The Exam That Gave Me A Buzz

I went to a meeting at my daughter's school last week, and one of the subjects discussed was the choosing of 'options' in the new year. She will soon be at that horrible stage of starting her studies before the taking of exams. She asked me what they were like, how long they last, what, exactly you have to do, etc. and was amazed when I told her that, contrary to most people, I didn't really mind doing exams. I certainly didn't get into the state that some girls at my school did. I think I quite liked being left on my own to pit my wits against the exam paper(s) ... more evidence (as if it were needed) that I'm not really very 'normal'.

It'll be another year before No.1 starts the courses for some of her chosen options for 'proper' qualifications. At this moment in time, ICT, Graphics, Art and Music are her favourite subjects - oh, and she quite likes Maths and Science, but there's time for all that to change. I can just about remember as far back as the question of options when I was at school. I wasn't like No.1: I didn't really have any favourites other than Art. What I did have were subjects I absolutely did NOT want to study: Physics, Chemistry, Geography and RE. I think the teachers of those subjects had a lot to do with it. Mrs Greenwood, who taught Physics, was a bit of an archetypal mad scientist. She was tall, had dark, curly hair and wore steel rimmed specs. I can picture the Chemistry teacher but not remember her name - such was my total boredom with the subject. Of course now I wish I'd paid more attention, but you can't tell teenagers, can you? Mrs Hone, who taught Geography, made it as interesting to me as a wall of drying paint; although I quite liked colouring in the maps, but that was about it. And anyway, as I have admitted before - I have a geography gene missing, and I'm rather afraid No.1 has inherited the same genetic omission. Religious Education was taught by a young woman called Miss Steele. She put me at the front, away from my friends (at the back) because, she said, I talked too much. Pah.

My parents were, naturally, keen for me to revise for my exams. The school gave us time off for the express purpose. But I didn't want to revise: I wanted to listen to the radio, chat to and socialise with my friends, and perhaps do a bit of shopping with them too. There were many arguments along the lines of "You will NOT go out until you have done at least 2 hours revision". The thing is though, you can't force someone to take in information, can you? Particularly not a stroppy 16 yr old who thinks she knows it all, is the centre of the Universe, and should be able to do what she darn well wants!

One day I wanted to go out, but was told I couldn't. I'm sure I was quite shamefully horrid, and I was sent to my room. I obviously wanted very much to go out, as it occurred to me that below my bedroom window was the porch roof. A flat roof. It was pretty easy to open the big window wide, climb up on the windowsill, lower myself down (so as not to make too loud a 'bump') and then climb down the porch wall to the ground. And off I went.

I'm not sure how long it took for them to realise I'd gone, but I do remember my father finding me - with some friends, in a pub. God, how bad does that sound? I should point out that I wasn't drinking alcohol - I had a soft drink, and I was just sitting chatting with some friends. But I still remember to this day, the humiliation of being hauled out of there by my DAD! I'm told I was a horrible teenager - my mother says if I get the same back from my own daughter it will serve me right. It probably will too.

Needless to say after that escapade, I was grounded for a considerable amount of time, and watched like a hawk. I had to sit in front of text books and exercise books, and I wasn't even allowed the radio on. I was so bored, I revised to pass the time.

The most memorable exam I took at school was one for which the Home Economics teacher invigilated. I'm not sure what subject the paper was, but I recall very clearly that a humungous bee landed on my desk. It was HUGE - one of those lovely fluffy, beautiful ones. Instead of flying off, it wandered around, all over my paper and the desk beneath. I raised my hand and Mrs Allen approached. 'Yes?' she whispered? I pointed silently at the bee.

What would you have done Dear Reader, had you been Mrs Allen at this juncture? Would you have found a piece of paper on which to encourage the bee and silently let it fly free from the window? I think I would. But no. Mrs Allen took off one of her Scholl sandals (the ones with the wooden base) and brought it down on that bee with the loudest 'BANG!' you could imagine. I saw girls in rows in front of me visibly rise several inches from their seats with the shock of the sound. I couldn't believe my eyes. Or indeed my ears. Whatever the subject, I handed in my paper with bee blood (and bodily organs) all over it. I hope she had the decency to attach a covering note to explain to the examiner.

In the end I didn't do too badly in my exams ... perhaps because I had to revise?! Yes, I needed a couple of retakes, but I got them, and got on a 'good' secretarial course at college, where I took and passed lots more exams. But perhaps I'll leave those stories for another day?

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