Evil ittle shits.
That was the phrase the Head used to us one day. We were top stream fifth (year 11). We knew it all. If we didn't like a lesson, we would fuck about en masse. We would put hard core porn in the register when Sister Helen took names. We would bring squirrels in to class. We would flick lighted matches when the teachers back was turned.

One day the head gave us a lecture. He did not mince words. We listened in fear and fascination. He called us hellspawn little bastards. One guy, who had told to move seats the previous week hadn't bothered. The Head asked him why not. He replied in pure bogtrotter: "Ah, farrtherr, I couldn't be arsed".

Wrong. At that point, the Head snapped. When he had finished kicking him out from under the desk, he used his fists. When it became obvious that death might be a possibility, he used his belt. 3 minutes of Oldboy level violence.

You could do things like that in the 70s in private education.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Sun 1 Feb 2009, 0:21, Reply)