrs Underhill or "Thunderkill" as she was known, who soon after went on to become the headteacher, was an interesting character. Part-Scouse, part-Sicilian, she was fond of informing us how she had dragged herself up out of a paper bag in order to become the furher of our great Empire. An emergency assembly was called solely for our year group in the smaller hall normally reserved for lower school. On the stage lay two props- an A-frame ladder, and a teddy bear. Mrs Underhill picked up the teddy bear and said in that soft but terrifying voice some teachers have perfected that you know will erupt at any second: “This is Edward bear. He is trying to get to the top of the stairs but every time he gets near the top, he falls: BUMP BUMP BUMP!” She mimed the poor teddy walking up the ladder, then literally smashed the shit out of its head bumping it on every step on the way downwards. “He tries and tries, but no matter how hard he tries he just can’t make it: BUMP BUMP BUMP!” This process was repeated several times, each time with the “bumps” becoming more and more aggressive. “Why am I doing this?” she eventually barked, as if the link to the surreal teddy-bear related narrative was obvious, the eruption threatening at any moment, “Because every time I think this year group is turning a corner, you manage to mess up again! You are Edward bear!” We sat in stunned silence. “Now we all know what a shamaleen is.” We sat there, baffled, as every kid in the room turned to the person next to them with a confused expression on their face as if to say “I don’t know what a shamaleen is…..what the fuck’s a shamaleen??” Eventually the penny dropped for some of us…..in her Scouscilian accent she was trying to say “chameleon.” She glared at us “Every single one of you is a shamaleen……because you knew. You knew this was going on” (too bloody right we knew, half the year group was at it! One form had even purchased a communal bong!) “And none of you said anything because” (and here came the explosion) “YOU WERE TOO SCARED TO DOB YOUR MATES IN.” Cue a tirade of genuinely terrifying crazed screaming in ever-excited Scouse tones for the next five minutes or so, before the assembly was wrapped up with a heart-warming triumphant climb to the top of the ladder by Edward bear accompanied by a few words regarding how, if Edward could make it to the top, so could we.

Not a teaching strategy I ever plan to repeat in my own career, I can tell you that now!


Quick edit: Now I remember, this woman was also responsible for another bizarre....if not downright dangerous....assembly. We had to stand up for assembly, and one time in the blazing July heat a pupil fainted, to be caught by their classmates. "After that interruption, I am going to start my assembly all over again," she said. A SECOND pupil fainted, for the scenario to start again....the whole assembly restarted yet again. It was only when a third pupil fainted, a boy in my form, and all the pupils behind him parted like the Red Sea, ensuring that he loudly hit the deck on the parque floor, that the assembly was finally abandonded! xx
( lucifer101, Sat 15 Jun 2013, 12:15, Reply)

three horrific assemblies of doom spring to mind
part 1

a 7 year old swipe asks her mum for a pair of black tights for her part as a computer in the class assembly. when my mother asked what i was wearing with it, i told her it was a tunic. so she gave me an old pair that had a big hole/ladder. unfortunately, said "tunic" was actually a cardboard sandwich board, with vague 1980's computer symbols painted on. when i turned around to climb up onto my bench to say my lines, the entire room was treated to the sight of my naked asscrack.

"oooh, someone's mother must be cringing," the mother sitting next to mine whispered sympathetically to her. "i know, can you imagine??" my mother replied... i was every day of 21 before she told me this story (at my fucking birthday party), and had been blissfully ignorant until that point. oh well, i guess it was worse for the audience.

part 2

an 11 year old swipe and her best mate joanna were picked to play judas and jesus respectively in the assembly performance of some biblical shite. jesus strode ahead of me, and his big horned feet pushed the blocks that made up the temporary stage apart. he fell through the gap with a cry of despair - but not before he did the spakkadance and cartwheeling arms on the edge, and pulled judas down with him.

the audience (which included a load of nuns, catholic primary school) were then treated to waving legs and knickers and some most un-jesus-like language, until peter and paul rescued us.

part 3

believe it or not, the guy who came up with this novel form of torture was the school chaplain. a supposed man of the cloth. he decided it would be a good idea if, on valentine's day, a bucket were to be passed around assembly and people could write notes to their boyfriend/girlfriends.

or, in other words, carte blanche to embarrass your mates and enemies by revealing their crushes to the world. it was the most cringeworthy thing you can imagine (even worse than when he got out his guitar or when he rapped hymns). i was incredibly lucky because about 25 people told me they'd written a lovenote to the teacher i was famously in love with (turned out to be gay, FML) and none of them got read out.

however, jesus-joanna was not so lucky, and the object of her affection was notified of her love for him in front of 300 adolescents and about 30 smirking teachers.

hideous!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 14 Jun 2013, 13:49, 22 replies)

A Tin of Chappie..........
Twice a year I used to take the whole school to our local village church for assembly. It was usually the doddery old vicar's Sunday Sermon read slightly slower, and as boring as hell.

