Mr Henshall
Cramner Middle School, Mitcham, Surrey. I walked a long way to school and a long way home, cold wet legs and a coat from the second hand shop. My class room was a mobile, my teacher Mr Henshall. He would give us a task, feeling uninspired I would ask,
" Mr Henshall, Mr Henshall? please can I write a poem instead? "
"What would you like to write a poem about Paula?" he would ask.
"Kites" I replied.
I wrote the poem and decorated the paper with a border. In the border I drew lots of coloured kites. Mr Henshall would always let me write poems instead. When I left Mitcham, for ever, he made me a card, "To Paula The Poet". He was sacked a year later for hitting a pupil, they say he had a breakdown.
" Mr Henshall, Mr Henshall? please can I write a poem instead? "
"What would you like to write a poem about Paula?" he would ask.
"Kites" I replied.
I wrote the poem and decorated the paper with a border. In the border I drew lots of coloured kites. Mr Henshall would always let me write poems instead. When I left Mitcham, for ever, he made me a card, "To Paula The Poet". He was sacked a year later for hitting a pupil, they say he had a breakdown.
A genuine lol ending (cor, there is me using internet slang). Can you reflect on this story a little, where does it fit as a genre/form?
ReplyDeleteAs we've previously discussed have a look at Winterton's Oranges are not the only fruit and what she does with stories there.