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| ‘I was in awe’: our most inspiring teachers – and what they recall about us | ‘I was in awe’: our most inspiring teachers – and what they recall about us |
| (about 1 hour later) | |
| Decca Aitkenhead: ‘Andy taught me a secret that very few students had been taught’ | |
| In 1989, when I sat history A-level, had anyone asked me what I would remember about Andy Pickering’s lessons, I would have given the wrong answer. The syllabus covered Tudors and Stuarts, the Reformation and so on, and the big question preoccupying my classmates and me was: “When did people begin to stop believing in God?” We simply couldn’t get our secular minds around the idea that it hadn’t occurred to anyone to be an atheist. | In 1989, when I sat history A-level, had anyone asked me what I would remember about Andy Pickering’s lessons, I would have given the wrong answer. The syllabus covered Tudors and Stuarts, the Reformation and so on, and the big question preoccupying my classmates and me was: “When did people begin to stop believing in God?” We simply couldn’t get our secular minds around the idea that it hadn’t occurred to anyone to be an atheist. |
| But while I was busy badgering Andy to explain how atheism came about, I failed to notice that he was teaching me a skill I would use every single day of my life. Andy taught me how to approach an essay not as an opportunity to demonstrate how many facts I’d managed to memorise, but as an exercise in presenting competing arguments. I learned how to devise two or more interpretations of a historical narrative, and to test them against each other in order to arrive at a conclusion. Andy didn’t – as Michael Gove might assume – teach me that facts were unimportant. On the contrary, I quickly learned that a thesis unsubstantiated by factual evidence would be marked an automatic fail. Instead, Andy taught me to identify salient facts, and deploy them to maximum effect to justify an argument. It was a total revelation. | But while I was busy badgering Andy to explain how atheism came about, I failed to notice that he was teaching me a skill I would use every single day of my life. Andy taught me how to approach an essay not as an opportunity to demonstrate how many facts I’d managed to memorise, but as an exercise in presenting competing arguments. I learned how to devise two or more interpretations of a historical narrative, and to test them against each other in order to arrive at a conclusion. Andy didn’t – as Michael Gove might assume – teach me that facts were unimportant. On the contrary, I quickly learned that a thesis unsubstantiated by factual evidence would be marked an automatic fail. Instead, Andy taught me to identify salient facts, and deploy them to maximum effect to justify an argument. It was a total revelation. |
| At university I discovered that this was a secret very few, even those from elite private schools, had been taught. When I landed an internship at my first newspaper, the editor asked me to create a new daily feature – The Big Debate – presenting two contradictory arguments about issues of the day, such as euthanasia or foxhunting and so on. “But this is easy!” I remember thinking. “It’s just what Andy taught me!” It was on the strength of The Big Debate’s success that my career in journalism began. | At university I discovered that this was a secret very few, even those from elite private schools, had been taught. When I landed an internship at my first newspaper, the editor asked me to create a new daily feature – The Big Debate – presenting two contradictory arguments about issues of the day, such as euthanasia or foxhunting and so on. “But this is easy!” I remember thinking. “It’s just what Andy taught me!” It was on the strength of The Big Debate’s success that my career in journalism began. |
| I have been a journalist for more than 20 years now, and can still detect Andy’s teaching in every single column, feature and interview I have ever written. | I have been a journalist for more than 20 years now, and can still detect Andy’s teaching in every single column, feature and interview I have ever written. |
| Decca’s teacher Andy Pickering | |
| Programme manager, Strode College in partnership with Plymouth University | Programme manager, Strode College in partnership with Plymouth University |
