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This is a question Your Weirdest Teacher

The strangest teacher at my school used to practice his lessons at night. We'd watch through the classroom windows as he did his entire lesson, complete with questions to the class and telling off misbehaving students.

Were your teachers as strange? Of course they were...

(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 13:43)
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wales v england
it's not wierd, but it deserves an honourable mention...

Two English teachers, one specialising in Language, the other Literature. One Welsh, one English.

They would send first years across to each others lessons and have them read a note out loud to their opposite. Thus:

Miniscule 1st-year walks in, trembling. Big Welsh teacher shouts "YES?" in Brian Blessed voice.

1st-year uncurls note and reads:
"Mr Literature (*) would like the fat Welsh sheep-shagging git to know that there is a department meeting before the next period."

Mr Language (*) smiles, writes another note, and tells him to read this one out loud and sends him on his way, back to Mr Literature for the next round.

In one or Mr Literature's classes, we had a 1st year come in who read out:
"Mr Language would like to inform the stuffy colonial English wanker there are no more copies of Macbeth left in the cupboard, so he can go shove his cocking literature notes up his tight stiff upper rectum"

oh, the fun. The Welshman always came up with the better insults, we found.

(* I cannot, for the life of me, remember their names. But they retired before my 3rd year, which is a damn shame)
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 17:38, Reply)
Just remembered one
Further to my earlier post about Dr Giles the 48k (Clive Sinclair lookey likey)inflammable Science teacher at my old school, I have recalled just about THE most bizarre story ever.
48k had asked me to "pick up some sheeps lungs at your butchers, I rang them and told them to expect you on your way in to school in the morning". As we had been learning all about respiration that term, I did this without question.
When we got into the lesson 48k proceeded to pass a rubber tube down the oesophagus of the sheep lungs and blow down it to inflate them. It was a bit gory, blood clots and the like, and a couple of girls in the class were obviously swaying even from my vantage point at the back of the class. 48k then took the tube out and told us about the diaphragm "which is located just HERE" (jabs with finger).

The butcher hadn't taken the voice box off the lungs had he? so when 48k prods........


3 girls go down like dominoes, I laugh until I burst a blood vessel in my left eye and 48k? Well, 48k leans down and says "Shhh Muriel, your mother wil hear us!"

The man is a legend in Hull, but then it dont take much down our way!
(, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 12:21, Reply)
The Speedy Shy
My chemistry teacher was a guy with glasses about two inches thick, hair like an explosion in a pube factory, and a screeching high-pitched voice like nothing else I have ever heard.

Oh and he didn’t have any legs.

He wore this pair of tragically, pathetically awful wooden legs that went straight as rods all the way up to his arse cheeks, and propelled himself around school on a pair of old crutches.

Sadly he was about as gifted in the use of crutches as he was at ballet dancing. Watching him clomp, drag and grunt down a corridor was certainly a sight to behold – it occupied a fine line between heartbreaking and hilarious.

We nicknamed him Speedy.

One summer we had a school fete, at which one of the attractions was a “soak the teacher” stall. Teachers stood behind a sheet of clear plastic sheeting with a head-shaped hole cut out; pupils and parents could then take it in turns to hurl wet sponges at their heads. Oh what fun.

Speedy, being a good old sort really, did his bit and lurched & wobbled up to the stall to undergo his stint behind the plastic sheeting. It went quite well considering, you could see most kids’ respect levels rising as he took a few sponges in the face and yet remained smiling, as always.

Then one fifth form girl, not the brightest, grabbed a soggy sponge from the bucket, skipped & giggled right up to poor Speedy – and shoved it into his face really hard.

What happened next could perhaps best be visualised by imagining a coconut being knocked off it’s perch at a coconut shy. Except that the coconut was Speedy’s body, and the perch was his wooden legs – from which he rapidly became disengaged in a flurry of flailing crutches and strange yelping noises.

All that was left was a tangled pile of artificial limb and wet cripple.
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 17:39, Reply)
Infant school, class of 1986,
there was this horrible dragon bitch with a face like a bulldog licking piss off a thistle, who'd obviously gleaned her lipstick application technique from Pennywise The Clown's Guide To Looking Fucking Terrifying And Making Small Children Poo And Cry At The Same Time (Faber & Faber, £12.99). She was thick as the contents of her putrid gusset, too - it was a well-known fact that you HAD to spell cetrain words her way ('dinasaur' and 'hellicopter' were two that particularly stuck in MY mind, having been dragged to the front of the class to receive bollockings of truly hellacious proportions for displaying the rank temerity to hand in pieces of homework containing the clearly laughable 'dinosaur' and 'helicopter' respectively). She loved making kids soil their underwear - she'd deliberately and maliciously not let you go to the toilet until you were literally doubled over on the storytime carpet, foaming at the mouth and sobbing gasped pleas through clenched milk teeth. She kept the toilet roll in her desk drawer, and you had to ask for 'one piece or two' in front of the whole class when you needed to go - obviously if you EVER asked for two, you got seven shades of shit kicked out of you in the playground for being a 'poo boy', so you had to make do with one even if you were planning on blasting out a pint of fizzy gravy the second your cheeks touched the seat (which, given that they stored our breaktime 'milk' [it was actually a particularly aqueous variety of cheese, I'm convinced] on a throbbing metal strip heater, wasn't that unusual). Finally, and worst of all, her favourtie phrase was "You're for the high jump now, lad!", upon which she'd march you into the stock cupboard where there was an ACTUAL high jump she'd made herself out of two piles of Peak Maths textbooks and a length of garden cane. You had to jump over it without knocking it off or moving the books, otherwise she made it higher. You all remember how small those stock cupboards were, I trust - suffice to say, it was basically fucking impossible, and she'd just stand there grinning whilst applying more scarlet facepaste to her stumpy yellow teeth and scratching her fetid mimsy through her vomitous pink wool two-piece.

