My old english teacher
lets call him Mr M. Tall wirey kind of guy which a shock of hair. Walked funny, kind of like with a little bounce in it. His classes where just a licence to muck around. Our favourite thing was to mess around and watch him slowly simmer, boil and then go nuts. He would either throw things or send us out. That was even better because then we could see him got nuts twice over for the same thing. His wife, a supply teacher was also quite weird too. She had noooo control over the class at all and just looked, well, weird. She had a shock of a hair style too.

Onto my old history teacher, in herself, not overly weird but obsessed with the Russian Royal Family. It was great. Last double lesson on a Friday. Fresh from a smoke up the field. Divert her attention from the work in hand by asking a question relating to the Tsar and Tsarina...and watch the lady flow. Perfect opportunity to have a kip.

Drama teacher...think of BBs Kemal but female and with long hair. All sort of ethnic and stuff. But weirdly ethnic.

German teacher...spoke really funny (other than that german stuff!) and stank.

Back to that english teacher....we used to shout his name down the corriders when we saw him coming. It really freaked him out after a while. On the rare occaision we saw him round town, years after leaving, he still looked sheepish and kind of hid.

Grammar schools. Weird places.
(Oops....did I say that out loud cos I really bloody want to., Thu 10 Nov 2005, 13:15, Reply)

Fraggle
Fraggle

We had a teacher at secondary school who was nicknamed 'fraggle'. He was a strangely pale individual who always smelt like talc, wore the same tweed jacket and sweatbands on both wrists. He also had an ancient Capri which left behind a trail of black smoke everytime he left.

I remember him being totally useless at keeping us all in check and so Physics lessons were lots of fun. It was always amusing to see his face when parents call him 'Mr Fraggle' at parents evenings as we never called him by his proper name. Oops! :/

As far as i know he's still there.

PE

2 women PE teachers who were both gay and dating, even when one was still married. Well that was the rumour anyway. I never did have a shower after PE, bleurgh (For the thought and the smell!)

French

French teacher who died from blood poisoning after being hit on the head with a large metal bin placed on the door, poised to hit the next person who came through it.

Whoops!

That's as much as i remember!
(lehcar_woo, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 13:08, Reply)

They had it coming
This isn't really about strange teachers, but it is about strange things happening to them...

I once had a history teacher, let’s call him Mr B. He was a twat who taught us exactly the same lessons every year in spite of our advancing age and growing ability. He also played the guitar, which he thought made him ‘cool’.

One day, a friend and I hit upon a smashing idea. I drew a piss-poor likeness of Mr B on a sheet of A4 paper (complete with guitar), and myself and said friend proceeded to stick drawing pins in it.

That was a Friday. The next Monday, we returned to school to see that Mr B was not in attendance. As the day progressed, we learned that he had in fact been beaten up in pub car park on the Friday night! Result!

The delight of this tale passed into legend in the coming years (ie everyone forgot about it), until my A Level days, when I and my fellow classmates had the misfortune of being stuck with a retarded Chemistry teacher, Miss N, who we all knew had scraped through her chemistry degree with a 3rd. She spent every lesson chatting to a small clique at the front of the class, was unable to answer any questions relating to ‘chemistry’ (which I seriously suspect she knew nothing about) and as a result myself and many others failed her class. She was also a liar who kept pretending to have left the marked copies of our mock exam papers behind in her locker, before eventually casually telling us that she hadn’t marked them at all. Something had to be done.

So, in the A Level common room, over a fine school lunch of burgers and chips, I drew on an A4 sheet a shockingly bad visage of Miss N. Then I put pins in it. And so did everyone else. Then I tore bits of the face out, crumpled it up and we threw it around playing catch (and stamping it underfoot). Then I took it to the urinals in the gents, and several of us took it in turn to relieve our bladders over it.

The result? A week later she was sacked! Hurrah!

Of course, this was all due to my immense magical powers, and not the fact that all her students were failing and all the other teachers knew she thought ‘chemistry’ is where you go to get thrush treatments. The End.

Ah, as the smoker said of the ball of phlegm, I’m glad I got that off my chest.