| I remember Decca – or Jessica, as she was known to the staff – as attentive and hard-working, and seeming to enjoy the challenge of making sense of obscure primary sources and unpicking historians’ arguments. She didn’t know it, but we were both learning the craft of being an effective student of history at the same time. They didn’t worry over-much about methodology in school history classes when I was at school in the 1970s – we were crammed with facts and expected to devise our own ways of explaining them in exams. If they taught the rigorous science of analysis and the subtle art of interpretation at university in the early 80s, these passed me by. I remember, at this very early stage in my career, working hard at finding a formula for resolving the tricky business of planning and writing top-notch history essays. What I learned along the way, through the deconstruction of quality history writing, I passed on to Decca and her classmates. I have been trying to do the same for her successors ever since. | I remember Decca – or Jessica, as she was known to the staff – as attentive and hard-working, and seeming to enjoy the challenge of making sense of obscure primary sources and unpicking historians’ arguments. She didn’t know it, but we were both learning the craft of being an effective student of history at the same time. They didn’t worry over-much about methodology in school history classes when I was at school in the 1970s – we were crammed with facts and expected to devise our own ways of explaining them in exams. If they taught the rigorous science of analysis and the subtle art of interpretation at university in the early 80s, these passed me by. I remember, at this very early stage in my career, working hard at finding a formula for resolving the tricky business of planning and writing top-notch history essays. What I learned along the way, through the deconstruction of quality history writing, I passed on to Decca and her classmates. I have been trying to do the same for her successors ever since. |
| Owen Jones: ‘I was a cocky git so I appreciated his no-nonsense attitude’ | |
| I have always needed a bit of tough love. History was the subject I loved most, and went on to study at university. That ambition hung by a thread, though, when I spectacularly messed up my history AS exam. I was in my first year at Ridge Danyers sixth-form college in Stockport. In what can only be described as abject stupidity, I -misread the instructions and failed to answer two questions from the same section, thereby -failing the entire exam. I remember two creeping senses: panic, and a desire to punch myself in the face repeatedly. The college – with the support of my history teacher, Andy Dixon – wanted me to apply to Oxford University. A failed history exam was going to make that difficult. I plucked up the courage to tell him, and the response was curt: “Oh, you stupid bloody idiot!” | |
| Andy Dixon was a blunt, but inspiring history teacher. As an argumentative so-and-so, it was an ideal subject for debating and discussing ideas, and that’s what he nurtured. He encouraged my fascination with subjects such as the Spanish civil war and helped me put my beliefs in a broader historical context and understanding. I could be a cocky little git, so I appreciated his no-nonsense attitude. Fortunately, he helped explain to Oxford my screw-up, so I made it in the end. I’ve ended up where I am today – for good or for ill – thanks to the efforts of teachers like Andy. | Andy Dixon was a blunt, but inspiring history teacher. As an argumentative so-and-so, it was an ideal subject for debating and discussing ideas, and that’s what he nurtured. He encouraged my fascination with subjects such as the Spanish civil war and helped me put my beliefs in a broader historical context and understanding. I could be a cocky little git, so I appreciated his no-nonsense attitude. Fortunately, he helped explain to Oxford my screw-up, so I made it in the end. I’ve ended up where I am today – for good or for ill – thanks to the efforts of teachers like Andy. |
| Owen’s teacher Andy Dixon | |
| Semi-retired history teacher | Semi-retired history teacher |
| Owen’s fresh-faced looks made him appear younger than his contemporaries, but his total lack of reticence made him stand out as a confident, able and opinionated student. Owen did not fit into any standard category of A-level student. Perhaps surprisingly, he chose not to study A-level politics. Owen’s political standpoint was obvious, but this did not prevent him making genuine friendships with lots of students with different views, or none. He was never on the educational conveyor belt, but was open to ideas, debates and arguments. Having Owen in a class meant there was never any shortage of argument. Debates about history and politics continued after the end of lessons. On one occasion, I had a very truncated lunch break due to an interminable argument about the role of Stalinism in the defeat of the Spanish Republic. He showed no deference to teachers, and a colleague had to ask Owen to leave a lesson because his “lively interventions” were too disruptive of the learning of other students. He was enough of a conformist to always sit in the same seat in my lessons – although it was at the back! | Owen’s fresh-faced looks