My history teacher at grammar school was an old maid. Come to think of it, most of the staff were grey haired, bespectacled and old with only a smattering bearing the status ‘Mrs’.
Miss C was a round teapot of a figure, always wearing the same suit, though maybe she had more than one in the same style and colour, and her classes weren’t exactly exciting.
It was she and another history teacher who arranged a field trip to the British Museum when the Tutankhamen exhibition was on, and I went at the grand cost of £5, which included train fare and entry.
Miss C stunned me and the rest of our party that day.
Not that she was suddenly interesting or animated in seeing her ‘relatives’ (LOL), and not because she and our other teacher turned out to be smokers.
No. It was her choice of reading material on the train that surprised us.
Fifty Shades of Grey/Black/Purple or whatever hadn’t been written yet, this was way back in 1970 afterall.
No, Miss C curled up with The Beano.