PS I do occasionally feel pangs of voodoo guilt for Mr B – being beaten up is truly horrible and no laughing matter. I don’t feel guilt over Miss N, however. She was a cunt.
(Jimtastic, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 13:05, Reply)

What is a 'technology college' anyway?
My secondary school was unique as far as I can tell, in that it's the only one I know of that has its own farm. I don't mean a seperate site somewhere - half the school grounds were set aside for this. "Agricultural Science" was one of the GCSE options, and every year some kids would come around selling various pork products made from the school pigs. One lad from the year above mine spray-painted one of the sheep when he left...

Anyway, teachers. We had our fair share of both great and crap teachers (I still feel sorry about the RE teacher that left before her first week was up after we got her to break down and swear at the whole class) but by far the oddest was my physics teacher, Doctor Carson.

Doctor Carson was (and, I suspect, still is) a loveably eccentric teacher. He used to stick pencils up his nose, in an attempt to dissuade kids from chewing the ends of them when they had to borrow a pencil. He also spent many a lesson wandering around the classroom with his foot stuck in the metal dustbin (step, clank, step, clank). One particular lesson half the class was missing (damn skiving History students) and Doctor Carson, as head of science, had just recieved a new load of educational gadgets that he'd ordered. We spent the lesson electrocuting the poor lass we attached to the new Van de Graaf generator by touching her with our feet, and scaring some first years with a gooseneck-mounted camera.

Another particularly memorable lesson, we were told to split the classroom in half using tables, and pile the chairs up round the edges. Then we were given a hundred or so pieces of paper, told to screw them all up into balls, and put all the balls on the floor on one side of the room. Then - without explaining why - Doctor Carson split us into two groups (one on either side) and had us throw paper balls at each other for ten minutes. Once we'd set the classroom back to rights, he explained how this was a demonstration of diffusion. (The pictures he took of that lesson got published in a magazine somewhere, apparently.)

One day, Doctor Carson told us told us that our next lesson would be watched, as he was being assessed for 'super teacher' status (I have no idea what this was, but I'd guess another government initiative). The rest of the lesson was spent regaling us with stories that we could never tell the assessor - "particularly that one about the boy that ate a stick of chalk instead of taking a detention". Sure enough, the next lesson, there was a twenty-something official-looking woman sat at the back, so we spent a cheerful hour telling her everything we could think of.

Inevitably, Doctor Carson was given this 'super teacher' award. We knew this when he arrived for our lesson wearing red underpants outside his trousers. Same lesson, he took the effort to sneak out of the storeroom and round the classroom in a (successful) effort to surprise the head of year - who had just popped into the class to ask him about something - by jumping on her from behind.

Needless to say, we all got good grades for physics.
( Legionary - My god, Brian, there's a message in my alphabets, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:54, Reply)

Ooooh, where to start
I spent the first 12 years of my school life in a convent school. Thankfully the nuns had left the year before I went, but this didn't stop them from enforcing religion on us wherever possible. There were a range of very strange teachers there, Mr Hardy (arf!) who left after some scandal involving "extra tuition" with a 6th former, the very eccentric Mrs Peel who taught us GCSE English and insisted in coming into school in the same rather mouldy kaftan every day, but best of all was our junior school French teacher. Can't remember her name for the life of me, but every wednesday for two years she would spend an entire afternoon reading us Little Red Riding Hood in french. Every single lesson. Wierd lady.

My favourite, however, is my old college lecturer. He was as mad as 9 pies, every lesson he would tell us stories of his old days spent touring with Robert Plant as his guitarist. Sadly these crazy days had taken their toll on the poor sod and he'd frequently sufer from acid flashbacks in class. One lesson he taught the entire class while standing on a chair. At the end of the lesson he turned round to a friend of mine and asked "Why was I on the chair?"

We could give him no sensible answer. Bless him.
( SugarSpunSister Yeah, whatever, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:47, Reply)

Bearded Cunt
My teacher used to whack you with a wooden metre rule if you were out of line (1983 in case you wondered) then sit cross legged on his desk, get his guitar out and sing 'kum-bye-ya' or some other hippy bollocks whilst you sat there with a sore arse. As if that made it ok.

Bearded cunt.

Funnily enough his name was Mr Axe. Mr fucking Axe wound more like.
(Fonkadelix is fucking bored, pass the crack pipe Mavis., Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:47, Reply)

Amazing Grace
We had a few of the usuals, the butch lesbian PE teacher, the chemistry teacher who put fires out with peoples folders, the assistant rector who thought he was Elvis and the RE teacher who was trying to look like Jesus and I'm sure he used to iron his carrier bags as I've never seen one so wrinkle free since!