Our new vicar was younger, with children, and a top bloke. He had all of Elvis Costello's stuff on vinyl for a start!

So there we were, sat in the pews, when he starts his talk, pulling out a tin of Chappie, and talking about caring for our pets, different foods, love and affection, etc etc, and I'm thinking, heigh ho, nice visual aid, when he pulls out a tinopener and proceeds to open the can.

Bottoms start to shuffle a little in the pews as he opens the tin.

All food is nutritious, he says, it doesn't matter what it looks like, or tastes like. Would anybody like to try some?

Cue 183 remarks in the vein of euch, ergh, pooey etc and one young chap heading earnestly to the altar.

I'm sat at the back thinking, no, he'll stop when the child gets near.

Out comes the spoon, and a dollop of dog food, chunks and all, slurps out of the tin.

Vicar tells the lad to hold his nose, close his eyes and trust in the Lord as he feeds him the dogfood.

By now I'm envisioning the headlines in The Sun, and the children are nearly hysterical. I'm doing that Peter Kay fast-walk-I'm-not=running-but-I'm-panicking movement down the aisle when the dogfood gets deposited in his mouth, he chews and swallows.

I stopped in abject horror, wondering what the hell I'm going to tell the lad's mum.

Turns out he'd carefully removed the base of the tin, emptied it and refilled it with a mixture of Angel Delight and Mars Bar chunks, and that the lad was in on the whole thing.

I think he said a prayer later for all the evil words I was thinking.




(there's a few more like this)
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Thu 13 Jun 2013, 17:49, 12 replies)

School assembly gone right, actually.
I went to a fairly scummy South London comprehensive, full of various diaspora from around those parts and as multicultural as only an inner city school can be. It was a well-meaning school overall, let down by the sheer amount of parents who simply refused to engage with their spawn and saw the secondary as a kind of nursery for teenagers. (Actually, they weren't always wrong, it did feel like that sometimes.)

Me being a socially inept teacher's pet, I queued quietly among a baying crowd of 13/14 year olds outside the converted lunch hall on a Wednesday morning, trying to calculate how to get into the hall last so I could be out of there sharpish at the end. We all filed in and I proceeded to stare at the clock for a while as the Head Of Year rabbited on about something or other. But a tension was filling the room; the normal bored mumbling had ceased and people were actually listening to the teacher. Confused, I tuned back in:

'... She was eight months pregnant, and they pushed her to the floor, forced a cattle prod into her vagina and shocked her with it until she passed out. The baby was later born prematurely and died. They did this because she wasn't married.'

Jesus. The teacher said vagina! There was a ripple of uncomfortable nudges in the hall about the phrasing, but it was clear that a sports hall full of teenagers from every year of the school had just been given the starkest depiction imaginable of human rights abuses available from a middle aged man with grey hair and ankle-swinger trousers. The silence was palpable, and all I could think about was some poor woman in Africa (I think, though I can't remember the rest of his story) being put through torture. Many of my classmates were from extremely religious countries themselves originally (Somalia, Palestine etc), was it really right to be raising something like that when opinions might differ at home? I maintain it was a bold move, but a good one.

I left the assembly intensely grateful for my own rights and freedoms and with a sense that the world was nowhere near as innocent as it was 45 minutes previously. Good job, Mr Whatever-Your-Name-Was. Good job.

(Additional: I am paraphrasing the story a little, but the details are there.)
( Bats, Wed 19 Jun 2013, 9:06, 3 replies)

Why school halls should never have PA systems
School assemblies for us were relatively uneventful and uninteresting. Occasionally we would have a guest speaker from the local diocese come in and talk about something or other which none of us took real interest in (Except for the modern ideals vicar, who came in with a rope and a bowie knife and tied a Year 7 kid into a chair, only to cut him free in a demonstration of trust - he wasn't allowed back. Possibly for the lack of ritual slaughter of a virgin to appease the masses.)

One day, a very straight-laced vicar came in to talk to us about God and life etc. The talk he gave us was an attempt at humour and this was of course met with 800 stony faces. End of talk. Start of daily announcements about what lunchtime activities there were. Today there was going to be a reggae class in one of the English rooms at 1-

Cue sudden arrival over the speakers of sounds of ukelele and a man singing a very George Formby-esque style song and much mirth from all concerned. Even the Head in his bald majesty had a chuckle. And there was a polite ripple of applause.

