I got down on my hands and knees to recover each precious note, and then the senior mistress came into the staffroom. She was clearly disgusted by what had happened and helped me flatten them out.
He had always been a bit strange. Early on, there were moments — like him fiddling with my dress zip or brushing against my legs — that made me uncomfortable. I told him off, of course, but back then these things were often brushed aside. I simply did my best to avoid him and got on with my job.
His art room was next to my music room, and once he came in to complain about hearing the same song repeated. I told him I was sick of hearing his paintbrushes flicking and sent him packing!
Each day, teachers stayed for school dinner. I sat at a table with the pupils and served meals from big metal trays. One day, the pudding was meringue. I tried to cut it into eight pieces, but it crumbled into hundreds — everyone got a bit, and we all laughed! I was never allowed to forget it.
Looking back, those early days of teaching were some of the best. I knew every pupil by name and found joy in sharing music and creativity with them. Even now, 60 years later, I still love bumping into my “little ones” — all grown up with families of their own.
– Author Joyce Shaw,
who sadly passed away this year.
This is her final story in the magazine.
From everyone in Consett, thank you, Joyce — for the memories, the honesty, and the glimpse into a time that shaped us. Your words have helped preserve not just the past, but the journey of how far we’ve come. Your insights will always mean the world to us.
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