On the upside, she always did make a proper nice Sunday roast, and was always fairly forthcoming with the odd fiver on Saturdays. Mum, all is forgiven. :)
(, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 10:24, Reply)
Mr A. Still in service, so I won't use his full name.
A true country gent, honest, and solid, Mr A was our woodwork teacher.

I'll cut a potentially long story short.

There was a lad called Will Brearly... (I think) who was using the pneumatic-stapler to fix some upholstry ona seat he'd just made.

Will, forever the one to piss around, was showing off to mates.... holding the stapler behind Mr A's arse as Mr A helped someone else... Will was grinning.

then suddenly there was a PUT-ssshhh, and Will's face turned from Manic grin to total horror.

Mr A had stepped back into the waiting stapler, and Will had instinctively clutched it, sending a 12mm twin-spike staple into Mr A's Arse-cheek. Properly.

Mr A pulled the staple out, turned around, looked a the horrified Brearly, picked up a small length of 2x4, and Screaming "BREARLY, YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE" soundly twatted Will around the side of the head.

Love it: it drew blood, and sent the lad sprawling... but it was fair game, and noone mentioned it again.

Mr A. We salute you and your wood-chip cigars.
(, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 16:14, Reply)
Dougie Barnett
The moment I saw this topic I thought of the legend that is Dougie Barnett.

Dougie was a physics teacher at my secondary school, and retired a couple of years before I left. The stories about him are numerous, and I'll try to summarise some of them as best I can:

Someone in his class asked him whether you would get an electric shock from urinating on a piece of railtrack. He disappeared into the store room for a couple of minutes and came back with a steaming beaker of yellow liquid in which he proceeded to place a couple of electrodes connected to a power pack.

Once, with virtually no prompting, he drew the chemical structure of LSD on the blackboard for us and was part way through describing how it could be created before coming to his senses and exclaiming "I'm not telling you that!"

One of the guys in our class once recieved a piece of pretty ordinary work back from Dougie with "11/10 A++++" as his mark. No explanation was given.

One lesson, we decided to play chess instead of doing any work. Dougie calmly watched us play all lesson without comment.

Apparently, his wife threw him out of his house at one point. During this period Dougie was found sleeping in the labs by one of the technicians. At this time, he was seen around school with his trousers tied up with bunsen burner tubing in lieu of a belt.

While briefing us on an experiment in static electricity, he produced a 12" polythene rod and spent a good 5 minutes rubbing it vigorously against his groin to demonstrate how to generate static. He was completely mystified by the ensuing hysterical laughter from the class!

He did a 'practical' once to demonstrate inertia, which involved us taking turns riding passenger in his Nissan Micra while he performed handbrake turns on the school car park.

These are just some of the things I observed with my own eyes - doubtless he did much more...
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 16:19, Reply)
My Weirdest teacher was actually very good.
I got an A in Weirdest.
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 15:00, Reply)
Mr Bennet, (also known as Winnit): Chemistry...
Holy shit.. where do I start with this guy?

I think I'll just cover one of his greatest achievments.

Winnit was a teacher who aspired to being a priest. He was however the most kak-handed and un-coordinated person to have walked this earth: proof, if you will, that his God had a sense of humour.

Firstly, you have to appreciate the surroundings. Sedbergh School, founded in 1525, is a school set in cumbria on the foothills of the lake district. Long halls, polished and worn wooden floors, building s hewn from stone blocks, high ceilings, sash-windows that rattled in the wind, wooden beams and wooden benches. This place is archaic, and Winnit had been there since the dawn of time.

His way of walking was stiff, his way of talking was a monotonous and nasal drone.

As required of all teachers at all-male boarding schools, he wore a tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows. His jacket however was 10% tweed, and 90% patch. The reasons for this lay within bunsen burners, and hydrochloric acid.

This was a guy who'd balance bunsen burners precariously in order to get them closer to the fractionating columns (for example), and who's instinct to catch falling objects was never over-ridden by the clear knowledge that the objects where spewing a blue flame...

The science labs, had BIG mahogany bences, and the teacher's desk had a glass splash-shield attatched to ensure that none of us fell foul of flying acid or bunsen burners, and a deep sink in the middle... The students were sat around in church-like pews....

On the day in question, Winnit was demonstrating the more exciting substances that we had in store.

Sodium: kept under oil to keep it away from water, and Phosphorous: kept under water to keep it away from the air....

two jars.. two VERY different jars.

Winnit stabs a bit of sodium with a scalpel and shows it to us... and then opens up the jar, and drops it back in.

Wrong Jar.

Sodium reacts violently with water in an exothermic reaction that creates hydrogen. If you drop a lump of sodium into a swimming pol, it will actually wizz around on the surface of the water, and eventually explode with a bang.

If on the other hand you're suffiently stupid to drop it into a glas jar with water in it...

Winnit temporarily lost his cool, and knocked the jars into the sink: Water will kill fire.
yes, but sodium jar, smashed into a sink with extra water added for fun = BANG.

winnit stood there staring blankly at the mess, and in his standard drone with no hint of emotion or panic, said, slowly, calmly and clearly.... "Everybody get down: there's going to be an explosion". He then promptly dissapeared under his mahogany desk.

we stared at each other, and followed suit.

rumble rumble, and then pain. our eardrums hurt.

Over the ringing in our ears, we heard Winnit say "you can get up now, but look out for the bits of glass"

Utter carnage. no glass in the shields around his desk, but plenty in the fronts of ours and the surrounding area.

