I’d like to talk about a woman you will remember: my English teacher at Carnoustie High School, Mrs Law. I think her first name was Ella.
She was a superb teacher. An enthusiasm for language glowed like an aura around her. When she read passages of prose aloud she gestured, adopted voices, and strode the room. She would talk of delicious words that were sweet on the lips to pronounce.
Once, in front of the class, she praised a descriptive passage I’d written. I think it was about autumn leaves spiralling in the breeze. Probably it wasn’t really very good, it was a 14-year-old’s simplistic attempt. But she made me believe I could write. It became something I longed to do.
When she saw how much I loved a book she suggested I read, Moonfleet, by J. Meade Faulkner, she allowed me to keep it. She facilitated a theft from the school just because I was so enthralled by the adventures of orphan John Trenchard and strong Elzevir Block.
I still have that book, and have read it often. Each time, I think of Mrs Law.
To my enduring regret, I never thanked her. Not just for Moonfleet, but for all she did for me. I left school without telling her how she had affected me. I was a teenage laddie, too awkward to express such ideas.
As I climbed the journalism ladder, each time promotion came or a small triumph emerged I meant to write, or send flowers. Or (best of all) buy her a book in reciprocation for the gift she gave me. But I was always too busy. Now it is long past too late.
Of course, you won’t really remember my third-year English teacher. But you are interested in the language, or you wouldn’t be reading this column. So, possibly, there’s a Mrs Law in your history.
She or he might not have been a teacher. Were they a grandparent, parent, an older sibling? If they didn’t conduct lessons, perhaps they gave you a book. Or inspired fascination for words in some other way. They got you reading. They sewed a seed that grew into a love of language.
Whoever they were, think of them and smile. If it isn’t too late, tell them. Silently, I’ve thanked Mrs Law ten thousand times but will forever regret that I didn’t seek her out. I should have said, in person, a heartfelt thank you.
Word of the week
Foy (noun)
A farewell feast or gift. EG: “When I left school, I should have given my teacher a foy as thanks for her inspirational talents.”
Read the latest Oh my word! every Saturday in The Courier. Contact me at sfinan@dctmedia.co.uk
