Mr. Pilsbury, the fun teacher
Mikey looked across at Spuddo, who glanced back furtively.
"Keep your eyes on your own work!" said Mrs Needler,
glaring at them. Mikey sighed and resumed his writing. This was
so boring! Copying out passages from some rubbishy old textbook.
He couldn't wait for the next lesson - History with Mr. Pilsbury!
Mr. Pilsbury was a real teacher. He gave you photocopies instead
of making you write stuff out. He told you things and made them
interesting, so you could remember them without trying. Mr.
Pilsbury was fun.
Ding-ding-ding! The bell rang at last. Overjoyed, the whole class
stuffed their books into their bags and ran out of the door.
"Reginald! Don't forget you owe me two weeks homework! Bring
it in next time or there'll be trouble!" yelled Mrs Needler
as Spuddo left the room.
"Mouldy old cow," Spuddo muttered, staring at his shoes.
He hated being called Reginald almost as much as he hated
homework. Mikey smiled at his friend and said, "Forget about
her - it's Mr. Pilsbury now! Race you!" Spuddo's eyes lit up,
and he ran after Mikey.
Mikey and Spuddo were the first to arrive, and they sat at the
very front of the class. There was always fierce competition
among the children - everyone wanted to be at the front in Mr.
Pilsbury's lessons.
Just as the last children were sitting down sulkily at the back
of the room, Mr. Pilsbury arrived from the staff room. "Good
afternoon class!" he said, striding in front of the
blackboard. "Hello Mr. Pilsbury!" the children replied
in unison. Mr. Pilsbury walked over to the window, then turned to
face the class.
"I can't help noticing how hot it is today. Don't you think
so?" he asked, looking out over the sea of faces in front of
him. The children nodded in agreement. Spuddo smiled at Mikey -
they knew what was coming. "Much to hot to be cooped up in a
stuffy old classroom," he continued, "I think today's
lesson will be held outside, in the beautiful sunshine!".
The children gasped in delight as Mr. Pilsbury walked towards the
door. "Follow me everyone! Leave your books, you won't need
them!" he called. Good old Mr. Pilsbury!
Outside, Mr. Pilsbury stood in the shade under the big oak
tree. "Okay," he said, "Today we are going to
learn about one of the American Presidents. Not one of those
boring ones like George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, but a
real President. And I'll tell you something - hardly any
Americans know about this President, let alone English people."
The children looked excitedly at each other, as if they were
being let in on a big secret. An exciting secret.
"The year is eighteen forty-four," Mr. Pilsbury began,
"and it is nearly time for the USA to elect it's eleventh
president. Can anyone tell me what the two main political parties
in America are?"
"The Republicans," said Brain Box Jane, as quick as she
could. "Very good. Does anyone know what the other party is?"
"Er...The Diplomats!" Spuddo shouted excitedly. Mr.
Pilsbury smiled. "Nearly, Spuddo. It's the Democrats. They're
the party that matters for this lesson."
The teacher stepped closer to the children. "There are big
arguments in the Democrat party. In fact, they are almost split
down the middle. They have three nominees for their presidential
candidate..."
Mr. Pilsbury pulled Mikey, Simon and Carter out of the class and
stood them under oak tree. "And here they are! Let me
introduce you to Martin Van Buren," he said, putting his
hand on Mikey's head. "He's been President before." He
turned to Simon and said, "This is James Buchanen, a
moderate, which means he doesn't want to change things too much.
This other chap is General Lewis Cass, who thinks America should
keep expanding their territory."
He walked away from the three nominees. "Now, each of these
three people want to stand for President. They want to be picked
by you lot, the Democratic party. Which one do you choose?"
The class was silent for a few seconds, then Kimberley said,
"Simon!". "James Buchanen," corrected Mr.
Pilsbury, "But that's no good. You need to find out who
would make the best candidate. That's how Democracy should work.
Ask him a question."