..... just another lesson with Winnit.
(, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:59, Reply)
Where To Start...
Mad Harry, the metalwork teacher. Had a mirror on a stick that he used to check under his car before getting in it in case the IRA had planted a bomb there.

Miss Chapman. Had to leave because of a pregnancy scandal. One of the 4th years got her pregnant. Only school I've ever heard of where the pupils got the teachers pregnant rather than the other way round.

But my favorite was a PE teacher whose name escapes me. We were on a school trip somewhere in the Dales and the PE guy was with us along with Morticia, an RE teacher. First night there, teachers all headed for the pub and we headed for a different pub that was happy to serve us. Come 11pm and we headed back to the hostel where, on entering, we could hear whimpers and a series of heavy thuds. When we got upstairs we found a drunken PE teacher trying to smash down the door to Morticia's room bellowing

"Come on you cock-teasing tart! I Only want a little bit....."

We mobbed him and dragged him off to a broom cupboard where we locked him in for the night to sober up.

Teachers. You can't take them anywhere.
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 15:53, Reply)
We had a physics teacher
who, according to school legend, had started his first lesson with, "Now you can call me anything you like, just don't call me Biggles like they did at my last school."

A deeper mis-understanding of child psychology I cannot imagine.

Certainly by the time he was my teacher, even humming the dambusters march had become a detention offence.
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 13:54, Reply)
I was thirteen, and Miss Feather can only have been in her early twenties. She was clearing up a terrible mess in the food technology room while our food teacher, the frosty-faced Mrs. Parker, had kept me behind in the same room after school for creating the mess in the first place. I was made to sit in silence, so I passed the time by watching Miss Feather as she squirted inside the cooker and wiped the knobs above. She was a trainee teacher with long, jet black hair and an exotic complexion. As she reached inside the cooker to wipe at the back, she looked across the room at me. I thought she must be angry with me following my omelette-flinging spree. Mrs. Parker simply sat at her desk, reading through coursework.

After a few minutes, and a few more glances towards me, Miss Feather stood up and quietly slinked towards the store room, a mobile phone in her hand. She closed the door behind her, then a minute later she emerged and returned to her cleaning.

Shortly afterwards, the school receptionist ran into the room. "Mrs. Parker!" she cried. "A nurse from the hospital just phoned. Your husband has been in a terrible accident and they think he only has a couple of hours left to live!"
"No!" screamed Mrs. Parker. "I have to go and see him! He's the only one who knows our eBay password and I'm bidding for a new colander!" She then looked at me unsurely.
"Don't worry about him," Miss Feather assured her. "I'll keep an eye on him until the hour is up!"
Mrs. Parker thanked her assistant and ran from the room with tears in her eyes.

Once the sound of Mrs. Parker's hurried footsteps had faded, Miss Feather stood over my desk. "Now I have you all to myself," she purred. "You really have made a big mess in here, young man. It has caused me a lot of trouble, and I want some compensation!" She then grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me across the room. She positioned me in front of the window, my palms on the sill, and pulled down my school trousers. "Now I'm going to show you how to baste a turkey!"

The next hour was sheer heaven. However, as I looked out of the window, tears of joy in my eyes from the challenging girth of the acrylic rolling pin that Miss Feather had put to interesting use, I could see Mrs. Parker driving her turqoise Fiat Panda around the schoolyard at high speed, leaning out of the window and cursing in Latin at the pigeons that had gathered to feast on whatever scraps were left inside the many of the day's discarded Space Raiders packets. Back then, in 1992, I found that to be rather weird.
(, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 12:23, Reply)
the end of mr Jeffrey
Mr Jeffrey was the strangest of men for a host of reasons, not least for his almost lucozade orange hair and unfathomable classroom habit of randomly saying 'who's a fuckdidoodle?' in his chirpy voice in between chemistry-related sentences. after the initial bewilderment and amusement, members of the class took to answering with the names of various unpopular classmates, and Mr Jeffrey would simply ignore the reply, even when given in unison by several loud voices.

One day, it was decreed that whenever the question 'who's a fuckdedoodle' next arose, we would all stand up and scream 'You Sir!' and see what would happen.

Came the lesson, and sure enough came the question. We shouted the words, and in the stunned silence that followed, Mr Jeffrey closed his eyes, and solemnly opened his trousers to produce a small penis. Quickly tucking it back in he nodded, walked out the classroom, got in his car and never came back.
(, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 15:02, Reply)
Mr Shaw, you utter fat cunt
Mr Shaw hated me...with a passion...he picked on me, and often sent me out for doing fuck all...

One weekend, I went to watch my mates dad play rugby, Mr Shaw was on the opposition team...and I heard his nickname...

Incidentally, his nickname was "Little-cock", legend has it that this was because his cock was so tiny, in cold weather, it retracted itself INSIDE his body...

anyway, once this had entered the head of a 14 year old boy with a devious and cruel mind, I decided to repay the fat bastard...I broke into the science labs in the dinner hour, and daubed "MR SHAW HAS A LITTLE COCK AND IS SHIT AT RUGBY" on the whiteboard in what I thought was boardmarker pen...

anyway, I slipped out unseen, smug in the knowledge that the class would crown me king amongst men, and all the girls who had developed boobs would want to kiss me (with tongues)...

dinnertime over, we file into the class to see "Little-cock" frantically spraying the board with Jif (Cif nowadays) and rubbing frantically trying to remove what I had written...turns out that I'd used permanent marker pen, and it wouldn't rub off...

everyone pissed themselves, and thought it was funny...one lad shouted "Oi, Shaw, have you got a little cock then???" and a girl said "show us your little cock"...

it was at this point that he saw his arse big time...he grabbed the lad by the arm, and led him to his store room cupboard, where he deposited said gobby lad, and locked him in...

then sat in his chair and wept like a baby...in full view of a class of 14 year olds...

he left soon after, cos he was struck off for locking a student in a store room...and basically lost any sort of self respect for crying uncontrollably...

