I was 10 and we were studying South America.

We were asked if we knew where The Andes were.

I replied "At the end of the Wristies, sir"

Silence and blowing tumbleweed ensued before I got detention!

...is a sadistic games master, one Mr Roberts. As well as seeing him hit a kid on the nose with the pointed end of a rugby ball (blood everywhere), I personally experienced his wrath when mucking around in the Gym one day.

My friend and I were pulling each others shoelaces, or something equally innocuous (were were both bona-fide swots/nerds), whilst he held court in the middle of the room explaining the finer points of basketball to about 100 kids. Spying us, he stopped and called us to the centre of the room with the words "Kids like you make me puke - come here!". We walked forward, expecting to be made to do press ups or something, but my friend, who was slightly ahead of me, received a punch to the sternum which knocked him down. Unwilling to show favouritism, he gave me one too. I remained on the floor, my friend unwisely got back up and was knocked down again.

I would have been about 13, so 1983. It's a positively surreal memory.

I do hope Molesworth responds with some memories. Perhaps he could tell us more about the weedy wet boy who kept goal saying "hello birds, hello trees" chizz chizz

double post - ignore

that always springs to my mind is of our woodwork teacher Mr "Bummer" Langley. He was about 50 years old in the late 70's and he had that harshly cut side parting hair cut and square jaw that made him look like a Sergeant Major we were all terrified of him. He had a metal ruler with the word "OUCH" written backwards in chalk on it so when he whacked you across the arse with it no-one was left in any doubt for the rest of the day the you had been got. He had a habit of tucking unruly shirts in, far to deliberately to be honest which is where the "Bummer" handle came in. There were horror stories circulating the school about him and his out of school activities. About 5 years after I left that school I heard that he had been arrested for an incident in the local public toilets. He must have been teaching boys woodwork for 40 years, ouch!

was our form master. One afternoon while waiting for lunchtime to end he espied some of the thicker kids messing around with a full-face gorilla mask. He confided to us (the brighter kids - ahem!) "Some people have a funny idea of beauty" "Yeah, like your wife!" remarked my best friend before he was sent for the cane.

There were two schools within half a mile of each other and halfway through my schooling I had reason to switch.

In my last days at the first school there was an incident which resulted in the entire population of my school going to the other school at lunchtime to fix them up (except me and a couple of mates, we went to the fish and chip shop instead) and right whatever wrong had been perpetrated.

Well, when they came back I was regaled with endless amazing stories of courage and derring-dom "They're chickens! We chased them through their school etc" By all accounts it was a triumph deluxe. They'd never mess with us again.

A little while later I was a student at the other school and I asked my new classmates what had happened and heard the exact same story except in reverse, the thrust of ir was "They're chickens! We chased them back to their school."

So I asked a teacher and he said "Oh I remember that, the two groups stood on either side of the road yelling at each other then the teachers arrived and they ran away in different directions."

Three versions of the same story and I know which one I beleive.

I had the benefit of an all-boys Catholic high school education, mum was from Bavaria dad from Gujarat - I think they flipped a coin for it, that was characterised by random violence and bullying.

And that was just the staff (boom, boom).

But my favourite tale is the RE lesson where we taught the evils of masturbation, spilling one's seed on barren ground and all that. Given that we were 12 or 13 at the time, this was always a concept destined to itself fall on barren ground.

But they persevered, and instead of the pleasures of madam palm and her five sisters we were told to indulge in deep-breathing exercises.

And then came the practical. Thirty-odd schoolboys lead into hyperventilation by our going-deaf RE teacher who boomed his 'breath deeper, hold it in, don't let it out' instructions.

I guess the 'high' was intended to be a better offer.

I confess the lesson didn't swing me to the side of Godliness. And I'll wager I wasn't alone.

or "Beer" as he was not particularly fondly known (due to our diagnosis on why he packed a paunch) was a design technology teacher at Brakenhale.

Design Technology appeared to me to be woodwork and metalwork combined with the raw materials taken away. Hence the lesson on plastics where we learnt that moulded plastic containers could be very strong.

So strong, in fact, that Mr Bullard told us that 4 yoghurt pots, placed under a large piece of wood, one in each corner, would take the weight of a Mini.

He then proceeded to take 2 empty yoghurt pots and, placing a plank of wood on the top of them and his hands on top of the plank, leant on the wood. The pots squashed almost instantly.

I, on some psychotic thirst for knowledge, asked if that meant that he weighed more than a Mini?

I don't recall the answer as he picked up the wood and clipped me on the head with it. I did get a massive laugh from the rest of the class though....

I went to one of those bog standard grammar schools. We had a history teacher who was a decent sort and gave the lads a break now and again. So at Xmas he devised a general knowldege quiz with prizes. The questions were usually capital cities, famous battles, pop tunes etc. I remember he had a round called Famous Gangsters. Starting with a lad right at the front who was not the sharpest spanner in the toolbox.

Teacher: William, you can go first. Name a famous gangster.
Young William (looking a bit flushed): Sir I dunno Err, Oh, James Cagney sir.

cue riotous laughter and pisstaking.

a quiet and relatively young master had an astonishing gift. He could guess exactly how many items there were in any given collection. How many matches in a matchbox, how many shoes in a pile on the changing room floor, how many books in a bookcase. He was always exactly right. I still don't know how he did it.

Many horror stories of a comprehensive in the early 80's. One, though, I remember in a sad but nice way. Mr Wren. A metalwork teacher. Christmas Eve, 1980 or so, his son, Tim, cycling back from choir at midnight mass, was killed in a hit-and-run incident. The driver was never caught. Mr Wren was back teaching in January but was a broken man. But was also the one teacher who never had any trouble from any of his classes. He would often break down in tears and would be hugged by any pupils who were near to him because they sort of understood.

Another story I copy from the Queen thread. Apologies if you've alredy read it.

I liked a few Queen songs. But my Auntie Hilary, the staunch, church-going, uptight holier-than-thou one, was a huge Queen fan. I couldn't like Queen for that reason.

One day there was a problem. You remember those moments? You heard something said in a certain way by a certain person in a certain place which, as with Proust and his Madeline, burns itself into the psyche? This was such a moment. John "Eddie" Edwards, foul-mouthed sage of class 2E, late 1980, in the changing-rooms, post gym-class, having regaled us with a particularly ripe interpretation of Ottawan's D.I.S.C.O. passed on his opinions as regards one Frederic Bulsara. "Freddie fuckin' Mercury.. 'e's a fuckin' bender, innee? 'S why vey's cawed fuckin' Queen, innit? 'Cos 'e's a fuckin' poofter, innee?"

We, of course, begged to differ and asked for a reasoned debate to be opened on the matter. Eddie informed us that his older brother had told him so and that his brother would be delighted to join the debate in a somewhat physical manner.

We decided to adjourn. Eddie's Big Bruv being a noted nutter.

I did wonder, however, how Auntie Hilary would react if Eddie's brother's words proved true.

Ten years along, she shat purple bricks.

yes, the twat that won some medal in the olympics. he's a twat of the first order.