A letter to my teacher

School’s out for summer this week. As the weirdest, most challenging academic year in the history of education draws to a close, I reflect on what a difference a great teacher can make. A great teacher can change a child’s life. Whether you loved school or hated it, I hope that there was a teacher that made you believe in yourself, someone who saw promise when nobody else did, who gave support or sparked an interest in a subject, giving you encouragement to be yourself.  

Several stand out in my mind – Mr Kidd the sixth form Sociology teacher who took us down the pub then offered to give us a lift home after a skinful of drinks! Mrs Riddell primary school French teacher. Mrs McGregory the white coat who patched up our grazed knees when we fell over in the playground and gave us an annual head massage whilst looking for nits. However my letter is to my primary school headteacher.

 Dear Sister Phillip, 

You were the epitome of a what every child thought of when they thought of a nun.  Your steely glance could put the fear of God into anyone. I was so confused as to why you chose a male Saint’s name. I always wondered what colour your natural hair was before it turned Godly grey. I also spent time wondering if you’d ever kissed a boy growing up. 

I think my fear of you made me even more introverted, shy, quiet and unassuming than I naturally was. Not wanting to bring myself to your attention for any reason. 

I vividly remember how sitting next to a naughty boy landed me in the class “black book” three times in one week. This led to me being sent to your office along with the other transgresses for our punishment. I got several whacks of your mauve coloured carpet slipper across the back of my legs. I tried to hold back the tears. The whooshing sound of the slipper towards my legs took my breath away. It stung so badly afterwards I had to sleep face down on my bed that night as I couldn’t bear any pressure on the skin.

 The one thing that you said to me all those years ago that has stuck was “Only boring people get bored.“ I’d imagine you having wildly jubilant hymn practices throwing your arms up in elation or swigging the communion wine until it made your head spin and you laugh uncontrollably. However, I have endeavoured to live my life in that vein. My love of reading means that quiet time or downtime, when other people might get bored, I just get stuck into one of the books always waiting to be read on my bedside table and get transported into a far away adventure. You probably never sang in rapture or got pissed on communion wine but just read the Bible to stop you getting bored.

 Thank you for providing me with a lasting impression of a female lead. You were firm but caring. Thank you for unlocking the world of possibilities. You saw me even though I tried to make myself invisible

Love Nicola x

Nicola Flanagan went to Mount Carmel Convent School in Ealing 1982–1988 and to Gumley House Convent School in Isleworth 1988–1994