They had to get a new whiteboard in...cos even when they removed the ink, it had left a permanent reminder in a nice off grey colour underneath...

and I never got caught...

Revenge, sir, is a dish best served on a fucking whiteboard...he'll be pleased to hear that I got an A too...

hurray for me...
(, Fri 11 Nov 2005, 15:06, Reply)
Roger Moore: Physics.
Roger Moore, aslo known to us as "Mini Moore" was for a period of time, my physics teacher while I was studying for A-Levels. He was a diminuvtive guy, who was struggling to deal with the up-and-coming breed of youngsters who showed little or No respect for thier elders. We, however were a bunch of 18year old guys who had a serious soft-spot for this guy. He was kind, gentle, and prone to making the best toys known to man.

At one period in time, for some reaon were were talkign about stable structures, and honeycomb came into the conversation. Mini reconed he could demonstrate this.... He made a plastecene dam around the glass on the Old Overhead projector, and filled it with soapy water. Armed with a length of hose, he blew bubbles, and created a hone-comb of bubbles. One problem... His breathing was not constant. bubbles were different sizes.

5 minutes later, he'd made a glass nozzle and was usign the lab's gas supply to blow tiny bubbles. these were projected neatly onto the wall, albeit a bit feint. He then wanted bigger bubbles.... so hit upon a plan to destroy the others.. lighted splint. Neat.

The lesson went on with Mini finding excuses to burn the bubbles... and we inqured as to whether he'd given thought to blowing BIG bubbles....

One week later, we turned up to a lesson, and mini was wearing a grin that threatened to separate the top of his head from the rest of his body...
"Good morning gentlemen, Inspired by your question last week, I've made soemthing..."

he motioned towards the corner of the lab where a rather simple rig stood.

He then proceeded to blow foot-ball sized bubbles with propane... The bubbles were a bit too heavy to go floating, but that didn't matter, he poked them with a lghted splint, and they turned into one of the most beautiful things I've seen. A gentle orange fire-ball that floated up and hit the ceiling, and expanding in ring of fire that rolled out accross the ceiling until it ran out of gas.

Other such experiments were more complex, I remeber him playing with large coils, capacitors and lumps of aluminum, and demonstrating the theory behind the Iraqi super-guns suspected electro-magnetic propulsion system. He embedded a 1 meter length of aluminium scaffolding pole in the lab's wall... He simply grinned a sheepish grin and said "oops".

Mini was an inspirational figure for us, a nice guy, and a great teacher.

If anyone reading this lives in or near the sleepy Cumbrian town of Sedbergh, and occasionally bumps into the legend of physics teacher, probably now around 70 years old, with comicly big ears, Tell him we remeber him, and that without doubt, he was the best teacher we ever had.
(, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:35, Reply)
My nursery school teacher had the strange habit of inserting his fingers into my rectal cavity. He was proud of me, though. I was the first kid in our year to learn to count to five!
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 15:30, Reply)
He had it coming...
I went to a great Grammar School, with largely great teachers. There were, of course, the others..

Prime example would be our Art teacher, who was not fit to be in a school. Sarcastic nasty people belong in government and police force, not in school, where people are still not prepared for it ..

Our school was full of bright people, the average pass rate was 7.7 ‘O’ levels*. Those of us who went on to sixth form, had this twunt as form tutor. One lad passed 5 ‘O’ levels, which was still very good. But Mr Twunt thought that it wasn’t, and proceeded to be an unbelievable shit toward this guy. Just one example: How would you fancy starting every day at school to be greeted by your teacher with “So, still turning up are you?”.

Moving on a few months…

One of my hobbies was keeping reptiles. This was known, and I’d done a few talks for schools, clubs etc, so my biology teacher (Mr Ritson, top teacher, privilege to know him) asked me to do a talk for the next door Girls Grammar School. Sounded like fun, so I agreed, as long as I could bring them in to school in the morning, and leave them in a warm, locked room until the lunchtime talk, do the talk, and put them back afterwards…

“OK, deal”, says Mr Ritson.

So drove to school (big event in itself, 17, just passed test) with two Burmese Pythons, 9 and 12 ft respectively. Got in good and early, to show [off] snakes in sixth form room. Did it all very sensibly – checked that everyone was OK with it, before bringing them in. Anyway, all went very well people having a laugh, and people getting over snake phobias, which was the general idea. This went so well, that I realised it was registration time, so checked with classmates, brought snakes in to registration, with the intention of taking them to their warm room before classes started.

This is where it all kicked off. I hadn’t asked the twunt teacher about his feelings towards the pythons. He came in, late, and walked to his desk without spotting over 20ft of python draped around the back of the room. Sat down, looked up and went white. Instantly, I mean, flash. Now I was holding one, and Colin, the harassed pupil, the other. So, for the only time in my life (as far as reptiles go), I took advantage of the situation. “Don’t you like these, they’re very friendly” said I, moving towards him. The two of us cornered him in the room using two,frankly, bloody enormous, examples of his obviously massive phobia.

Egged on by the rest of the room (“Come on sir, they’re very friendly – let them give you a BIG hug”)
We had him there for several minutes, until he broke. He ran out of the room crying, never did come back.

This generated a trip to the headmaster to explain the incident. (I asked the rest of the class to look after the snakes, as I might be a while). The head was startlingly cool, I explained why they were in the room, he said “OK, but that didn’t require you cornering Mr Twunt with them did it?”. Fair question. I said “No”, he said “Make sure they’re put where they wewre supposed to be”, and that was the end of it. No punishment, no parental involvement, nada.

