A poem by Gladys Hobson
The joys of teaching
They come in the night, and daytime too —
Dreams and nightmares of many a hue.
We shake them off with laughter jolly
But most of the time we’re off our trolley!
In confident voice we teach what we know
And try to hide what we don’t want to show.
We stand at the front and spout the lesson
And hope to be able to last the session.
Some kids are angels and want to learn,
But there’re also those who are ready to spurn —
All that is taught, but still is our hope
That none of the kids will end up a dope.
We sit in our chair and read out the names
Of all our pupils ready for games —
Not the sort you play with bat and ball
But who’s to win and who’s to fall
In the battle of wits they play with their teacher —
Jim’s taunting of Miss is a favourite feature.
At least terms are short and holidays long,
And sometimes surprises come rolling along.
Young Jimmy is offered a place at Oxford
And Marlene is nursing in USA Botsford.
Some are employed, most are at college,
And not one is inside — eating his porridge!
Ah yes, some of the best years of my life!