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The Music Teacher



I
 recollect aged about 10 having an argument, a strong disagreement,  with the music teacher at my Primary School. Iin fact it was one of many that I had with her. I don’t why but she just irritated the young David; she was not a soft teacher, she had no hesitation in throwing you out of the room. Possibly that was it, there was physical retribution taken, she was one of the few teachers that didn’t mete out the ruler or cane. I had to test her. Of course I did, it was natural for me to do so.
Anyway it started out with her plonking away on the piano as she always did at the start of a ‘lesson’; lesson being a loose term for her didactic approach to teaching, we had to enjoy music, we had no choice. I did in fact love music, I still do.I just found her approach less than welcoming.
As she plonked away on the piano for a few minutes we took our places on the floor.  She then dramatically stood up in the way teachers with an artistic bent do and announced that we were going to learn,
 "Gilly Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellen Bogen by the Sea".
She did this every lesson, it was a different song every week but the same modus operandi; it was her reason for being: I think, with a generous amount of attached hindsight, that this was her chance to shine. It was her chance to show these working class kids what music was all about, that she a talent that they could acquire through her tuition and chance to impress us.
However, that musical tuition was never offered or asked for.
Mrs Crowther, that was her name, duly handed out the sheet music and started to plonk away at the piano again, we were expected to just join in. She did the music teacher thing of waving her hand rhythmically to count us in as she broke off playing the piano to do so. I did join in, however it was in my ‘best’ broken singing voice. The words sang in a croaky voice went up and down.  I was, in my mind, comically appalling.
Mrs Crowther stopped playing the piano and stared at me. She asked me stand up and sing. I did so. Of course I did, this was my chance to rebel, to rebel big time against the foolish nature of the song. Of course I stood up and sang and naturally it was in my best ‘bad’ voice.
“That is disgusting.” Is all she said, nothing more, just that.
I stood staring defiantly at her. She stared back at me. I then drew all my courage up from my boots and asked her,
“What does it mean Miss, the song, what does it mean Miss?”
She stared back, incredulous at such an obvious question and also at the sheer cheek of me asking such a thing of a teacher.
“How dare you ask such a thing” she said.
I immediately jumped in with,
“It’s total rubbish. What is a gilly gilly ossenfeather anyway…..”
Mrs Crowther tried to compose a reply to such insolence,
“It’s a popular song….”
“But it means nothing, it is a load of old rubbish….gilly gilly rubbish” I trailed off. I had caught her again with that retort.
“Ossenfeffer, it is ossenfeffer. This is my lesson, I will have you sing what I want….”
That was a red rag to a stupid, intelligent, young bull that I was.
“It’s rubbish Miss, total rubbish, gilly gilly, gilly ossenfeather…” I could then and can still play to a captive audience.
The class looked at me and then Mrs Crowther in alternate glances. I was the centre of attention again.
She stood still, stared at me with all the limp authority she could muster and said,
“Get out of the room Wallis, Get out…”
She pointed to the door; almost as if I couldn’t work out where it was. Wow, she was stupid.
“Get out! Mrs Coupland and Mrs Carvell will be told of this insolence. Get out. Now!”
I’d won. The old piano plonking ratbag had been rattled.
As I picked my through the semi-circle of children on my way to the door and the corridor banishment I had just received, a voice in my head said,
“Oh no, bloody Mrs Carvell to deal with now.”
It was a pyrrhic victory. I had to deal Mrs Coupland, the Headmistress, before Mrs Carvell got her hands on me. Then I had to deal with my Mum if Mrs Carvell sent me home with a note; again. Another note.
Rebelling never did me any good. However I will always remain sullen and surly. And rebellious.

Comments

  1. Amanda Egan10 July 2013 at 16:41

    This made me laugh AND feel sad. Good for you!
    I loved the writing style too - made me want to read on.
    I think teachers, years ago, liked to use their authority in a nasty way - my dad told me many stories.
    The feisty kids win! ;)

    ReplyDelete
  2. David Ackneylad18 July 2013 at 03:21

    Thanks for that comment! Glad it made you laugh and cry (!) too. Go back in the blog and see some stuff on my Mum in Law (when she could speak)and other school memories.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Janus28 August 2014 at 16:38

    I sang catch an Alma Cogan by the sea.

    ReplyDelete

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