Hahaha all very funny yes yes, calm down now chaps. Cue calming silence followed by the immortal blasting out of the chorus from the speakers:

"I'M A WANKER! I'M A WANKER! AND IT DOES ME GOOD LIKE IT BLOODY WELL SHOULD! I'M A WANKER! I'M A WANKER AND I'M ALWAYS PULLING MY PUD!"

What then followed was a mixture of horror from those on our stage, and explosion of laughing from everyone on the hall floor. Not many ever noticed the almost inaudible click from the sound system as our mystery assailants had loaded up Ivor Biggun's Winker's Song to play at the end of the assembly. To the credit of the staff, no mention of this incident was ever made again. All I will remember was the looks exchanged between the teachers roaring with laughter and the head who was desperately attempting to maintain dignity infront of one of God's representatives on earth.

tl:dr Wanker
(mediumpete and his frozen cheese collection wrote this, Mon 17 Jun 2013, 18:35, 3 replies)

Nazis
Secondhand this one, but at sixth form I did physics with a kid who had been at Bradfield College (near Reading) until his parents fell on hard times or something. Anyway, it was a fairly disciplined environment and the school troublemaker, one of the boarders, decided to make a point.

He gets one of the bed sheets and dyes it red, then carefully paints a white roundel and black swastika in the middle to make the sort of banner that Albert Speer would have been proud to see hanging from the Reichstag. This is then rolled up around a broom handle and, one night with the aid of the gym equipment, installed in a dim corner of the main hall, between the ceiling and the wall.

The school is having a big dinner with speeches and stuff when he pulls a rope and the banner unfurls right down the wall. Apparently everyone was speechless for about 30 seconds, then all the pupils started laughing and all the teachers went apeshit.

There was a witch-hunt and the perp was expelled, but it was probably worth it.
(rogerzilla, Sat 15 Jun 2013, 13:30, 1 reply)

"You realise of course that this means war?"
Year 12, Final year of school and the last year of having any sort of relationship with Rouse.

Rouse was our deputy headmaster. Often, unless you'd done something sufficiently bad you were disciplined by Rouse rather than the Head, who clearly had far more important things to be doing than telling teen-aged boys off for misbehaving. Rouse was a real stickler for order and regimen - I don't imagine in the 30 odd years of his career did he ever NOT turn up at precisely 0600 every school day and park his Morris Mini in exactly the same spot. Here is a related roasted pea about him.
So there we were - a band of poor, misguided, misbegotten souls who seemed to pass each other by the wayside out the front of Rouses office on a fairly regular rotation.
Rouse, being a sound disciplinarian would sigh, refer back to whatever misdeed we had been accused of, occasionally question us about the veracity of some details and or level of guilt and then frequently wearily dole out whatever punishment seemed best suited at the time. Which usually entailed a weeks worth of after school detention or having to come and tidy/garden at the school on Saturday morning with the boarders.

Getting towards the business end of our final year, one day our little group found ourselves all in the same room meeting with Rouse. Now this was different - we all knew each other and had often had dealings that intersected with being sent to see Rouse together but never had we all been in the same place at the same time. Something was afoot.
Rouse began by thanking us for turning up & then started. He reminded us of some of the things that previous Yr.12's had done on "Leavers Day" in the years before us (Leavers Day being the final day of school for yr. 11 & 12's before exams began) - 1 year they had a sign made by one of the student's fathers real estate company - selling the school. Apparently the receptionist spent the day fielding many genuine inquiries. Another year had a Teachers vs. Students Softball game with the neighbouring girls school which culminated in one of our number being suspended for getting caught have carnal relations with a student teacher on prac. from the the girls school.

With this scene set Rouse made it clear to us that there were to be NO shenanigans whatsoever this year by our merry band & anyone found to be contravening this dictate faced very serious consequences. The least of which might be not being allowed to sit our exams (one would have thought that they might have the fore-thought to do Leavers Day after the exams maybe...). To us of course this was a direct challenge. How could we perform much needed hi-jinxs whilst not running the gamut of having to finish our matriculation at [bleaugh] a public school?
Then it came to us - there was always a big assembly for Leavers Day, in the school chapel, which had some very broad low steps, uphill from the teachers carpark, we numbered 12 of us, Rouses car weighed about 1000kg. and we had access to lots of webbing, and a couple of heavy-duty hoists from the manual arts dept.