We had one old lady English teacher and the rumour that went around was the you could make her cry by singing amazing grace so most lessons someone would hum it quietly. Eventually it would get too much for her and she would run out in tears. She threw a whole classes work in the bin because she was fed up with them. She retired soon after.
We also had a senile old biology teacher who would put things like teeth and pennies in beakers of acid an pick them out again with her bare hands! She was never allowed to teach the Higher classes because they didn't trust her.
(Delilah Papillon, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:46, Reply)

french teacher
appropriately called "mr mort".

and how it suited him.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:43, Reply)

German and Arts
The German teacher:
The first one had to make a public apology to the class after slapping a pupil. (in my experience German teachers are all weird)

The arts teacher:
He had a little utility room adjascent to his classroom where supplies were stocked, also in the room were a stereo to inspire and his stock of booze. Anyway, his room interconnected with the English teacher's who was quite a pretty woman. Whenever she had a free period or her class had their heads down the door would open and they would go in the utility room for a coffee, quite often the music would come on, and quite often we would here them moan. I'm still not sure if the English teacher is aware that he also had it off with some of the supply teachers when she was ill.
(albator, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:24, Reply)

Piggy Stockton - Physics
He was a special teacher who had my upmost respect.
I struggled with physics so instead of writing my essays I used the medium of pictures to complete the assignments. It was a rare occurence that I got less than 10 out of 10, when I did it invariably was when I attempted to use words.
He also had a soft spot for the class loon and could often be found encouraging him to eat leaves or drink ink.
(I'M JACK MEADOWS, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:12, Reply)

Another Mr Morton
Mr Morton, Maths teacher, not really interested in maths, more interested in regailing us with the time that he used to work as a paramedic. He'd tell us delightful tales of the round traffic accidents that he attended and the severed hands that he found. One story in particular stands out. He told us of the time he had to carry a body in a body bag. The body had been underwater for several weeks, and as he slung the body over his shoulder, the contents slopped to one end. That put us off dinner for weeks that did. Looking back he probably wasn't really cut out for teaching. He was a bit pale.
(don't eat yellow snow, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:10, Reply)

last bunch
Humanities and RE teacher, fantastic teacher, lovely lady. Only to this day I am TOTALLY convinced she was a man. She had an adam's apple for crying out loud.

Mr Tewksbury, evil Welsh bastard, once made a boy cry because he saw him wearing a vest under his shirt. Made him take everything off but his pants and run 10 circuits of the field. In winter. Totally failing to understand he had the vest on because he'd recently recovered from pneumonia, and promptly got it again. Twat.

Music teachers - WRONG'UNS. Screaming queen as department head, who drove away the Nick Cotton-a-like teacher by hitting on him in front of the pupils once too often.

Science teacher, huge man, wide as tall (about 6'4"), had a cataract with streaming white goo from that eye, and white foamy spittle around his mouth. Looked exactly like Father Jack. I was terrified of him, and worked insanely hard to get out of that class just to get away from him.

Worst and wierdest teacher ever though, and I don't mind who knows it, was Mrs Turner. Evil woman, who had a sign on the wall that said "There's no such word as can't, only cannot", which to my logical 8 year old brain was total toss. She used to terrify the class into learning nothing, and her grasp of the English language was amazingly bad. She was only any good at maths, so would have us count beans, as if this helped. She was surly, grumpy, and almost certainly had some form of bi-polar disorder, as her mood swings were terrifying. My brother somehow had her for two years, despite parental complaints. Apparently, their english abilities after two years of her were found to be worse than when they started with her. She often hit pupils by 'accident', and didn't believe fun induced learning. She also had a moustache. She was incredibly scary, violent and a very bad teacher, and we were incredibly scared of her.

she is also the person responsible for approx £1k's worth of dental treatment over the years, as she actually TOLD ME TO RUN FOR THE COACH after telling me NOT TO BOTHER WITH MY SHOELACES. Trip, crash, smash - half a front tooth. My mum should have sued. So she caused me physical pain, too. Behatch. Grr.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:09, Reply)

RE - crrrrrrrrazee subject, crrrrrrrrrazee teacher
West Yorkshire grammar school education, early to mid-eighties - RE teacher was Mr George K***. Perma-tanned but nearly bald middle age weirdo who thought he was both 'cool' and 'down with the kids'. In fact, generally regarded by both other staff and pupils as a pervy knobhead. Fave trick - getting first and second year classes (years 7 and 8 for young whippersnappers here) to do yoga on the desks so he could look up 11 and 12 year-old girls' skirts. Had a permanently locked cupboard in his classroom, strongly rumoured to contain a huge stash of hardcore kiddieporn.

