Bouquet or

raspberry

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 2315 you were invited to supply a poem either in praise of a loved teacher in your youth or in mockery of a loathed one.

Portraits of teachers by poets are few. There's the pedantic Holofernes in Love's Labour's Lost; I seem to remember (but my Collected Burns has gone awol) a Willie Michie, possibly an ancestor of mine; and there's the schoolmaster in Goldsmith's The Deserted Village:

Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he: Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.

My own mentors ranged from sadistic monsters to saints. In the old days the Christian Brothers in Ireland had a poor reputation (see Flann O'Brien and William Trevor). Perhaps it was only to be expected that you presented more raspberries than bouquets. Commendations to Katie Mallett, Hugh Munro, Godfrey Bullard and Mae Scanlon. The prizewinners, printed below, get £40 each, and the case of Cobra Premium beer goes to Alan Millard.

Miss Raisin was our teacher. She was gooder than the rest,

Though when we mentioned gooder she remarked, 'Good — better — best!

Good is good but gooder's bad, a word not used in school.

Remember, please, "good — better — best", for that's the golden rule.'

We promised we'd remember and would not get any badder,

Though when we mentioned badder she said, 'Budder makes me sadder, Worse than bad is badder, it's a word you should detest,

Remember "bad — worse — worst" (and, don't forget, "good — better —best")!'

We told Miss Raisin none of us were less than fond of her,

Though when we mentioned were she said: 'The word is was not were.

'None of us was less than fond' sounds better, to be sure, Since was belongs to none (or one) and were belongs to more.

Miss Raisin, though a teacher not remembered for her glamour, Gave us all a graphic grounding in the grind of grasping grammar And, to sum up with a sentence in this valedictory verse, We were better having learned from her, and none of us was worse.

Alan Millard Oh, manly Miss Maiming, what fear she instilled In those innocent girls she sadistically drilled. We wore long shapeless gymslips and panama hats, Navy-blue knickers, our hair in tight plaits, Our skirt lengths checked daily, our fingernails too, And sex education was strictly taboo.

We were meant to suppress all our blossoming charms, Our bare legs a target for accurate palms.

She'd reduce girls to tears with one glower. We'd cower.

How manly Miss Manning delighted in power! Renowned for tweed skirts, lisle-clad legs. stubbled chin — No glimpse of a sweet nature lurking within. Did she never have dreams of romance, gallant knights?

Were we punished for being such nubile young sprites?

Perversely, Miss Manning, you effected a coup: You successfully taught us to not be like you. Rosemary Fisher Miss Morag McFie, Miss Morag McFie, Raw-bonded, ass-jaw-boned, redheaded Wee Free, How we feared you as, mistress of all you surveyed, You were by your galley slaves swiftly obeyed.

What dross were the girls whom by terror you taught, Hurling abuse on the touchline or court: On the baseline don't volley!' you screamed in despair.

Some girls gently giggled, but most didn't dare.

How ample your thighs in your clan's famous kilt, Yet weekly (and weakly) your pupils would wilt, As you showed how to bully, a word we soon learned, Downing sticks but not tools, while for full-time we yearned.

Miss Morag McFie, Miss Morag McFie, Your own final whistle at last set girls free.

You had shown for so long one can run but not hide That St Peter, I'm sure, picked you first for his side. Joanna Crooks Jesus Jones we used to call him (And a dozen nicknames more), A creeping Christian, oozing God From every pious pore.

Once, in a lesson on bullying, He read from Lord of the Flies And spoke in earnest, tearful tones Of Piggy's sad demise, Then asked the class to nominate The boy you consider to be The Pigg of the Lower Fourth The votes were cast: it was me.

Revenge is a dish best served cold (I've saved this up since school). So on your knees, Jesus Jones. Bishop of Liverpool.

Christopher Steare

No. 2318: So what?

'Herrings communicate with one another by emitting high-pitched sounds from their anuses, according to Canadian researchers,' says a recent news item. You are invited to supply an equally unriveting triumph of scientific research, together with an explanation of how it may benefit the human race. Maximum 150 words. Entries to 'Competition No 2318' by 27 November.