**The Teacher We All Hated**
Miss Hardcastle was the terror of St. Georges Technical Secondary School. We were all terrified of her. She was the teacher who would scold you for being a minute late, dock marks for a wrinkled uniform, never smiled, and seemed to take pleasure in failing students.
In Year 9, I was the unofficial leader of those who despised her. I organised the complaints, the cruel nicknames, the harsh pranks. We called her “The Witch” and fantasised about revenge for every humiliation she had put us through.
The day everything changed was a Friday in November.
Id skipped class to go to the shopping centre with friends. On my way home, riding the bus, I saw something strangeMiss Hardcastle leaving a chemist in a run-down neighbourhood, carrying several bags.
Curiosity got the better of me. I got off at the next stop and followed at a distance.
She entered a shabby council flat. I waited a few minutes before creeping closer. Through an open window on the first floor, I overheard voices.
“Miss, thank you for coming. Emilys had a fever for three days now.”
“Dont worry, Mrs. Thompson. Ive brought the antibiotics the doctor prescribed.”
Emily Thompson? She was a quiet girl in our class who always seemed exhausted and missed school often.
“How much do I owe you, Miss?”
“Nothing, Mrs. Thompson. Weve already discussed this.”
“But its so much money…”
“Emily is an excellent student. She deserves good health to keep studying.”
I peeked inside and saw Miss Hardcastleusually so cold and severegently brushing Emilys forehead with a tenderness Id never seen in class.
“How are you getting on with maths, love?”
“Alright, Miss. Ive been practising the exercises you gave me.”
“Good. On Monday, Ill bring you some extra books to prepare for your GCSEs.”
“Miss, I dont think I can go to sixth form. Mum needs me to work…”
“Emily, your job right now is to study. Leave the rest to me.”
I left feeling confused and shaken. This wasnt the Miss Hardcastle I knew.
The next week, I watched her more carefully. And I noticed things Id missed before.
When James Carter fell asleep in class, instead of shouting like she did with the rest of us, shed tap his shoulder quietly. I later learned he worked at a garage until 2 a.m. to help his family.
When Sophie Wright forgot her homework, Miss Hardcastle gave her another chance without embarrassing her. Turned out Sophie looked after her four younger siblings while her mum worked nights.
One day, I gathered my courage and stayed after school.
“Miss, can I ask you something?”
“What is it, Oliver?”
“Why are you kinder to some students?”
She paused, stacking papers on her desk.
“What do you mean?”
“Youre stricter with me and others, but more understanding with some.”
“Oliver, sit down.”
I took a seat in the front row, nervous.
“Do you know the difference between you and Emily Thompson?”
“No.”
“You have parents who can buy your school supplies, pay for tutors if needed, who care about your grades. Emily doesnt.”
“But thats not my fault.”
“No, it isnt. But it is your responsibility to make the most of it. When Im strict with you, its because I know you can do better. When Im patient with Emily, its because shes already giving everything she has.”
“Do you buy medicine for students?”
She fixed me with a stare.
“Did you follow me that day?”
I nodded, ashamed.
“Oliver, some of my students come to school without breakfast. Others work nights to help their families. Some care for younger siblings. If I can do anything to keep them in school, I will.”
“With your own money?”
“With my own money.”
“Why?”
“Because I grew up like them. A teacher once bought me my first GCSE revision books. Without her, Id never have made it to university.”
My throat tightened.
“Miss, why are you so harsh with us?”
“Because life will be harsher. If I dont push you now, who will? Your parents will always defend you. Im the only one wholl tell you the truththe world wont hand you anything.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“Oliver, youre clever but lazy. You waste time joking instead of studying. Do you know why that angers me?”
“Why?”
“Because youre wasting opportunities Emily would kill for. She studies by candlelight when the electricitys cut off, with borrowed books, and still outshines you.”
I felt like the worst person alive.
“Can I help somehow?”
“You truly want to?”
“Yes.”
“Then study. Be the student youre capable of being. And if you want to do more, help classmates who need it.”
That day, I left school seeing everything differently. Miss Hardcastle wasnt the cruel witch Id imagined. She carried the worries of fifty families, spent her salary on students who werent her own, was strict with some to prepare them and kind to others to protect them.
I started studying seriously. I organised revision groups for struggling classmates. I stopped fooling around.
At the end of the year, when she handed me my Year 9 report with an A average, Miss Hardcastle smiledthe first time Id ever seen it.
“Well done, Oliver. I knew you could do it.”
“Miss, thank you for not giving up on me.”
“I never give up on my students. Even when they give up on me.”
Years later, when I graduated university with first-class honours, the first thing I did was find her. She was still teaching at the same school, still strict, still buying supplies for students in need.
“Miss, I wanted to thank you.”
“Youve nothing to thank me for, Oliver. You did the work.”
“Yes, I do. You taught me that demanding excellence is a form of love. Sometimes, the people who care the most are the ones who coddle us the least.”
Now, Im a university lecturer. And when I must be firm with my students, I remember Miss Hardcastlehow toughness can be kindness, how high expectations show faith in someones potential.
My students probably dislike me as much as I disliked her. But I hope one day, like me, they realise the strictest teachers are often the ones who care the most.
