Having a favourite teacher might seem like an oxymoron to those of you who had a difficult time at school. This piece is from my memoir, which begins with the introduction ‘Getting To Know My Dad’ which I posted here several weeks ago. I am grateful for the many responses I received for that piece and hope that you will be inspired to comment on this excerpt from my life story. Teachers can have a huge influence on our lives. I hope you had a few good ones.
A very old photo of ‘Mauldy’ about 1956.
Mother Imelda
Mauldy we called her. Mathematics, history, geography and geology were the subjects that Mother Imelda taught me in high school.
She was a big woman; big in heart as well as body and short tempered. Her fuse was lit by those silly girls in year eight, but also by me when we argued over maths.
‘I’ll never pass both A and B,’ I yelled at her before sitting for my Junior level mathematics exams.
‘All right,’ was her reply, hands on hips, wimple askew, ‘but if you do, then you’ll study maths A for your Leaving.’
I had to relent, sure that I would win; but I didn’t. Somehow I scraped through with both of them and from then on we had regular battles. My teacher, chalk in hand, bashing mathematical symbols on the blackboard, me fighting tears while protesting that I couldn’t make any sense of her calculations.