made him appear younger than his contemporaries, but his total lack of reticence made him stand out as a confident, able and opinionated student. Owen did not fit into any standard category of A-level student. Perhaps surprisingly, he chose not to study A-level politics. Owen’s political standpoint was obvious, but this did not prevent him making genuine friendships with lots of students with different views, or none. He was never on the educational conveyor belt, but was open to ideas, debates and arguments. Having Owen in a class meant there was never any shortage of argument. Debates about history and politics continued after the end of lessons. On one occasion, I had a very truncated lunch break due to an interminable argument about the role of Stalinism in the defeat of the Spanish Republic. He showed no deference to teachers, and a colleague had to ask Owen to leave a lesson because his “lively interventions” were too disruptive of the learning of other students. He was enough of a conformist to always sit in the same seat in my lessons – although it was at the back! |
| Hadley Freeman: ‘An easy option I was not. Charlie had a soft spot for lost causes’ | |
| I met Charlie when my mother and I travelled up to Cambridge together in 1998, looking for a boarding school for me. It is no surprise that he persuaded me to come to his school, Cambridge Centre for Sixth-form Studies (CCSS): he was enthusiastic, laidback, inspiring, friendly, and, as a bonus, he had a Scottish accent that I thought exotic and my mother found impenetrable. Far more puzzling is why he agreed to take me on. I was not, to put it mildly, a promising prospect. I had just left hospital for the last time after eight admissions over a three-year period due to severe anorexia nervosa and I was, at this point, riddled with neuroses and enormously time-consuming OCDs, as well as being still pretty underweight. An easy option I was not. But I think Charlie has a soft spot for lost causes, and I wanted to keep up with my school year. So, having taken my GCSEs in a three-month crammer course while in hospital, I now needed to do my A-levels in a year, which is what CCSS offered. | I met Charlie when my mother and I travelled up to Cambridge together in 1998, looking for a boarding school for me. It is no surprise that he persuaded me to come to his school, Cambridge Centre for Sixth-form Studies (CCSS): he was enthusiastic, laidback, inspiring, friendly, and, as a bonus, he had a Scottish accent that I thought exotic and my mother found impenetrable. Far more puzzling is why he agreed to take me on. I was not, to put it mildly, a promising prospect. I had just left hospital for the last time after eight admissions over a three-year period due to severe anorexia nervosa and I was, at this point, riddled with neuroses and enormously time-consuming OCDs, as well as being still pretty underweight. An easy option I was not. But I think Charlie has a soft spot for lost causes, and I wanted to keep up with my school year. So, having taken my GCSEs in a three-month crammer course while in hospital, I now needed to do my A-levels in a year, which is what CCSS offered. |
| Like many people with anorexia, I was an obsessive student, chanelling my anxieties into my studies. But whereas some teachers would encourage that, Charlie wasn’t having any of it. He encouraged me to think of my studies as fun, a heretofore unconsidered concept. But more than that, he urged me to do more than just study. He would casually let me know when a movie or play he thought I’d like was on in town, and he suggested I start writing for myself, not just to do well in my A-Levels. In short, he told me to stop taking everything so seriously while also telling me to have more confidence in myself. I didn’t entirely succeed in either but I still, 20 years on, remember his lessons. Only the best kind of teacher can get you to do that. | Like many people with anorexia, I was an obsessive student, chanelling my anxieties into my studies. But whereas some teachers would encourage that, Charlie wasn’t having any of it. He encouraged me to think of my studies as fun, a heretofore unconsidered concept. But more than that, he urged me to do more than just study. He would casually let me know when a movie or play he thought I’d like was on in town, and he suggested I start writing for myself, not just to do well in my A-Levels. In short, he told me to stop taking everything so seriously while also telling me to have more confidence in myself. I didn’t entirely succeed in either but I still, 20 years on, remember his lessons. Only the best kind of teacher can get you to do that. |
| Hadley’s teacher Charlie Ritchie | |
| English teacher, Cambridge Centre for Sixth-form Studies | English teacher, Cambridge Centre for Sixth-form Studies |
