As I mentioned, we had quite a few stories of teacher on pupil violence. Mine was best:-)

It was the end of the third year (8th grade for the ‘mercans)  and we had to pick our subjects for ‘O’ Level so Paul and I went to speak with Mr Lewis to get some advice.

As a result, we were late coming into Mrs Timm’s history class. We so often were, but this time we had a rock solid excuse.

So we milked it.

Mrs Timm [angry]: Where have YOU been?

Kevin [shame-faced]: Er….

Paul [shame-faced]: Ermm…

Kevin [frantic]: Where shall we say we were?

Paul [scheming]: What if we tell her we were talking to someone?

Kevin [relieved]: Sure. Who?

Paul [delighted]: How about we say we were talking to Mr Lewis?

Kevin [delighted]: OK. Let’s say that.

Paul & Kevin [together]: We were talking to Mr Lewis.

Mrs Timm [still angry]: You know I can check?

Kevin & Paul [together. shocked]: Er? Really?

Kevin [conspiring]: Shall we change our excuse?

Paul [assertive]: No. Let’s stick with Mr Lewis.

Paul & Me [together]: We were talking to Mr Lewis.

We forgot all about it as taunting Mrs Timm was just the usual harmless fun and, anyway, we were telling the truth.

We forgot about the incident until the next day when we heard the Tasmanian Devil coming up the stairs to room 41, four at a time. The door almost burst off its hinges and it wasn’t Taz. It was much worse.

It was Basher Lewis. And he was very, very angry.

Basher Lewis [very, very angry]: How dare you take my name in vain!

[Basher Lewis takes backhanded swing at Kevin. Kevin ducks. Basher Lewis misses]

[Basher Lewis tries a forehand and connects with Kevin's cheek]

Basher Lewis [angrier]: Why…

[Basher Lewis hits Paul open-handed in right ear]

Basher Lewis [ibid]: did…

[SMACK!]

Basher Lewis [ibid]: you…

[POW!]

Basher Lewis [ibid]: lie…

[SOCK!]

Basher Lewis [ibid]: to…

[CRACK!]

Basher Lewis [ibid]: Mrs Timm????????????

[sound of sobbing from the girls in the next row]

Kevin: But…

Paul: We…

It’s hard to tell your side of the story when blows are raining down on your head and eventually our teacher, Mr Gooden, decided to intervene and walked us out of the class.

Don’t know what happened next with Mr Lewis but we never did get to tell our side of the story. Until now. I hope he read it and feel guilty:-)

[I have another story with even more violence but that'll have to wait for another day as I have to go check in for my flight]

It started with a random comment on a blog.

A few months back, I blogged about a rather famous party at my school and, last week, Helen left a comment. It’s always exciting to get comments on my blog- especially when the commenter is someone you haven’t spoken to for 25 years. Helen was at the party too.

I mentioned that I was coming to England for a visit and, a couple of emails later, the reunion was on.

It was supposed to be just a coffee at lunch time but Helen asked Jo, and I asked Mark and the coffee turned into a meeting at a bar in the evening. 8pm at Hall Place. (is there a bar at Hall place? *shrug*)

I got there early and, having not slept for more than about 6 hours for over a week and, being super-jet-lagged, I managed to catch 17 minutes of sleep while I waited.

I woke up in time for Mark to arrive and catch up on the missing years (Mark and I started school together on the same day in 1971. Mark is in this photo, can you spot him? He hasn’t changed.)

Helen and Jo arrived just after 8 except that it was Wendy and Jo (Sadly, Helen couldn’t make it).

The memories flowed and flowed.

We were sharing our stories of teacher on pupil violence (stay tuned for mine) and of romances past and of who was married to whom when a man walked in who looked oddly familiar and he obviously knew who we were.

I had instantly recognized Wendy but it took me a moment to remember David’s name! David said he didn’t care much about people from the old days but he said if I cared enough to cross the Atlantic, he should probably care enough to stop by on the way home from work. I am glad he did!

We had a great time (at least I did. I should let the others speak for themselves). I could have talked all night…and we would have if the bar staff had not turned the lights down and sat on a table sighing obviously.

I enjoyed it all the more for being so spontaneous and I am looking forward to the next one in 2044. We’ll be 68. Maybe the rest of you will show up next time.

UPDATE: It’s 3:30am. My flight leaves in 3 hours and I still haven’t slept. As Geir used to say on a big powder day at Tahoe: You can rest on the lift.

So the answer to my riddle Has Sidcup changed? is an emphatic No! It hasn’t changed not even one tiny bit!

Except that now it’s full of drunk people pretending to be Mexican.