Can only assume that the Head had a pretty good idea of what a scumbag this guy was, probably saved him the hassle of sacking him.

Finally, and irrelevently, I’d like to say how gutted I am that most of my favourite B3tans are going to a party in London six weeks after I emigrated to Perth, Australia. If there any B3tans in Perth – fancy a beer?

Apologies for length.

*If you’re of the GCSE on onwards generation, this-is-a-big-number**.

**Only kidding, lighten up and show you can take a joke by pressing the “I have a sense of humour” button at the end.
(, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 15:50, Reply)
Our evil, hyper, bald, ex-army chemistry teacher always found an interesting way to present the subject at hand.

Picture a class of twenty students watching in disbelief as the science of electroplating is demonstrated.

On a goldfish in a bowl, projected on a large overhead viewing screen.

'Copperfish' he called it.
(, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 6:54, Reply)
In a certain school, in a smallish town a ways north of London...
I went to an all boys school. Oh dear.

So, we had:

The History teacher. Taught me from year 7 to year 9 or so; then, I cleverly decided not to 'do' history anymore. The guy was shitting unstable. One minute he'd be nice as anything, the next he'd scream, throw books, and generally act like a cunt.

We studied the Vietnam war. For a week. By watching Apocalypse Now. Don't show Apocalypse Now to a group of 11 year olds.

Our school used to have non-uniform days, where you paid an extortionate amount for the privilege of not wearing normal clothes. On these days... He'd come in, dressed in full Star Trek regalia.

He even had the badge.

Last I heard, he'd moved to another school, and subsequently got in shit for the few thousand kiddie porn images they found on his computer.


The Drama teacher.

Oh fucking dear. Big hair. Seriously big hair. Gayer than a sash window. Married to a grossly overweight woman, who also dealt with the 'special needs' children. More blatant a marriage of convenience, I've never seen.

Her dealing with the 'special needs' people extended to him. She once came in to the class and gave us a full on bollocking after we'd made him run out crying. The reason being? Someone had eaten a sheet of paper, rather than show him what was on it.

The fact that the paper had an obscene drawing of his wife on it is beside the point.

This man once gave me a detention for smiling. A three hour detention.

After sufficiently aggravating him, he once decided to point out that I was only on the course because I'd complained about him being a favouritist cunt. He was entirely true; there's no way I was going to hang around doing English Literature for two years, when the pisstake option of English Drama was available.

He marked me down deliberately after that little explosion, although he did apologise. Yeah, after I'd finished the course.


The music teacher, who used to regularly buy underage pupils drinks at the local shithole nightclub, and sit in her car smoking with them. I liked her.


The art teacher, who we took to the pub and got steaming drunk towards the end of the sixth form. I saw her down the pub, not too long ago, where she gave me a big hug. She was nice, too.


The PE teacher, who... Oh, yes, everyone knows about the showers. He committed suicide after accusations got him fired from another school. Nice bloke.


The chemistry teachers. One of whom had taught my father, the other who was a certifiable pyromaniac. They used to plan large explosions on a weekly basic. The older one could never get them to work, and would always drag the other out of whatever class he was in to 'make it blow up'. The younger used to let myself and a friend amuse ourselves by making explosives in the back of his lesson rather than doing the actual work we were supposed to be.

I was always the one to hold the explosive and/or corrosive things in the fume cupboard to demonstrate.

I swear my hands are still slightly wrongly coloured.


The biology teacher. He was actually a good mate, although I've lost contact with him. A crowd of us often met him down the pub. The pub atmosphere was usually carried over to his lessons.


The ginger chemistry teacher, tried to steal a tenner off me. Bastard.

Turned a completely blind eye to the condom I inflated and hit around the classroom like a giant, lubricated balloon.


The physics teacher (1). Legend. Utter fucking legend.

He used to come out with incredible phrases, such as:

"I've seen your type on the radio."
"Put your stools up on the table and sit down."
"You, boy, no, not you, you, boy, yes, boy. Boy," to nobody in particular.
"Copy this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this...," whilst turning the same sheet of paper over, repeatedly.

Famed for muttering "Bunch of fucking little bastards," under his breath. Utterly unable to remember anyone's name.

He died a few years ago.


The physics teacher (2). The standard one you'd wind up. Bald, perverted, smelly. Had a nervous breakdown as a result of our abuse. Never reappeared.


The physics teacher (3). Insane. We used to keep a record of every insult he threw at us; some of them were incredibly creative.

Used to regularly ignore us as we built harpoon guns, electrocuted each other, and made 'art' from chewed chalk and paper, stuck to the walls.

Once pointed out that a particular student was a waste of a good abortion.


The music teacher; refused to let me in his class for a month after I put my book down on the table too hard.



The RE teacher; great bloke. I didn't learn anything about religion, but a great deal about his encounters with aliens/the government/serial killers.


The maths teacher; likewise.

His favourite anecdote involved a friend who cut his own penis off with a high pressure hose, by accident.

Or, the one about being stuck in a pipe at a the same gasworks whilst a toxic cloud slowly spread towards him.

Claimed to have invented the spin pass, in rugby.

Had the ability to determine who was going to go bald, and when.


The english teacher who'd sit with her skirt rucked around her knees, spread legged, on her desk.


The electronics teacher, who'd trade insults with the pupils. Until one of them called him gay, at which point said pupil was locked in the store cupboard for two hours.

He had no neck.


The technology teacher, who was arrested for fraud.


The technology teacher, who'd fall asleep in his own lessons.


The latin teacher, who could throw board rubbers with pinpoint accuracy to land on someone's desk and choke them with chalk dust.