| Hadley was in my English group, where we went from Chaucer to Heaney in three fast-and-furious terms. My favourite kind of teaching. No time to hang about, but complete freedom to energise the texts in any way that would work for the pupils. I honestly remember smiling halfway through Hamlet with her class thinking … “I’m getting paid for this?” | Hadley was in my English group, where we went from Chaucer to Heaney in three fast-and-furious terms. My favourite kind of teaching. No time to hang about, but complete freedom to energise the texts in any way that would work for the pupils. I honestly remember smiling halfway through Hamlet with her class thinking … “I’m getting paid for this?” |
| Hadley was very focused, hardworking, and kept her own counsel, but in a small-group interaction she was equally gracious, funny and generous with the quite diverse mix of personalities involved (including mine). She was, of course, gifted and skilful in her writing, but her personal voice “occasionally tended to the implicit” as the examiners say, and when someone is already working flat out (and not necessarily in rude health), it is hard to ask them for more. One time I had to, and will not forget her waiting outside school as I came in at 8.30am. I knew what she had to say, and I knew what I had to say, and I knew we would be fine. A witty and genuine interlocutor, and a frail wee soul in a cold car park. With tough skills. | Hadley was very focused, hardworking, and kept her own counsel, but in a small-group interaction she was equally gracious, funny and generous with the quite diverse mix of personalities involved (including mine). She was, of course, gifted and skilful in her writing, but her personal voice “occasionally tended to the implicit” as the examiners say, and when someone is already working flat out (and not necessarily in rude health), it is hard to ask them for more. One time I had to, and will not forget her waiting outside school as I came in at 8.30am. I knew what she had to say, and I knew what I had to say, and I knew we would be fine. A witty and genuine interlocutor, and a frail wee soul in a cold car park. With tough skills. |
| Lola Okolosie: ‘You were expected to expel the waffle and have your own response’ | |
| Most of us will remember one teacher in particular. We carry vivid images of their gait and can recall the way in which they held a room. At their very best, they can be the most captivating of professionals. For me, it was Mrs Jones, my A-level English literature teacher, who had a huge impact on my school life. | Most of us will remember one teacher in particular. We carry vivid images of their gait and can recall the way in which they held a room. At their very best, they can be the most captivating of professionals. For me, it was Mrs Jones, my A-level English literature teacher, who had a huge impact on my school life. |
| I was all set for studying sociology but Mrs Jones’ lessons made me reconsider. There was her glamour and sense of style. With the red lipstick and chunky jewellery, she stood out, and made learning English in the tiny attic room we were allocated cool. | I was all set for studying sociology but Mrs Jones’ lessons made me reconsider. There was her glamour and sense of style. With the red lipstick and chunky jewellery, she stood out, and made learning English in the tiny attic room we were allocated cool. |
| It wasn’t Dead Poet’s Society. We weren’t her little lambs and that was what made her lessons so much fun. You were expected to expel the waffle and come to her with your own individual responses. My Nigerian upbringing, of adults being right and children being seen and not heard, hadn’t really prepared me for accepting that my thoughts were valid, all by themselves. | It wasn’t Dead Poet’s Society. We weren’t her little lambs and that was what made her lessons so much fun. You were expected to expel the waffle and come to her with your own individual responses. My Nigerian upbringing, of adults being right and children being seen and not heard, hadn’t really prepared me for accepting that my thoughts were valid, all by themselves. |
| Mrs Jones inspired me because she resisted treating us like children. At times it felt a little bruising, but then the knowledge that she expected the absolute best from you made you believe you were, in some way, capable of it. By the time I began my undergraduate degree it felt like an anti-climax, we seemed to be covering old ground, well worn at sixth form. She collapsed the sense of distance that shrouds literary giants, such as Shakespeare and Keats, and made them seem as much ours as anyone elses. | Mrs Jones inspired me because she resisted treating us like children. At times it felt a little bruising, but then the knowledge that she expected the absolute best from you made you believe you were, in some way, capable of it. By the time I began my undergraduate degree it felt like an anti-climax, we seemed to be covering old ground, well worn at sixth form. She collapsed the sense of distance that shrouds literary giants, such as Shakespeare and Keats, and made them seem as much ours as anyone elses. |