Thus it came to be - we had a decoy setup so when Rouse turned up at 0600 (on the dot) he was busy for a good hour or so before school dealing with some lost but urgent paperwork and a couple of blokes that got "caught" smoking (punishment was going for a run with the headmaster for a week - meh.). Which gave us more than enough time to use the hoists and several lengths of 100mm webbing to trundle his car up to the chapel entrance and then manually lift it onto the topmost chapel step. All without being seen. Once everything was back in it place we all showered and got into our blazers ready just in time for 0830 when us and the rest of the school arrived for chapel to find Rouse and the headmaster raving and fuming at this small car sitting neatly in between the 2 front doors of the chapel.



Assembly that morning did not go as I think anyone had planned it.
Apparently they did eventually find some students willing enough to assist the school gardeners to lower the small vehicle back down to the roadway where Rouse could then noisily drive off after assembly and take half a days stress leave.

Some looks were cast our respective ways but seeing how we had all been catching buses and trains to school (with our tickets purchased as proof!) there was no way of proving who had done it.
What a lively bunch of japesters were we!

EDIT: For the crayon-munchers, tl;dr - we played a prank on the teacher that most often told us off by moving his car to a place where he could not simply drive it away.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sat 15 Jun 2013, 2:50, 6 replies)

I once passed out during an extremely long assembly, but managed somehow to do it fairly inconspicuously
Was taken out by one of the teachers and left in the care of the school nurse. Mid twenties, really very, very attractive. Rumour was that a couple of the PE teachers used to take turns, but still. I digress... you were required to have your own small hymn book/psalms thing at my school and I managed to lose it somehow but failed to notice.

Cue the nurse sticking her head around the door of my biology class later that day with my hymn book and the immortal line "Ah, TMB. You left this in my bed this morning"

I tell you, that sort of kudos can get you through a couple of years of school, no worries.
( the mighty badger Aphrodite, on a bar stool, by your side, Fri 14 Jun 2013, 14:22, 3 replies)

Reposted from the Churches QotW...
Am I the only one here to remember Bobby Collins (principal teacher of music) discovering the hard way during an assembly that the keys of the Hutchesons' Grammar School organ had been sellotaped together in pairs?
(ubergeekian, Fri 14 Jun 2013, 13:07, Reply)

Loosely related pearoast - look, it happened in the assembly hall, OK?
One Christmas at school, we were to have a fete, the centrepiece of which would be a Santa's Grotto in the assembly hall. Our usually scary headmaster would dress up as St. Nick, and various younger siblings etc could be taken in to visit him.

The grotto was a large chicken-wire and paper mache affair, built on the stage usually occupied by the teachers, and us fifth-years were given the task of constructing it. One lunchtime, as we were about to apply the final layer of pasty newspaper to the inside of the grotto, one bright lad realised that the sack of newspapers we'd been given included quite a few copies of The Sun... and so, inevitably, when Santa entered the grotto for the first time, he found that the entire inner surface had been papered with Page 3 tits. It was a thing of beauty, almost hypnotic, with bulging mams literally filling your vision wherever you looked. Like a peek into Peter Stringfellow's mind.

Unfortunately we were forced to paint over it before the tinies arrived.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 14 Jun 2013, 12:00, Reply)

I puked once in assembly,
and for years was known as "the boy who puked in assembly".
In infant skool, we had to pray to a God I didn't believe in, even at that tender age. I remember a kid putting his hand up, and grassing another kid up for not having his eyes shut during the Lord's prayer. "How do you know", asked Mrs Horsley, the psycho head teacher. Cunning bitch.
(Pookie Bear had some very shiny foez, Thu 13 Jun 2013, 18:07, Reply)

When I was at primary school
there was an EMERGENCY ASSEMBLY called one day. The gravity was palpable. What the fuck was going on? Ashen-faced, the headmistress addressed the whole school.

'The caretaker was cleaning the lavatories after morning break today, and in the urinal he found a shoe. And in that shoe.....was......A POO!!!!!'

at which point total fucking pandemonium broke out - a mixture of kids practically fainting from laughter, followed by a mass inspection to see if there was a boy wearing just one shoe. Best day ever, even better than when Colin Carter guffed and shat himself in assembly and ran out crying.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 13 Jun 2013, 16:19, 10 replies)

One more word out of you ...
Our School assemblies were bothered once or twice a year by a local vicar who bore an uncanny resemblance to a happy, anger-free Basil Fawlty. He even had a jacket like him. My friends and I struggled keeping straight faces when he was on stage at the best of times, and I used to get the giggles something terrible.

On one terrible occasion he decided to tell the story of the Sermon on the Mount. With our heads bowed, my friend next to me nudged me, and, completely deadpan, muttered,

"Blessed ... are the cheesemakers".

I think I held my breath for nearly two minutes to stop myself screaming with laughter.
( The Vomiting Hitchhiker Mephistopheles is such a mouthful in Manhattan, Thu 13 Jun 2013, 16:06, 1 reply)