I did write not long ago about how novel it would be to be 'bored' quite forgetting school-days when I was bored to tears...
Primary school was alright most of the time, but once I went to Secondary school the true meaning of utter boredom came to light. Endless hours with a page of A Midsummer Night's Dream open on the desk, waiting while each member of the class took turns in reading out a couple of lines...some read quickly...many read slowly...it was sheer agony, especially if it was summer time and there was a glimpse of bright blue sky visible through the high and grubby windows...
It wasn't long before I discovered I could put a book on top of Shakespeare and read something more interesting, so long as I kept alert for my turn to read what Bottom said next.
Writing essays and have them come back covered in red pen while being told my imagination ran away with me...again.
The essay that received glowing praise and a gold star was one I'd scribbled down in temper while on the school 'bus...no longer than a page and virtually indecipherable hand-writing.
Then there was geography.
Hours spent on where the cocoa bean came from...more hours on remembering how a main road was marked on a map and whether or not the church had a steeple...the longest river in South America...then the teacher suddenly developed an obsession with cannibals...bit worrying when you think about it...but at least it was relatively interesting for a while.
French? I was told to sit at the back of the class...we'd lived in France when I was small and I could speak fluent French...albeit with a strong Normandy accent which the teacher was horrified by. So I sat at the back and wasn't allowed to speak. I ignored all the lessons on verbs and such like and after a while she stopped asking where my homework was...
We learned how to make chocolate éclair's in Domestic Science...and beat Victoria Sponges to death with wooden spoons...Mother put mine out for the birds. And we had to scrub the bottoms of the saucepans until they were as shiny as the insides...
The same woman took us for sewing...we made gingham aprons to wear in cookery but I never finished mine, so had a t-towel tied round my waist for the entire duration of learning how to scrub a saucepan and beat sponges etc.
Those were the days when Games and Gym were compulsory and you could only dodge them if you had your 'monthlies'...we wore thick white knickers with navy blue knickers on top...they had a little pocket...then a vest and a polo-shirt on top of that. The Hall used to reek of sweaty armpits and boiled cabbage.
Playing hockey was my idea of pure undiluted hell...huge girls with muscly thighs racing down the field armed with a hockey stick, bawling at their team mates, while the teacher blew her whistle and cheered whenever one scored...it could have been lashing down with rain or a snow blizzard blowing,but on that field we had to stay until the bitter end...
Communal showers next...along with half a dozen other girls who thought the very idea of stripping naked in front of twenty others was the total pits...we used to sidle carefully into the locker room or the downstairs toilets and hide until the end of day bell rang and we could emerge looking guilty...
It really only leaves Maths lessons...they were taught by a teacher called Mr Cross, but he never was...he quickly discovered those pupils with a natural aptitude for algebra and solving those silly 'if it takes six men to dig a hole' problems...the rest of us floundered along still doing simple sums and counting on our fingers while the clever ones were grappling with logarithm's...to this day I can't for the life of me understand what use algebra is...
Did you enjoy your schooldays?