| Lola’s teacher Karen Jones | |
| Former assistant head at Ilkley grammar school | Former assistant head at Ilkley grammar school |
| I still have all my notes on from the days when I taught Lola’s group. Nowadays, all my lessons are electronically presented and stored on a hard drive but, perhaps rather quaintly, I have kept everything from that era. For these people were a special bunch: the sort of class you remember because you could recognise their potential; the sort of students who make the job worthwhile – the reason you came into teaching. | I still have all my notes on from the days when I taught Lola’s group. Nowadays, all my lessons are electronically presented and stored on a hard drive but, perhaps rather quaintly, I have kept everything from that era. For these people were a special bunch: the sort of class you remember because you could recognise their potential; the sort of students who make the job worthwhile – the reason you came into teaching. |
| We were timetabled to have our lessons in a tiny, dusty room with funny little seats that had swivel tables attached. It felt like a university seminar room. Our view looked out onto the school’s front lawn and we could see Ilkley moor beyond. Looking through my papers now, I can see that I played on the undergraduate vibe: we spent ages talking, arguing and discussing and Lola loved to wrestle with the texts before writing her essays in her inimitable handwriting. I always tried to encourage her to be confident in developing her own responses and I enjoyed seeing what she made of the ideas. It was a privilege to teach her. | We were timetabled to have our lessons in a tiny, dusty room with funny little seats that had swivel tables attached. It felt like a university seminar room. Our view looked out onto the school’s front lawn and we could see Ilkley moor beyond. Looking through my papers now, I can see that I played on the undergraduate vibe: we spent ages talking, arguing and discussing and Lola loved to wrestle with the texts before writing her essays in her inimitable handwriting. I always tried to encourage her to be confident in developing her own responses and I enjoyed seeing what she made of the ideas. It was a privilege to teach her. |
| Nosheen Iqbal: ‘I was in awe. So were the other teachers. So was my mum’ | |
| Media studies is, as snide cliche goes, a complete doss. The Mickey Mouse of A-levels where you actually get to, well, study Mickey Mouse’s place in contemporary culture, or something. Except, one thing: Mr Ellison. | Media studies is, as snide cliche goes, a complete doss. The Mickey Mouse of A-levels where you actually get to, well, study Mickey Mouse’s place in contemporary culture, or something. Except, one thing: Mr Ellison. |
| I can’t think of a single teacher from my averagely rough comprehensive who has had such a profound effect on so many of my friends. Some, without even having directly taught them. But Mr Ellison was also the vice-principal of our now-defunct school on the edge of Peterborough and his classroom time was limited. We considered ourselves lucky to be his first test batch wading through a roll-call of French thinkers – Barthes, Baudrillard, Bataille – and applying Italian Marxist theory to our poncey breaktime chat about EastEnders. | I can’t think of a single teacher from my averagely rough comprehensive who has had such a profound effect on so many of my friends. Some, without even having directly taught them. But Mr Ellison was also the vice-principal of our now-defunct school on the edge of Peterborough and his classroom time was limited. We considered ourselves lucky to be his first test batch wading through a roll-call of French thinkers – Barthes, Baudrillard, Bataille – and applying Italian Marxist theory to our poncey breaktime chat about EastEnders. |
| That was the real point, in any case: being taught to truly think. To be original. Given that he commanded so much authority and respect, it’s funny that one of the things I remember most is his influence in making me question both. He taught us the history of rebellion: mods, rockers, punks, commies, hackers. When William Hague, then newly elected leader of the Conservative party, helicoptered in to make a visit to the school, rumour went round that lefty, motorcycling Mr Ellison refused to shake his hand. | That was the real point, in any case: being taught to truly think. To be original. Given that he commanded so much authority and respect, it’s funny that one of the things I remember most is his influence in making me question both. He taught us the history of rebellion: mods, rockers, punks, commies, hackers. When William Hague, then newly elected leader of the Conservative party, helicoptered in to make a visit to the school, rumour went round that lefty, motorcycling Mr Ellison refused to shake his hand. |