Best story about him (related in later years by our pisshead English teacher who hated the c*nt) - staff were in school for a training day during the summer hols, during the lunch break Georgie-boy decides it's a nice day, promptly unrolls a beach towel and proceeds to sunbathe in the school car park at the front of the building wearing only a pair of obscenely tight speedos. Mastering the bilious attack this induced, English teacher and Chemistry-teaching mate (equally alcoholic and also a good laugh) creep up to the third floor science labs, open a window, and proceed to empty a (water) fire extinguisher over Mr K*** from a great height. Nice prank, but the aftermath was better as there were some roofers at work on the building at the time - who were mildly surprised to be assaulted by a raging, dripping, speedo-clad lunatic who threatened them with a scaffolding pole and accused them of pissing on him from a great height!

George later left the school, no doubt this was completely unrelated to the gossip going round that he had been caught knobbing a 5th former in his car at a local beauty spot.

Ahhhhhhhhh nostalgia.
(testmeuk, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:07, Reply)

Mr Bean
We had a teacher who was going out with a bloke called Mr Bean. Certain suicide when you teach fourteen year olds. After three weeks of constant piss taking we eventually had her fleeing to a cupboard in the middle of a nervous breakdown. She left after that.
(don't eat yellow snow, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 12:01, 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.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:59, Reply)

Can't see
Picture the scene. School camp at the age of twelve. Midnight. Lads all wondering how to make it over to the girl's tents without being seen by grumpy assistant head teacher. We hit upon the age old idea of morse code. So there we are flashing away so to speak, and who comes waltzing into our tent, all red and angry? Only said assistant head teacher. He proceeds to give us a right telling off. As he starts to leave, a small voice at the back of the tent calls out, in aan almost but not quite quiet enough whisper, "cunt!"
Assistant head teacher spins round with the reaction of a small feral animal, bringing the full force of his one million watt torch to bear on the small boy, now beginning to realise that his little outburst was probably a extremely mis-timed.
"cunt see!" he exclaims, blinking in the torch beam, "can't see".
Genius of the first degree.
(don't eat yellow snow, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:58, Reply)

Jenkinses
There seems to be something about maths teachers called Mr Jenkins. There was a rumour that the one at my school had been caught wanking in his store cupboard. Also, he really didn't like being called 'Slaphead', which led to the game of mumbling 'slaphead' just loud enough for him to hear, at which point he would charge around shouting "Who said slaphead?"

And Mr Beasley, who taught technology and woodwork, who liked you if you could do metalwork and agreed to help him build his model steam engine and hated you otherwise. He hated me, but it was mutual.
(yesyesyes, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:58, Reply)

no such thing as a normal teacher
Where to start? Mr Camp, who would play 2oth century classical music at earsplitting volume to 7 year olds, and who would run from the room if he had to be alone with an adult woman?

Mr. O'Grady, who was so proud of his missing fingers, lost in a shotgun accident at 12?

Father O'Brien, who achieved immortality here: www.playgroundlaw.com/cgi-bin/browse.pl?sid=2266

Or Sister Martha, who on a retreat informed the Sixth that "Celibacy is a lot easier when I look at you little arseholes."

Ah, Catholicism! doesn't it make you a fully-rounded human being!
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:53, Reply)

Boden (RE: earlier post below)
The old Dogbone trick!

"I was a dog in a previous life."
"How do you know?"
"I have a dogbone."
"A what?"
"A dogbone! Here, You can feel it above my jawbone...."
*Curious hand approaches face*
(Scream as loud as humanly possible whilst attempting to bite hand) "AGGGGGGGRAWAWWWWOOOF!"

Classic.
(Sir Cunny Funt the Gibbonfiddler, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:44, Reply)

Teach
We locked our metal work teacher, who was a pocked-face ginga-minga, in the metal work store room for a whole period - 45mins.

