A true story of why a boy was left unable to read aloud, even his own prose, for over sixty years
At eleven, I left the St. Anne’s School,
In black and white uniform, I did feel cool,
On Memorial Avenue, my anxieties grew,
With the release of flatulence, I blew a few.
Now, back to one of the youngest there,
Wearing a cloth cap, to cover my hair,
Sporting a ‘C’ on that, and a pocket.
Heart beating so fast, I couldn’t stop it.
First day, was English following registration,
I certainly didn’t suffer, constipation,
Our English teacher was Honeybone,
I later wished I’d stayed at home.
For he’d placed a book on every desk,
Which would set me out, from all the rest,
Whilst reading out aloud, I made a mistake,
And he showed me up, for goodness sake.
“You’ll never do that again!” I vowed,
To myself of course, not aloud,
The look on his face, was that of pleasure,
As I sat there, suffering the pressure.
With venom, he cried. “I beg your pardon?”
Quickly making, my resolve, just harden,
My arse had tightened up some notches,
Whilst around my neck, appeared nervous blotches,
I said “I would rather not sir.”
His punishment? Detention’s what I got,
But he failed to know, I didn’t care,
Goading him, as far as I dare.
I knew every time; I walked through his door,
The Detention Board, I’d be fetching for sure,
This I did, as if full of joy,
Knowing for him, it would certainly annoy
For he didn’t know, I had a gem,
Dad in the army, was an RSM,
Telling me to always, stand and fight,
Of which I did, with much delight.
I will never kowtow to a bully like him,
Succeeding in that, allowed me to grin,
A grin to say, “Up yours mate!
Picking on me, was a big mistake.”