Kimberly looked blank, lost in thought. After a short while she
said, "If you were President, how would you make America
better than it is already?"
Simon looked at Mr. Pilsbury for help. "You're a moderate,
Mr. Buchanen. Any boring answer will do! Just like like the
Politicians on TV."
"Er...I would...make taxes smaller...and...stop crime."
said Simon, his face screwed up in concentration. "Excellent!"
exclaimed Mr. Pilsbury. "Now, I want you all to ask one of
the candidates a question, and all the answers must be very dull!"
After a few more questions had been given half-hearted replies,
Mr. Pilsbury raised his hands in the air. "Stop! Have you
noticed how boring these nominees are?"
"Yes!" replied the class.
"Do you want any of them to be your presidential candidate?"
"No!"
Spuddo looked at Mr. Pilsbury's eyes - he could tell that
something very special was coming.
"Well, in eighteen forty-four there was a new nominee, a
dark horse on the horizon! That man is me, James Polk!"
And as the afternoon progressed, Mr. Pilsbury told the children how James Polk rode up from Nashville and terrified the other nominees with his fierce speeches, eventually becoming the eleventh American President. The teacher used a tree stump as a lectern, the children cheering as he promised to sieze land from the hated Mexicans.
"We want the Oregon territory from the English! Who here
is the leader of the English people?" Mr. Pilsbury was in
full swing now. The children giggled as Spuddo stepped forward
and exclaimed, "I am!"
"Well, get over here Mr. England! We have some bargaining to
do!"
Spuddo ran over to Mr. Pilsbury, excited at the prospect of the
false debate. But as he crossed the grass to the tree stump, he
slipped and fell over.
The children instantly fell silent, and stared in horror as
Spuddo picked himself up. Mikey had a nasty feeling in the pit of
his stomach. The grass was dirty, and Mr. Pilsbury didn't like
dirt. It... upset him.
The teacher was staring wide-eyed at Spuddo, his breathing
irregular. Spuddo stood up and caught the teacher's gaze. "It's
all right, Sir, I'm not dirty..." he began.
The class looked at Spuddo's clothes. There wasn't a speck of
dirt on them! Mikey breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps things
would be okay.
Mr. Pilsbury's voice was quiet as he said, "Show me your
hands."
Spuddo looked at his hands, and said with voice trembling, "It's
okay, It'll brush off...I'll go and wash...them..."
Mikey held his breath. It was too late for that now.
"Your hands are dirty. FILTHY dirty!" spat Mr.
Pilsbury, lurching forward. "That's just great, isn't it?
How many times have I told you about keeping clean? HOW MANY F*****G
TIMES?"
The children slowly backed away from the tree stump. The teacher's
eyes were wild, his voice screeching. All the smiles had turned
to knives.
"That's how diseases spread, you stupid little b*****d! With
your filthy f*****g hands spreading germs over everything! YOU
LITTLE C**T, DON'T YOU SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE?"
Spuddo edged back to join the rest of the class.
"We'll all get diseases! AIDS! F*****g AIDS!" Mr.
Pilsbury started clawing at his shirt, his mouth dripping saliva.
"That's just what those f*****g homos want, they want us all
to be like them! F*****g perverts! They should have their f*****g
throats slit! They're all asking for it! THEY'RE ALL ASKING FOR
IT, ALL THE F*****G TIME! DO YOU HEAR ME?"
The teacher collapsed on the floor, making strange little sucking
noises in his throat.
Slowly, the children turned round and started walking back to the
school. Spuddo's eyes were streaming tears. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered, "I didn't mean to fall. I didn't do it on
purpose."
"It's OK, Spuddo. It wasn't your fault. Seems like this
happens every lesson these days," replied Mikey. He turned
his head, and saw Mr. Pilsbury kneeling on the grass, his face
buried in his hands, sobbing. "It was really fun while it
lasted."
The children returned to the classroom and sat in silence, waiting for the bell to ring.