Latton Bush Comprehensive School
Although this page is titled Latton Bush Comprehensive School I did also had the indignity of attending Water House Moor Junior School. Althouth things there weren't quite as bad as at Latton Bush there were still problems, one being my form teacher Mr. Deady (pronouced DeeDee). In the era of my schooling days corporal punishment was permitted to be used by teachers and although I was never caned I was spanked a few times this was mainly by, in fact ONLY Mr. Deady who looking back I am now sure had a problem himself. Never a day went by without him calling some poor sod out to the front of the class. ''Touch your toes'', he would command and whoever had been called out would do just that, then he would wallop, and I mean wallop their bottom.
Later in life when I worked for a high street bespoke tailor Mr. Deady ordered a made to meaure suit. I was aged 16 and was unsure of my polical allegence. Even though I was too young to vote I attended a local Labour Party event and lo and behold Mr. Deady was there. Recognising me from where I worked he said drunkenly, ''Now you know why it needs to fit son''. Having recently left school and the likes of him I replied, ''Do you remember spanking me some years ago at Water House Moor?'
'No son'' He replied, ''I've spanked so many little brats in my time I don't remember.'' Makes me wonder...
I wasn't good at sports at all and having such a toad as my gym teacher was real scarey. I clearly remember him having us climb up the ropes that dangled from the gym's ceiling while he stood below bellowing at us. I looked at the dangling ropes with trepidation and nearly shat my pants, I''ll never do this, I thought, but the fear of suffering the wrath of the evil bastard Mr Clark I did and I still don't know how. What I do know is that I ended up with both of my hands covered in huge blisters.
And then there was cross country. What the fuck! We had to run out of the school gates, round the housing estates, up the hill by the common that was so long and steep towards Thakes farm, across Muddy Lane that was a foot deep in wet sticky mud and covered by brambles on either side, round the common, back through Muddy Lane again and back to school totally knackerd and covered in shit while toady Clark followed us on his motorbike. Fucker!
Our art teacher was a creepy pervert who used to call boys out to the front of the class have them bend over his desk and then whack their backside with a wooden T-square.
One of our French Masters, Master, that's a laugh, was called Mr. Wood. He was the most useless jerk you could imagine and couldn't control a class of children if his life depended on it. I hated this fucker! In his infinite wisdom he decided we would all have French nanes, mine was Guillion (william) I hated it. Then he decided we should all have French animal names, I can't rememeber what mine was but he named a girl I had known (JeanneTownsend) since my first day at infant school (and who was my first crush) a Couchon (Pig) ! She was furious and so was I. It was the way it was done, with malice. What a nasty piece of work though I'm please to say he suffered a nervous breakdown and left... Karma!
I've never fathomed out why some teachers were respected and some weren't, I guess they treated us, their pupils with respect even though they were firm they were also fair. Mrs Jones the deputy head was a real tartar though I respected her as I did Mrs Parry my first form teacher, Mr Forder my wood work teacher who was my form teacher in the third year, and who nearly made my piss myself by yelling at me in my first wood work lesson. Mind you, I've never used a metal ruler to poke shavings out of a wood plane since then. Mr Padfield my next gym teacher was great, again firm but very fair and not a bastard like Clark.