But not for a good reason. God bless the dear Gleed Girls School in Spalding, (now called the Gleed Girls ‘Technology’ College, which makes me laugh because I once had to explain to a teacher on the premises what an e-mail was. It was 1995).
It used to be such a wonderful establishment, though. I recall glorious days painting white flowers red behind the art teacher’s back; pouring Tab Clear on the headmistress’s chair so she’d sit down in assembly and get stuck; pretending to faint outside the French room so I wouldn’t have to endure yet another read-aloud session from Tricolore. I soaked it all up like a sponge! Granted, I actually learned to read while watching Sesame Street when I was three, so TV and Elmo taught me most of those valuable lessons before I’d even stepped through the doors of a school. But still, the time I spent at the Gleed was an incredible chapter of my life, which shaped, moulded and moved me, and I will always look back on it with fondness.
Yesterday an email letter from a Gleed form teacher to a mother was leaked, riddled with spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. At least they now know what an email is. The Daily Mail found 16 in the offending note. The Sun printed the same story and found slightly fewer mistakes… but I suppose that’s to be expected. This all makes me cringe with embarrassment, because back in the day, my own teachers were absolutely wonderful. I bet hardly any of the hard-working men and women who both scolded and praised me in my youth are there now. It’s been a while. It’s a sad, sad fact I guess, that the standards are slipping. Education is not what it used to be.
We were all obnoxious little swines during my time at the Gleed, but the teachers, who were all very well educated themselves, only ever dealt with us politely and calmly… except one, who used to scream and slam things before storming out. That was of course, before the days when kids started carrying weapons of mass destruction in their pencil-cases. She wouldn’t be screaming these days. She’d be cowering in the corner, reciting the Lord’s prayer and hoping little pregnant/drunk/drugged up Taylor/Britney/Chavella won’t just stab her in the heart with a steak knife.
The most dangerous thing I ever used to defend myself with at school was my tongue. I got a detention once for saying the words: “If I’m not in favour of a subject, I just can’t see the point of being in the class. So you’re just going to have to punish me.” I know. Terrifying. What an absolute MONSTER. But seriously… the point I am trying to make is that perhaps all the good teachers… the ones who can spell, punctuate a sentence correctly and deal with kids the right way, just don’t want to teach anymore. Children are just too horrid.
Don’t worry Gleed. We still love you. Although I’m really glad you did away with the pink checked school blouses while I was there – a picture of those in the papers would have been FAR worse.