The psychology teacher. My personal favourite.

When I hit the sixth form, we started sharing teachers and classes with the Girls' school in the same town. So, we'd have mixed classes for the first time in years.

This psychology teacher was relatively normal, until he had an accident playing football. He got kicked in the head, and went a little bit... odd.

He held a competition to see who could guess the name of his recently born daughter. Nobody won; her name was Delilah. He kept the money everyone had bet. The swine.

I used to sit with a female friend right by the doorway. Whenever we got tired of his lessons, which was often, we'd simply ask to leave. The first time he looked startled.

The second time, he just gave me a knowing look, and a sly wink.

Unfortunately, it was nothing like that. The pair of us just couldn't be arsed to hang around and listen to him droning on. She was actually one of my then girlfriend's best friends. But anyway.

It got to the point where he'd slyly sidle over to me when everyone else had their heads down, nudge me, and ask, "Do you two want to go off, then?"

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth...

Sitting at the front had its downsides, however. He used to engage us in conversation, fairly often. Now, he was a nice enough bloke, but since the accident, as mentioned, he'd gone a little odd.

I'll spare you the conversations we had, as this bollocks is long enough already, and I can't be arsed to bloat it out more. However.

The most memorable thing he ever said to us.

"You know what?"
"What's that, sir?"
"I... I saw a spider, once..."

...He looked very confused, then, and wandered off again rubbing the back of his head.

We took that as our cue to fuck off.
(, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 23:40, Reply)
I just remembered
I'm studying at the moment. At one of those learning houses.
Anyway. This lecturer. For calculus.

Brilliant man.
Most amazing explanations of even the most complicated mathematical concepts, making them seem childsplay.

Would often invent technical terms for ordinary activities. Taking off his sweater: rearranging thermal absorption materials for optimal operating conditions. Jiggling the projector to get our attention: a bit of photonic agitation stimulus. Exams: the November experience (always).

Apparently used to write things really small, then draw a magnifying glass and inside write the same thing in larger writing.

Would refer to variables as characters, and their relationships and order of importance with social relationships... "Now normally x is getting all the action, with poor little y being the dependent variable. But since this is not integratable, y finally gets its chance to shine, and x has to crawl away and do as y says."

Was trying to get some major astronomical theory he devised approved by the world of science. Every now and then he would give us updates on new evidence that proved he was right and all those fools who doubted him were wrong.

And throw into this mix the odd reference to fruit in diagrams, accompanied with the proper adjustments to make it look more like the fruit he had in mind, without any relevance.

People like this make me want to teach.
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 15:04, 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........?"

“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 ...?"
“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........?
"Badgers nipple"
.... now.
(, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 16:42, Reply)
Common And Proud
Our run down comprehensive school had a slight staff shortage so one day we turned up for a french lesson to be greeted by a very young looking substitute teacher. She was very well spoken to the point where, to us common northerners, she sounded pretty much like the queen. She was obviously slumming it, moonlighting from her day job teaching little princes and princesses at some upper class boarding school. She also had a comedy Jonathan Woss style speech impediment.

Inevitably the class got more and more out of hand. It began by replying to everything she said with "spiffing!" and then people started calling her Miss. Farqhaur Poncenby Smythe. It quickly denigrated to the point where several people just kept shouting things out at her. After asking "Could Daddy buy us all ponies as well?" we hit upon the obvious and asked her is she wouldn't mind awfully "Weleasing Woger".

This turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back. She slammed her books down on the desk and, in the momentary silence, screamed in an accent suitable for royal visits "If you lot don't settle down I'm going to give you extwa pwep!"

The shocked silence lasted for roughly two seconds before everyone burst out laughing. The catcalls continued as before but now with the occasional "What the fuck is extwa pwep?" and the one noticeable incident where someone screamed "Look out! It's an extwa pwep!" and dived under their desk to avoid this mythical beast.

Don't get ideas above your station love, its called homework. Or, at the very least, homewowk.
(, Fri 11 Nov 2005, 11:09, Reply)
Madame Lewis
Pronounced "LOO-WEE" was a terrible elementary school French teacher, but this isn't really about her, it's what we'd do to her.

The game is called, "Race-Car" and the object is to drive the teacher insane. For fun.

Picture this,

The class room is quiet...then all of a sudden one kid starts whispering,


And more kids start whispering,


And every kid starts, and the collection of kids get louder and louder,


Until Madame Lewis turns around and yells,


And us kids yell,


(, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 18:58, Reply)
Psycology teacher at my school
Shouts "I SHAGGED YOUR WIFE" at the referee when he goes to football matches.
(, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 18:05, Reply)
Sister Charles
Sister Charles told us that when we went on dates we should bring a newspaper, a pin and a paper bag. If we had to sit on the boy's knee we had to put the newspaper down on it first. If the newspaper started rustling we had to stick the pin in him, and while he was still in shock, we had to put the paper bag over his head and run off as fast as we could.
(, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:34, Reply)
Mad English Teacher
One of those ones who teaches you everything ... except what's on the curriculum. Needless to say we loved him! He'd sit in long billowing robes, covered in chalk. When he lit a fire during the winter months, the robes would start to smoke as he wrote on the blackboard above it.

Once, he threw himself down a flight of concrete steps just to see if it would hurt. He got up, went "Phew! That was an experience!" and walked off, not noticing that his arm was broken.

Another time, he walked from Norfolk to Derbyshire, sleeping in ditches because he wanted to experience life as a tramp.

Oh yes, and when he awoke from a coma after a road accident, his first concern was that he had forgot all of his Anglo-Saxon.