| I was in awe. So were the other teachers. So was my mum. My parents were inordinately strict about my post-school social life, trading it for a liberal indulgence in all the music, films and books I could cram in my room. But a Mr Ellison-sanctioned excuse to go off and earnestly report from a local farmer’s fair, make prototype podcasts on a four track or crappy fanzines was never questioned. I don’t remotely doubt it’s why I ended up where I did. | I was in awe. So were the other teachers. So was my mum. My parents were inordinately strict about my post-school social life, trading it for a liberal indulgence in all the music, films and books I could cram in my room. But a Mr Ellison-sanctioned excuse to go off and earnestly report from a local farmer’s fair, make prototype podcasts on a four track or crappy fanzines was never questioned. I don’t remotely doubt it’s why I ended up where I did. |
| Nosheen’s teacher: Malcolm Ellison | |
| Vice-principal, Stanground College | Vice-principal, Stanground College |
| Nosheen was a star among a small cluster of stars in my first media studies cohort at Stanground College. It was a fun class to be in. | Nosheen was a star among a small cluster of stars in my first media studies cohort at Stanground College. It was a fun class to be in. |
| She was always keen to engage in discussion and – at GCSE level, and even more so at A-level – Nosheen grasped complex ideas quickly. However, she never simply accepted these ideas, but would often test them out with comments such as: “OK. But what if ...” | She was always keen to engage in discussion and – at GCSE level, and even more so at A-level – Nosheen grasped complex ideas quickly. However, she never simply accepted these ideas, but would often test them out with comments such as: “OK. But what if ...” |
| Nosheen dealt with theory confidently, but she really lit up when it came to practical work, becoming absorbed in it and going beyond what was required. She simply loved getting stuck in. | Nosheen dealt with theory confidently, but she really lit up when it came to practical work, becoming absorbed in it and going beyond what was required. She simply loved getting stuck in. |
| From the start, she was passionately interested in popular culture, especially the music industry, and was a true asset in lessons. She would bring her knowledge to bear on the topic under discussion and enrich it with current and real-world examples. | From the start, she was passionately interested in popular culture, especially the music industry, and was a true asset in lessons. She would bring her knowledge to bear on the topic under discussion and enrich it with current and real-world examples. |
| Was there ever a downside? Well, occasionally, she would need an extension to an essay deadline, but I’m sure she has no such problem these days. | Was there ever a downside? Well, occasionally, she would need an extension to an essay deadline, but I’m sure she has no such problem these days. |
| Paula Cocozza: ‘One lesson was spent asking how we knew we existed’ | |
| He would enter the room swinging a briefcase, which he often slammed on the desk with a moody thud. The class bristled with expectation and dread. You never knew what you were going to get with Mr Hartley. He demanded concentration. Once, he stood on his desk and watched us file in, remaining statuesque long after we took our seats. Another time, he sang Elvis. It was rumoured that he had extended his coffee mug to the author of a disappointing essay, held his gaze, daring him to act, and when he didn’t, let it smash on the floor. | He would enter the room swinging a briefcase, which he often slammed on the desk with a moody thud. The class bristled with expectation and dread. You never knew what you were going to get with Mr Hartley. He demanded concentration. Once, he stood on his desk and watched us file in, remaining statuesque long after we took our seats. Another time, he sang Elvis. It was rumoured that he had extended his coffee mug to the author of a disappointing essay, held his gaze, daring him to act, and when he didn’t, let it smash on the floor. |
