In a relaxed mood Mister Potts opened his window
overlooking The Lines. ‘How far do you think it is to the ground from this
window ledge?’ he asked. When nobody volunteered an answer, we were encouraged
to make a guess. Being clueless, I played safe and went for forty feet, an answer midway
between other guesses. The correct answer was revealed when Mister Potts took a
tape measure from his desk and dangled it out of the window. ‘Sixteen feet!’ he
announced. ‘Sixteen feet!’ he repeated with a smile.
Titter titter.
The charm offensive continued with a demonstration in
backing our exercise books with wallpaper. In a matter of days almost everyone had
followed his recommendation, and the results were impressive.
‘Did anyone see ‘Meet the Wife?’ last night?’ Mister
Potts asked. With a chuckle he recounted a scene from the television comedy
starring Thora Hird and Freddie Frinton.
For all his jollity there was a volatile side to
Mister Potts, a side that kept us on edge. Few dared to whisper in his class,
not even when he disappeared into the storeroom behind his desk to slip on his
gleaming white overall; kept on a coat hanger, no doubt, when it wasn’t keeping
chalk dust off his suit. A man of immaculate appearance, Mister Potts set his
standards high and demanded the same of his pupils. While an incorrect answer
was tolerated, sloppy work was not and he was quick to jump on anybody who fell
short of his expectations. Everything had to be neat, tidy and precise; from
our names in the bottom left hand corner of a sheet of paper, to the day and
date in the bottom right. In his classroom he was God, and his power was
absolute.
Mister Potts’s methods worked. My presentation of
cloud formations, on an A2 sized sheet of paper, surpassed anything I’d done in
junior school and I looked upon it with pride. Everything was laid out nicely, with
diagrams carefully drawn and inked lettering neatly spaced between perfectly
straight pencil lines.
Days later, morning break. As we drifted out of
the classroom me, Charlie Titheridge, Peter Burtenshaw and other
dawdlers were shuffling past the huge drawers at the side of the room when
we spotted a big pile of papers; our cloud formations, no less, and they’d been
marked. As Mister Potts appeared to have hopped it with the rest, we were
tempted to have a quick peep at the marks he’d given us. Oh dear. Mister
Potts’s precise whereabouts became clear within seconds of our rummaging, when
an outraged voice exploded from behind.
‘How dare you rifle through people’s work!’ Mister
Potts lashed out, cracking each of us around the head as he dragged us away and
then bundled us out of the classroom. I can’t speak for the others, but I came
very close to peeing myself in fright.
As head of the lower school (first and second years) Mister
Potts was responsible for discipline and punishment. Any kid sent to him was in
big trouble as a typical hearing was short, one sided and full of vitriol. Then Sir went to his storeroom and we all knew what was coming. Mister Potts was ruthless in
his application of the cane. Though disturbing to witness, I told myself the offender
was only getting what he deserved. Probably. Perhaps. Moving on to a lesson elsewhere
helped banish the misery of it, but if the next lesson should happen to be in
our own classroom, with a still highly charged Mister Potts, then a dark cloud hung
over the class for the entire wretched period.
Then one day it was Katie’s turn. In front of the
entire class Mister Potts bawled her out. Though she was clearly distressed,
Mister Potts did not relent. Not until he’d finished snarling and barking at
her, and left her in floods of tears. What she’d done wrong was unclear but I
suspected it was very little. It all seemed so cruel and unnecessary. Whatever
our form prefect had done, she didn’t deserve to be humiliated like that.
Nobody did.
Leave her alone you bully
From thereon life with Mister Potts was all about
survival. I’d say yes sir and no sir. I’d work hard. And I’d laugh politely at
his poxy jokes. But would that be enough to keep me out of trouble? Only time would tell.
Left to right: half of Diane Jarrett, Mister Potts, Vicki Crook, Susan Johnson
Front kneeling/sitting: Lindsay Hawkes, Diane Clark, Deborah Byerley
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