My teachers came in every sort and kind,
Their task to mould and fill my child’s mind,
They tried to share the knowledge they had learned,
But all too often found that it was spurned
By those of us who really couldn’t care
About their who and what, their why or where.
Some poorer teachers wanted an easy ride,
‘Good pay for doing little,’ they would glide
On through the days and weeks their focus fixed
Upon the holidays and joys unmixed.
Their pupils’ work they often did not mark,
Nor kindle in us inspiration’s spark.
Sad were those who desperately tried
To give their love, but understood not why
The gift and all they knew was always scorned,
And when they left they went away unmourned.
Before the face of youth’s impatience quailed
Miss Thing, remembered as the one who failed.
Enthusiasm seemed to be the key
With which to open minds and eyes to see
That something, new and glorious, which would fill
The void, excite our understanding, till
Learning became a journey full of joy;
Knowledge a treasure all could now employ.
With patient understanding of each child,
The best of them – refusing to be riled –
Sarcasm, scorn and anger all abhorred,
And every child’s success had its reward.
Respect was mutual, given and received,
And what they taught was easily believed.
My thanks to those who, trying to teach me well,
Enriched my life beyond all I can tell.
Accept my sorrow those I hurt, ignored,
Or scorned, now may your honour be restored.
For through the years I too have come to know
How hard your task, how great its joy or woe!