What a guy. Love him!
Ginger Hobbit
(, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 8:42, Reply)
Not me but I wish it was!
A friend who I shall call Mike (not real name..honest) always looked a lot older than he was. He was a few years older than me and I didn't know him that well but he told me of his most embarassing moment ever one day:

When Mike was 15 he looked about 20. This meant he could go out to town on the piss with his older brother without getting asked for ID.

Well, one night he was out in town and he pulled. A corker too! He went back to this lass's place and promted to roger her. Monkey style.

Anyway, a week later and he's at school, revising hard when his teacher tells him to go to the classroom next door and get some text books.

He knocks on the door and enters. The classroom all turn and look at him. Who does he see staring right back at him? Yes, it's the lass he fannyrammed the week before...

..teaching the class English Literature.

She left the week after. A shame really because I would have...
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 23:22, Reply)
Weird Teacher Awards
/delurk + first postness
^ because there's finally a QOTW that applies to me =D


I'm 16 and have had my share of weird-ass teachers throughout my ever-continuing educational career; being American in the bilingual stream of a Dutch school helps (as Dutchie schools tend to be a hell of a lot more liberal and open and generally cool about a lot of things than most American schools).

Some of my favorites (any current students of the Lorentz Lyceum will most likely immediately snap to attention):

The Award for Most Utterly and Paedophilically Freaky Teacher goes to Mr. Meijer (pronounced Meyer). We only had him for one year, which was a good job, as it's only a matter of time before he's sacked for doing something unspeakable to a girl in the storeroom.
Anyway- he teaches Woodshop and rumor has it that he was sacked from his old job as Biology teacher at another school because he had a wank in the john, came back and stuck his thousands of little mini Meijers under the microscopes for the kids to look at (and anyone who's had class from him wouldn't put it past him).
Something with a bit more evidence to support it was his behavior towards this utterly hot, rather large-breasted girl called Maria (who was 12 at the time...). It was the middle of winter and Mr. Meijer had a thick sweater on when he said to poor Maria "It's hot in here, Maria, why don't you take off your jumper?"

The Award for Teacher With The Biggest Cojones goes to none other than Mr. Houben (pronounced Frenchly). He admitted to a class full of rowdy 15- and 16-year-olds that he likes guys. I mean, here's me, the only one with the balls to actually ask him "Look, sir, here's the thing: Everyone kinda wants to know and I'm the only one out of all these kids with the balls to ask you, so yeah: what's your sexual preference?" and he utters the legendary phrase:
"Yeah, I'm gay."
How cool is that?? He's a really nice guy, by the way, not dirty and paedo like some other gay teachers I've been reading about; used to give us French lessons on a voluntary attendance policy and is also really young, which gives him an nicely unobstructed perspective when it comes to dealing with kids. Oh, and since he's a sensitive guy, all I had to do was have a slight breakdown in order to get out of doing an assignment (the breakdown was genuine and I only found out I had gotten out of doing actual work at the end of the year, so there).

The Award for Red-Blooded, A+ 100% Nutter goes to Mr. Verbeek (pronounce the 'ee' like the 'ey' in 'hey'). He regularly makes goodhearted derogatory remarks towards women in a class with at least four raging feminist 16-year-olds (most of which are really hot and think they're better than everyone else... pity really), is quoted as saying "I like all kinds of music, from rock to hip-hop to classical- all except K3." K3 is a Dutch trio of young women who sing kids' songs. "What, K3? Bend over!!" He then proceeded to mime things concerning a whip and spanking.
Yeah, he rocks. Nuts, but cool. He used to give regular 45-minute-long lessons on how to properly clean a blackboard, and once in the middle of a lesson screamed "FIRE DRILL!!", flung a window open, jumped out (his regular classroom is on the ground floor) and ran all the way around the building before coming back in and panting "You... all... got burned alive."

The Award for Coolest Older Dude Teacher ('cause I can't think of anything better) goes to Mr. Evertse, yet another French teacher. He also teaches Philosophy, is a really, really nice, intelligent and likable guy in general, and is the only teacher who consistently gives me dap (which is a slightly hip-hop-culture-oriented greeting involving a low five and smacking the knuckles of the same hands you used to give the low five together). He's so cool.

The Award for Whackest Math Teacher goes to poor Mr. Mafakheri. He was small, Iranian and couldn't speak Dutch very well, had the occasional fit of rage at some of the more dickheaded students, and once kicked a bin (a whole bin, pity it was only plastic though) at this dude with an overly large forehead who was being disruptive. He would tell you your test scores (and pretty much anything else) with a thick, thick accent (my name is Cameron and Dutchies grade you from 1 to 10 instead of F to A): "Cameroon, yoo haff a siex comma half" (but then in Dutch. You get the idea). We kind of teased him into quitting and I sort of feel bad for him now... Ah well, chances are he's in a better place ^.^

Finally, the Award for Coolest English Teacher ('cause I've had a lot of them) goes to Mrs. Kalkman. She's one of the few teachers that is able to be authoritative and treat her students as equals at the same time; she also let us watch 8 Mile in class and had us write raps as a curriculum assignment. Me and several then enemies (my taller opponent then is one of my best friends now) even got to have a battle ^.^

So yeah. Other mentionables are Mr. van der Kuil, an Economics/Management & Organization teacher who described his own fits of anger as being occasionally satanic; Mr. Strijker, a Biology teacher who thinks he's the shit and simply isn't; Mr. Grobbe, another Biology teacher who really is the shit, and really funny to boot; and Mrs. Healing, our now-retired first year English teacher who was your stereotype English lady. You could almost imagine her sitting at home sipping tea with twenty cats. Nice lady, though.