His whimpering pleads fell on deaf ears as it was the cock-of-the-school who locked him in and no one would dare let him out in fear of a beating.

Our RE teacher new the route of every single bus in the city. You could throw a random number at him and he could tell you the destination of each bus. Why?!
(Axe murderer, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:38, Reply)

I have been waiting a while for a question like this!
We had a music teacher called Mr. Carmen (who was appropriately called "Tootin' Carmen"). He was outrageously tall (around the 7 foot mark), and a bit of a twat. Anyway, after my first year at high school, he was absent with some illness. Thing is, we hardly saw him ever again, and yet he stayed on the pay roll at the school. The reason? They couldn't legally sack him if he turned up for at least one day per year, and he used this fact to his advantage. Work shy twunt.

Then there was Mr. Mort, mentioned in the stupid names qotw for being called Mr. Dead. He was a substitute teacher in our science classes, and he was outrageously old. And Welsh. He looked like a Welsh zombie. He always used to shout stupid things like "Stop talking, it's my voice now"! We asked him what his name was. The answer? "Sir to you". In a stupid fucking Welsh accent.

There was also Mr. Melia, our substitute Chemistry teacher, who was outrageously pervy. He used to work at an all-girls school, and he deemed it appropriate to tell us how good all the young girls looked in their short skirts during the summer. He didn't last very long.

Then there was the large number of teachers that had it in for me specifically, the main one of which was Mr. Haywood, who was outrageously... well, average, really. You see, at school I was a little (read big) bit (read huge fucking dock off bit) mischievous. However, I am also very, very intelligent, meaning that this fella always singled me out from the rest of the class. He actually made me stand up and dance because I couldn't remember a formula. I was also being a mischievous little prick, no doubt punching my mate and shouting "You're a complete bastard, Graeme!", but that's besides the point. He gave me a predicted grade of a D. I got a B. That showed him.
(Keiths Dad, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:35, 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.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:35, 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.
(ShockerMocker, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:34, Reply)

A BOY! A BOY! GOD BE PRAISED! THE KING HAS A BOY!!!
mr cross would howl whenever some poor class had the misfortune to be doing henry viii with him. he would run all over the history block, throwing open doors and bawling it at pupils in other lessons, the library - or even, memorably, the girls' toilets. then he would run back in and jump on the desk, spittle spraying everywhere.

he also disrupted our a-level course on the said tudors to make us watch the supremely irrelevant "a turd's eye view", a gruesomely accurate programme about the path a turd would have taken as it traversed the castle toilets. and got most excited about the things the catholic monks might have gotten up to. dirty, secret, sticky forbidden things. that nobody else gave a flying fuck about.

he had total obsessive compulsive disorder, to the extent that he flipped out if the chairs and desks did not align perfectly with the chequered floor tiles. he went on a yearly pilgrammage to stare at a piece of bird shit on a lamp post in ipswich to see if it was still there. and to see a pair of sheep named "rambo and poppy". they weren't even his sheep. and to see if a pair of pants was still stuck in a certain tree. they weren't even his pants.

worst of all was that i always lose my voice if i go clubbing or to a loud pub. the following day, i sound like a gravel mixer with a 90 a day habit. mr cross would grab his crotch under the desk and make me read out whatever that day's work was, saying excitedly "girls with husky voices really turn me on". is that suitable for a 50 year old man and a class of 17 year olds???

the poor man was a lonely sex starved dwarf. but he didn't need to take it out on the rest of us.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:33, Reply)

All teachers were weird
We had Mr Flynn the chemistry teacher who had really crooked fingers. They were bent and very strange. At the time he was slyly pieing the school librarian, we all knew of course, and decided that he'd got his crooked fingers because he'd been finger banging her. Being kids the idea of her having a fanny like screwball scramble prompted much stifled laughter in chemistry.

Mrs Stanger was a wrinkled prune of a woman, freakishly tall and obviously an RE teacher. She was obssessed with her mutt and always talked about him in class. Then came the day that the dog died and we decided to write a message to her on the blackboard from the dead dog. Suffice to say it wasn't friendly and involved the dog being in hell. She flipped out and had a nervous breakdown. Oh how we laughed. She was replaced by...

