ABSTRACT
I’m a fairly young teacher from college, and know all there is to be known; Last month I taught before Tutors, but now I’m away on my own. I’ve bags of brilliant ideas, discovery methods galore; It’s a pity there’s old-fashioned teachers, but their counsel I ignore. Let’s mix all the subjects together-why sort them out separately? When they’re stirred like a spotted dog pudding, they smell like a nice potpourri. I don’t like my pupils all sitting, as if they were filling a bus; I like half of their backs towards me, and the maximum chaos and fuss. I’d hate the children to fear me, to treat me as if I were God. I’d hate them to respect or revere me; I’d prefer them to call me a clod. When we’re all level, I’ll help them, for children and staff are the same; And none are more equal than others, for learning’s a levelling game. Who made me? I’m asked by the ancients, as they sneer at my hair and my jeans. Well, there’s Cambridge, and Aston, and Darwin, and chromosomes and genes.
