Greg Freeman

The Grammar School

by Greg Freeman

Monday 12th September 2016 10:39 pm

He turned up pissed, fresh

from the pub: glazed face,

breathing beer, gazed at the boy

in the front desk, stroked

his blond shock of hair.

It was all such a hoot.

About him flew books,

duffel bags, hockey boots.

The ale wore off, he growled

for quiet; clutched

with nicotine fingers the Penguin

book of contemporary verse,

decades out of date.

He coughed and choked,

forgot where he was.

Read with passion,

youth and tears: Hardy,

Owen, Thomas, Hughes.

Some still chucked stuff,

guffawed uneasily.

But listen. If anyone asks,

if there was one teacher …

His lesson? Bards,

booze, cigs and blues.

🌷(3)

◄ The poetry of Art Garfunkel

The donkeys of Mijas ►

Comments

John F Keane

Tue 9th May 2017 10:20

It's great the way poetry can capture a moment or person from decades ago and make them live again. It is like a time machine, in many ways.

raypool

Tue 3rd Jan 2017 18:55

This guy reminds me of my music teacher at the secondary school ( I was later seconded to the grammar thank God). He rode a bike with dropped bars up the wrong way , thus contradicting one of the most obvious laws of physics . I was the only person in the class with any interest, and soon beguiled him into a corner with my recorder....
Your poem perfectly describes the type and the careworn sense of the hopeless that us older ones recall so well. Mind you, what has happened to characters full stop? Certainly there are less in the music business. I noticed the heavy drinkers flushed out when the breathalyzer came in, and then it became softies all round!

Happy new year Greg.

Harry O'Neill

Sat 17th Sep 2016 16:29

Gregg,
Because of the bombing, I once had to transfer to a
hulking three-storey, warehouse-like school in Bevington Bush in Liverpool, where the heating was open fires in the classrooms.

A teacher we used to call Dinkey, would saunter to the window (while talking) spit out of it...and say `get a new hat missus.` Another one-who was a film fan-used to hiss out his lessons in a Humphery Bogart hiss between thin lips.

They got some knowledge into us somehow (A few had to join up and were killed early in the war)

Dominic James

Fri 16th Sep 2016 12:56

Fragments of these guys, mainly guys, the sinking teachers, will crop up, touching to see some passion still revived in a way their charges are too young at the time to consider maudlin. "Fresh from the pub" works well. Good stuff Greg.

Rodney Wood

Wed 14th Sep 2016 21:57

Had a teacher like that as well only he never inspired anything.

Greg Freeman

Tue 13th Sep 2016 14:55

Thanks for your comments, Cynthia, Estelle and Sarah. You're absolutely right about the 'barb', Cynthia ... I did have an agenda when reposting this, especially as its previous title was 'The Poetry Lesson'. You're also right in spotting that it maybe subverts any anti-grammar school message that I was trying to peddle. All I can say is that he was almost the only teacher that inspired me in any way at that school, which was not strictly a state grammar but a direct-grant school, a mix of 11-plus boys and fee payers. It rested on its centuries-old laurels. At most schools this particular schoolmaster would have lost his job. At any rate, his strict cigs, booze and 'confirmed bachelor' regime kept him alive until his late 90s. I went to his funeral.

Cynthia Buell Thomas

Tue 13th Sep 2016 13:15

I really like this, Greg. It whizzes and fizzes.

Wondering: why is the book of verse 'decades out of date'? His preference? His age? Or his prescribed curriculum? The possibilities seem endless, and, therefore, are intriguing.

And I've not quite fathomed the 'barb' seriously hurled at 'grammar schools', as for or against. IMO, that doubt marks a very good work.

I don't recall seeing this before. Glad you reposted. Lots of new readers, former stalwarts gone.