| In his classes we hovered on the edge of adulthood. One lesson was spent investigating how we knew we existed. The question seemed to us idiotic. But Mr Hartley rebuffed all our proofs and, when the bell rang, we trudged out wearily, as if we had fought for our lives. That was our introduction to Descartes. He told us about Freud. “If Paula had a bad arm,” he begun, “Freud would say….” Mercifully, he thought better of that one; the sentence was left hanging. | In his classes we hovered on the edge of adulthood. One lesson was spent investigating how we knew we existed. The question seemed to us idiotic. But Mr Hartley rebuffed all our proofs and, when the bell rang, we trudged out wearily, as if we had fought for our lives. That was our introduction to Descartes. He told us about Freud. “If Paula had a bad arm,” he begun, “Freud would say….” Mercifully, he thought better of that one; the sentence was left hanging. |
| Most of all, he gave me a love of books. I carried his reading list – typed over two sides of A4 – for years from the age of 12, the paper felting and furring as I ticked off JD Salinger, Thomas Hardy, F Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck. They were names I heard nowhere else. Ours was not a reading household, beyond the Avon catalogue (which I loved) and the Sun. But now I would stop at the library on my way home. I was spending more time alone with a book, but I felt so much less alone. My family had always veered towards work rather than education, and as my GCSEs approached I began to consider which apprenticeship to apply for. But books had taken hold and I enrolled instead for A-levels at the local sixth form. Mr Hartley unlocked worlds for me. I sidestepped the future. | Most of all, he gave me a love of books. I carried his reading list – typed over two sides of A4 – for years from the age of 12, the paper felting and furring as I ticked off JD Salinger, Thomas Hardy, F Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck. They were names I heard nowhere else. Ours was not a reading household, beyond the Avon catalogue (which I loved) and the Sun. But now I would stop at the library on my way home. I was spending more time alone with a book, but I felt so much less alone. My family had always veered towards work rather than education, and as my GCSEs approached I began to consider which apprenticeship to apply for. But books had taken hold and I enrolled instead for A-levels at the local sixth form. Mr Hartley unlocked worlds for me. I sidestepped the future. |
| He left soon after, for a deputy headship elsewhere. On his last day, he handed us each a photocopied homemade card: a sketch of school with the Sussex downs behind. Inside was a limerick about “a teacher in Goring / whose lessons were all very boring” – and a note. Mine ended with the words “and thanks for being you”. At the time, I didn’t even know I was me, but a door seemed to open right then to a different life. | He left soon after, for a deputy headship elsewhere. On his last day, he handed us each a photocopied homemade card: a sketch of school with the Sussex downs behind. Inside was a limerick about “a teacher in Goring / whose lessons were all very boring” – and a note. Mine ended with the words “and thanks for being you”. At the time, I didn’t even know I was me, but a door seemed to open right then to a different life. |
| Paula’s teacher Ges Hartley, head of English, Chatsmore Catholic high school, Worthing | |
| Paula had an intellectual hunger that was sufficient to command respect among her sometimes more verbally ostentatious and more physically dominant peers. She was quiet, but not intimidated. I am sure that I am not the only teacher of English who would, having collected in a mound of creative-writing assignments, surreptitiously ensure that, when marking commenced, at the bottom of the pile there would be something to savour. So that was the regular location of Paula’s writings. Did I think I would have such a lasting impact on her? No. Does anybody? I wanted to influence her and others at the time, to develop a passion for learning, for thinking, for creativity; and you hope that will endure | Paula had an intellectual hunger that was sufficient to command respect among her sometimes more verbally ostentatious and more physically dominant peers. She was quiet, but not intimidated. I am sure that I am not the only teacher of English who would, having collected in a mound of creative-writing assignments, surreptitiously ensure that, when marking commenced, at the bottom of the pile there would be something to savour. So that was the regular location of Paula’s writings. Did I think I would have such a lasting impact on her? No. Does anybody? I wanted to influence her and others at the time, to develop a passion for learning, for thinking, for creativity; and you hope that will endure |
| • Is there a teacher you’ll always remember? Share your stories with us: theguardian.com/education/2016/sep/13/who-is-your-favourite-teacher-tell-us-your-story | • Is there a teacher you’ll always remember? Share your stories with us: theguardian.com/education/2016/sep/13/who-is-your-favourite-teacher-tell-us-your-story |