Also, we've had a number of memorable Latin teachers. I quit Latin last year because it was simply *that* boring, but in the three years I followed the course I was taught by:
Mr. Arts, the man with unspeakable breath who kept blowing off tests by forgetting to bring the papers into class and cancelling lessons to go the dentist; Mrs. Rault, the crazy lady who would give us a pop quiz every Thursday and was generally harsh; and Mr. Cloosterman, the man with no social skill whatsoever who liked carrot cake and would terribly mangle students' names: Fokelien became Kokelien and Sietske became Fietske. That last one could never decide if he liked or hated me, but on the assignment I did to round off my prematurely ending Latin course I got a big, fat 10 ^.^

ps. No apologies whatsoever for length, girth or volume. It's my first time and I've been told it's exceptional for my age ^.^
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 18:34, Reply)
so many...
Prep School:
History teacher (go Hendy!) who wrote little plays about "William the Conker" and made us act them out. Used to rub his crotch on the corners of our desks. Top bloke though.

English Teacher (Mr Colee) - shirts with green armpits. Made a girl piss herself in class once 'cos he wouldn't let her go to the loo - didn't believe she "really needed it".

French teacher (Monsieur Grimal). Anally retentive in matters of tidyness. Used to make us arrange our pencils/rulers/rubbers etc in order of size along one edge of our desk. Used to shout "Non non non, you are not deezmeezed by ze bell!" at the ends of lessons. Again, top teacher.

Boarding school:
The perv physics teachers (lots of them around) who was fired after telling a pupil that he wanted her to "put on golf cleats and trample all over him". Also discovered that his high-power telescope (not a euphemism!) was not trained upon the night sky over Oundle, but in fact at the windows of the girls boarding house opposite the physics labs. My window, to be precise. *shudders*

The Music staff in general. Fantastic people, but very bizarre sometimes.

The chemistry teacher who set up an experiment to show the dangerous smoke produced when mixing two chemicals together. He forgot to turn the fume cupboard on, and as filthy poisonous smoke flew very quickly towards us, screamed like a little girl.

The "fit" english teacher (apparently related to AA Milne) with teeth like a picket fence. *shudders again*

The biology teacher who told us about a "friend" of hers who'd had a mild stroke and now had an orgasm every time she sneezed. What did this "friend" take for her condition? Pepper.

The maths teacher who stuck his hand down the back of his pants every time he wrote on the blackboard. Perhaps he had some weird sense of balance.

Many many more, will add soon...
(, Wed 9 Nov 2005, 17:24, Reply)
2 more...
1. Mr. Morgan, Welsh, and history teacher extrordinaire. Not especially weird, but a dude. His history is shrouded in mystery, but according to some he's ex-SAS, which isn't hard to believe considering his demeanour. This man was unrilable. Nothing got his back up. On the few ocassions his class didn't go silent the moment he walked in, he would stand at the front of the room, knuckles on desk, and speak quietly into the din the immortal words "If you don't shut up right now, I am going to go apeshit." There has never been an incident where it didn't work.

His defining moment, however, came at the end of last year. For the 2 years previous to that, he had be mocked by one Sam Deacon from the back of the room. Mr. Deacon is a world standard fat wanker; full of himself to the point of self-destruction, insufferably loud, and -crucially- extremely cheeky, but lacking in wit. His mocking came generally in the form of stupid questions that amused only him and the people who sucked up to him. Things like "If you were any weapon from World War 2, what would you be?", which eventually moved onto more personal inquisitions such as "Was your father one of the x thousand Welshmen who deserted in the war?". The Morganator would always tell him to be quiet, totally calm, or slam him with a witticism, generally with a rough message of "You are so stupid you don't deserve to be talking to me", which was fair enough.

In the final lesson he held a quiz, the losers of which would be subject to a punishment. When the doling-out time came around, he stood up, and delivered his awesome final speech thusly-

"To the group that came last, your punishment is this: to spend your sixth form years sharing a school with idiots like Mr. Deacon here. As for Mr. Deacon himself..."

At this point he went over to his jacket, and pulled something small and black from the pocket. Sam had the audacity to shout "It's a gun!" at this point, despite being in the middle of an obviously severe bollocking.

"No, Sam, it is something far worse than a gun. This is a high-powered tape recorder, with which I have been, well, recording, your little outbursts for the last 6 weeks. I think the headmaster will be interested to hear it. Goodbye class, and good luck with your exams."

That was the only incident in which I have experienced a shock-induced silence amongst a congregation of people. When it ended, there was a scramble to climb over the desks and point in Sam's face while laughing, followed by a round of applause for Mr. Morgan. What a guy.

2. Dr. Andrew. Chemistry teacher. Northerner teaching in a southern school. She was the most patronising, annoying, idiotic teacher I have ever known. She gave all her Year 11s "study buddies" to work with. She took obvious favourites. She would spend half a lesson teaching us the wrong thing, give us an exercise to do, and only realise her mistake when it became apparent that we couldn't do the exercise. After several people got lacklustre mock results, she was suspended for 6 months. Good, because even the other staff hated her.

What made her so weird? Her feminism. She detested all the boys in her class, and we made an effort to piss her off as much as possible as a result, rooting her hatred deeper. Girls could do no wrong, and got away with exploiting it. I personally was bollocked for having ink all over my shirt from where a girl sprayed me with it. I explained the situation, and she laughed, saying that "she's not the kind of person to do something like THAT! See me after class!"


I can't compete with the night-time practising teacher, oh well.
(, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 20:25, Reply)
Not my own, but...
I heard a first account of this from a reliable source.

This person used to have a French teacher who seemed like your average slightly repressed middle-aged Englishman. One day, he set this class of fifteen-year-olds some homework. They were to translate a paragraph about a slightly repressed middle-aged French teacher who went home from school one day and hung himself.

Guess what he did when he went home.
(, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 13:34, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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