Supply teacher war

My name is James Duff. I was born on the 14th of may 1987, in Singapore. I live in Whitchurch hill and go to Langtree school. My interests are computers, biking, music and football.

For most raucous young schoolboys, participating in classroom warfare is as customary as things go, but sadly for me, my stationery-throwing days had to come to a cease-fire on the day I achieved the ultimate goal.

It was an insufferable, cold and wet Monday morning morning queuing up in sub-zero temperatures for the dreaded maths lesson awaiting. Like a virus suddenly spreading, rumours were going round that the usual dragoness disguised as a maths teacher was absent. This could mean only one thing; supply teacher, and it was this one thing that made the freezing wait worthwhile. After a few more minutes solidifying as ice, a door opened and out strolled our prey; looking like a soldier walking out to battle. Her pre-battle morale was showing, but was soon to be shattered. She introduced herself, Ms Uptite. Now that we had reckoned our new opponent, we walked onto the battlefield: the classroom. She appeared timid as she read out the lesson plan but then again, so did every new opponent.

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The enemy told us to open our books and start working, so naturally, nobody did any such thing. Conferring commenced over what to do with our new prey, what our tactics should be. It was concluded that we should resort to the old-school favourite of rubber launching. Consequently, ammo began being passed around the ranks and firing began. The enemy quickly realised our plans and made the usual threats that if any sort of raucous should continue, then she would bring in a collaborator, this was usually the head teacher. Its at this point that the supply teacher considers themselves highly superior and untouchable. I decided that our enemy was acting a bit too pompous considering her position and that I should do something about it for the good of our class. I noticed that my neighbouring accomplice was in possesion of one more large rubber. I picked it up, locked on to my target, and fired. From this point, everything went in slow motion. It zoomed across the room. Those that noticed looked on in greatest anticipation. Those that didn’t, were in for quite a shock. It struck her forehead, made a slapstick smacking sound and bounced aimlessly around her battle area. ‘I’ve been hit by a missile!!!’ she screamed, loud enough to wake the dead. The rest of the class had now realised and looked on gormlessly. She foolishly pointed to some lesser soldiers at the back of the battlefield and advised them to make up their minds as to which of them was going to own up to commiting such an awful crime. I nearly burst out in laughter. She called upon a more powerful ally, the head of year, to take them into the enemy base and perform ghastly interrogations. The enemy went into an all too familiar talk of how she would never want to return to this school again.

I had brought victory to my class, but sadly at the price of not being able to engage in such warfare ever again, as if I did it may become apparent that it was I that achieved the ultimate goal in the supply teacher war.

By James Duff