This happened in an English primary school back in 1986.
The only witnesses were eight-year-old children, and they never breathed a word to anyonenot a parent, not a soulso the story was never made public. Even the parents, who likely had an inkling of what had happened, never brought any complaints against the teacher. Nothing, from anyone.
I know about this because the teacher herself confided in me. All her life, she was haunted by the memory and the weight of guilt for how shed handled a certain pupil.
It truly was an uncomfortable affair. If Im honest, Im still not sure where to stand on it.
Ill be interested to hear your thoughts…
It was a small town in England, and a newly qualified young teacher had come to start her career. At just 22, she was little more than a girl herselfcompletely inexperienced but eager to prove herself, not just as a teacher but as a person of worth.
And fair play to her, she was doing a rather good job. Her class, carefully selected after others had chosen their special groups, performed wellpleasing the parents and the headteacher alike. Behaviour was hardly ever an issue.
Of course, in a group of thirty-five children, there are always a handful who test your mettle. Miss Charlotte Birchlets call her thathad a few. But shed quickly won most of them over, got them interested, involved them in school life. With everyone except one.
Tommyhis full name was Thomas Webbcame from a broken home. His mother provided the basicsfood on the table, nothing more. The boy grew up like a wild thing, on his own, never wanting or knowing how to get along, with children or adults.
Miss Birch did everything she could to reach Tommy, but the more she tried, the more he rebelled. During lessons, hed crawl under his desk and pull silly faces, sending the class into fits of giggles. Hed shout the rudest words he knew, at the top of his voice. Bully his classmates, especially the girls, into tears. And, to the shock of everyone, hed sneak cigarettes in the playgroundsomething not even the older pupils dared to do.
If anyone told him off, hed stand his ground, chin out, with a brazen, So what are you going to do about it?
But the worstby farwas that Tommy spat. He spat at everyone. There was not a single child who hadnt been on the receiving end.
He did it with relish: building up a mouthful and sending a loud, wet gob at whoever his next target was.
Disgusting isnt even the word.
Miss Birch would beg and berate, explain and implore, but nothing worked. Hed spit twice as much, with a grin.
At last, out of options, she approached his mother. This wasnt something Miss Birch usually did, but she was desperate.
Please, have a word with your son, she pleaded. Hes spat at everyone. I fear Ill be next.
His mother promised to sort it, and did so with a fire poker. The boy came to school that morning battered-blue, eyes burning with hatred.
That same day, Tommy expanded his reign: now he was spitting in the corridors during break. At first, sneakilyan unsuspecting child from another class was suddenly hit from who knows where. Then, boldly, in plain view.
It was as if tormenting the others filled him with delight. Hed laugh out loud as classmates shrank away in disgust, sometimes tears.
Sometimes, even the older pupils couldnt take it. Theyd catch him, dole out a hiding, warn himand let him go. Tommy would dart twenty feet away, then sling insults back across the hall for all to hear.
Hed exasperated everyone. The last straw was when he climbed the stairwell and, misjudging, spat right on top of the geography teachera beloved part of the school. She hadnt noticed, but a group of older children had. They told her, then gave Tommy such a beating he had to go to the nurses office.
Its going to end badly one day, Miss Birch, the elderly nurse said, shaking her head as she cleaned Tommy up. Something has to change.
Ive tried everything. He only gets worse.
Kids like him, mused the nurse, only understand their own language.
Well, should I spit at him then, see how he likes it? Miss Birch snapped, anger flaring more at herself than anyone else.
I dont know
The conversation ended there, but her words stuck, gnawing at her.
After a brief lull post-beating, Tommy was right back to old tricks.
One day, a girl in class was celebrating her birthday. She brought in some chocolate for everyone, and was met with smiles, warm wisheseven Miss Birch joined in. Tommy, though, spat full in the birthday girls face.
She burst into tears. Tommy stared at Miss Birch, defiantdaring her to do something.
That was the breaking point.
Miss Birch summoned Tommy to the front.
She stepped over and quietly locked the door. The room fell silent as she gazed over her frightened class.
Stand up if Tommy has ever spat at you, she said.
Almost everyone rose.
Weve told him how horrible it is, but he doesnt care. He doesnt hear us. Today, were going to show him.
She waited. The class was taut with anticipation.
Im allowing all of you to do something utterly improper. Well-brought-up people never do this. But we have no other choice. Each of you, one by one, will spit at Tommyjust once. Maybe then hell understand how disgusting it is.
Wordlessly, the children formed a line. Tommy bolted for the door, forgetting it was locked. In moments, the class boxed him into the corner by the sinks and began, solemnly, to spit at him. Some did so with eager satisfaction, some, barely and reluctantly, eyes brimming with embarrassment. But nearly every one took part: first a few, then the rest. There was no laughter. No words. Nothing but Tommys high-pitched whimpers echoed.
When they sat back down, you could hardly bear to look at the boy…
No words could really describe the sight: thirty childrens spit soaking his face and hair.
Tommy crumpled on the floor, arms clamped over his head, eyes hidden. The whole class saw the tears streaming down his cheeks.
Miss Birch surveyed the room, her voice tight:
I dont know about you, but I feel ashamed. For myself, for him, for all of us.
The children hung their heads.
Remember today, she continued quietly. Never again humiliate another personby word or deed. Or youve seen what can happen.
She unlocked the door. Tommy staggered out as if shot from a cannon…
I dont need to tell you to keep this secret. I trust you know that already, she finished softly. Youre free to go.
Tommy vanished for the rest of the day.
He didnt show up the next.
Miss Birch went to his house, dreading a confrontation. His mother, however, was oblivious.
Hes just not himself, she shrugged. He cries all the time, refuses school.
Id like a word with him, said Miss Birch.
She was beckoned inside.
The moment he saw Miss Birch, Tommy dived under his blanket.
I understand you feel hard done by, she said, gently laying a hand on his scruffy head. Youre scared everyone will laugh at you now.
Tommy stayed silent.
But youre not a coward, are you? Maybe theyll laugh. But they wont kill you, I promise.
Still no answer.
What if we moved you to another class? Maybe the children there will enjoy being spat at.
That brought him bolt upright, eyes flashing.
Ill never spit again! he shrieked, then clenched his lips, trembling. Dont move me, please
Good, she smiled. The others have been worried about you hoping youre all right.
Tommy dropped his gaze, but said nothing.
Miss Birch tousled his hair.
All right, see you tomorrow!
See you tomorrow his voice echoed faintly after her.
When Tommy returned to class, everyone carried on as if nothing had happened…
No-one ever spat at anyone again.
In later years, every teacher remarked how close this class had grown.
Theyre like one person, staff would say.
Must be sharing some dark secret, another would chuckle, thinking themselves clever.
Perhaps Miss Birch might have said something about that, but she moved to another city and never returned.
For years, Miss Birch was tormented by the memorya moment of horror she thought might have damaged those children forever.
When she told me her story, I urged her to look into Tommys life, to finally put her mind at rest.
She did.
It turned out that, some years later, Tommys mother married a retired army officer who encouraged Tommy to apply for Sandhurst, helping him get in.
Today, that once-troublesome boy is around forty-five, an army officer.
He kept in touch with many classmates and even visited his childhood town from time to time.
And at reunions, the story of Tommys reform is never mentioned. Not even as a joke.
Apparently, no one remembers or so they say.