Mr Dodds who actually looked like Jesus after a couple more sunday dinners. We did fuck all work in his lessons and that was great. Until the day I got an impromptue bonk on in the class and was asked to stand up. Shame forcing me to cover my afront to god with the bible. oops

The there was Mrs Bates the spanish teacher who was the spitting image of Cruella De Vill. The only fun we found with her was when we discovered her son was a couple of years below us and took it upon ourselves to call him Master Bates for years! Ah the memories!
(Manatee Fondler, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:29, Reply)

A weird one
was a substitute RE teacher who'd once had an out-of-body experience. Everyone in the school knew that if you asked her about it she'd cancel the lesson and instead tell you in great detail about the fateful day she went up to heaven.
( Zuowan, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:23, Reply)

Mr Irving
Mr Irving always turned up late for class...

Andy Milne and another lad,were rummaging around in the class store cupboard where they found some blue carbon paper.

A fight then started to see who could make each others face more blue. Then in walks Mr Irving who just walked straight past them and into the store cupboard. He came out with a sheet of green carbon paper.

"There you go, try it with a different colour" he said as he handed it to young Mr Milne. He then went back into the cupboard to get some books for the lesson.

Then...

In walks Mr Storey, deputy head, does a double take, then booms...

"What on earth are you doing", they both stop with a sense of impending doom...

Mr Irving walks out of the cupboard and looks at them rolling on the floor and says calmly, "What have you been doing you silly boys"

Mr Storey then sent then home to clean up and Mr Irving got on with the lesson. I wonder if the deputy head ever found out the truth ?
(Yellow Car is now red, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:15, Reply)

Mr Stott : The greatest teacher I ever had.
Junior 3 at a school in Wigan and we were introduced to a fairly new teacher called Mr Stott. Prior to being in his class I'd always been left out of any major activities and considered by all but one teacher (the rather strict but still excellent Mrs Rooks) to be an under achiever. But he got me involved in orienteering and other stuff up in the Lake District and generally made me feel that bit more confident.

He once told this story of how he was approached by a woman when buying a washing machine in town. She asked him if he knew her and said he looked familiar. Then told him that he was a dog in a past life and so was she. How did she know this? She'd bitten him and she could tell.

At this point Mr Stott called up the class bully to the front and asked said bully to feel the lump on his head from this bite in a past life. Just as the bully got close Mr Stott barked loudly at him and scared him. The rest of the class fell about laughing.

He left a couple of years after I moved on to secondary school due to ill health. I've never seen him since.

(Update, just did a Google search and apparently he's back there. Still as daft as ever)
( beefandcheese, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:12, Reply)

The worst ever
turned up at our school as a supply teacher and due to a chronic staff shortage ended up taking a variety of classes. It was a state run "Catholic" school in the loosest sense of the word, but this guy was an utter religious fanatic. The first RE lesson I had with him consisted of him locking the door in "the shed" (where we had to go due to 'overcrowding') and showing us 13 year olds pictures of aborted foetuses and telling us we were doomed to hell if we took a sacred life and that the foetus would spend eternity in limbo as it was unbaptised.
A week later he brought in his friend from the local hospice who gave us a 'talk' about euthanasia, after which there was a question and answer session. One kid had the temerity to say he thought euthanasia was ok in certain circumstances and received five minutes of verbal abuse from both the adults present.
It was a few weeks after this that a rumour went around the school that he was in trouble for hitting a child. We were scheduled to have a class with him that afternoon, but he just didn't turn up and it was obvious the staff didn't know he wouldn't be there as a substitute substitute didn't get there for half an hour and then refused to answer any of our questions about him.
We never saw him again. That night "the hut" was burned to the ground and the culprit never caught. The only information we ever got out of the teachers about him was that his friend had been sacked from the hospice for forcibly converting the terminally ill to catholicism.
( Zuowan, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 11:06, Reply)

Its not right i tells ya!
We had a woodwork teacher called Mr.Liddar who had an extra thumb, used to occasionally hold a pencil inbetween thumb and his extra freak one!

And Mr.Hayes, an old northern alcoholic pervert who was fired because someone found a bunch of porn on his computer one morning, also tried to sell a shotgun to one of my mates once upon a time, also used to have a bottle of 'ribena' in his office.....funny that coz he used to screw up his face every time he took a sip. must of been some REALLY hard ribena!
(Xyphious : Sinkin' Gin since '85, Thu 10 Nov 2005, 10:57, Reply)