Senior schooldays first began
with eager expectation
all dreams, would be rewarded
with a formal education.
Dreams though are ephemeral
and soon turn to despair,
ambition quickly disappeared,
it vanished in thin air.

Assembly was a nightmare;
conducted by the head
whose caustic, daily outbursts
filled everyone with dread;
his fussy, female counterpart
with accent `well to do`
Made all we lesser mortals
feel like dirt beneath her shoe...

The senior Maths man’s cold, hard stare
gave no one any chance
he silenced every pupil
with one single, frosty glance,
we learnt an early lesson….
….from queries to refrain
for any question ever asked,
was treated with disdain.

The first four rows in Physics
was not the place to sit
for Madame’s fluid utterances
created yards of spit
and Chemistry was not designed
for learning or for fun,
the master either threw us out
or punished everyone.

Our MA Oxon, English Lit`
who wore a fiendish frown
often caught us round the ears
with knots tied in his gown.
I still reflect on all those times,
The ever constant fears
when youthful days were clouded
in the reign `Wackford Squeers`

QED