Lift up your eyes
To all pupils, even the old Westminster hands of the Remove, who now have the psalm Ad te
levavi oculos meos firmly engraved in their memories and who no longer find the concept of
being 'up School' quite as amusing as they did in the Fifth Form, the Common Room remains
a realm as mysterious and inaccessible as the deepest, darkest tropical jungle. Everyone has
stood among the perimeter shrubbery (that curious hallway in which one waits) and glanced
inside, but no one enters. They can be seen only in the zoo-cages, where they are paraded for
40 minutes at a time in front of classes, which sit rigidly, anxious not to draw the attention
of the ferocious beast, or else jeer and goad it, matador-like, while it snorts and stamps in
frustration. There are many species of these creatures (the genus magister) and a few of the
more exotic examples are described below.
The Enthusiast (magister fervidus)
The enthusiast has a calling in life to the transmission of knowledge. His pleasure in the
teaching of his beloved subject, whatever it may be, can be seen in every gesticulation,
every furious scrawl of a diagram, every impersonation of a historical figure or
demonstration of a scientific principal using his own person. In vain do conscientious pupils
attempt to turn him back to the syllabus (for his beloved subject is usually the Vietnam
War, quantum theory, or something equally far removed from the course that he is,
theoretically, teaching). Once the gleam has entered his eye, only the end of the lesson or the
approach of an exam can rein in the flow of interesting, though irrelevant, facts. The
enthusiast, cheerful to the point of extreme tolerance while happily immersed in his
subject, is generally a popular teacher until the moment when, shortly before an exam, his
class suddenly realises, in horror, the limited extent of their knowledge. Fortunately this
deficit can usually be made up in a short burst of very high intensity teaching, since the
class is cowed into attentiveness by panic.
The By-the-Numbers Man (magister obstinatus)
The by-the-numbers man, denied strict religious devotion by the independent-mindedness
that derives from intelligence, instead takes as his Bible the syllabus. With grim
determination he makes his pilgrim's progress through it, beginning his teaching on the
first page and ending on the last. He never omits any part of it. He never turns aside from it.
He never teaches any part of it with less than the greatest thoroughness, shouldering
resolutely the burdens of re-test heaped upon re-test and the endless marking of prep.
Generally he starts the term with the approval of the more diligent element of his class but,
alas, as he imposes upon his pupils the same self-denying virtue which he enforces upon
himself, his popularity begins to wane. Nevertheless, he is always open to discussion. He is
always prepared to listen to ten minutes of piteous entreaty against the setting of a
particularly large prep, before repeating, in his steady monotone, the same prep as if no
protest had ever occurred. In the inculcation of every detail of the syllabus, his teaching is
as inexorable as the approach of old age and, although effective, scarcely more enjoyable.
The Classroom Wit (magister ridiculus)
To the classroom wit, a lesson is not so much an opportunity for teaching as for verbal
duelling. With a tongue like a rapier and the dextrous speed of a master fencer, he is proud
of his ability decisively to out-quip and thoroughly to put down the targets afforded by
pupils, who are tied to the spot by the etiquette of the classroom and prevented from
retaliation by the threat of punishment. There does exist that sub-species of teacher which
will receive and accept, with grace, a riposte from a member of his class. Not so magister
ridiculus: he shuns the benevolence of his milder cousin, which he regards as weakness, and
carefully guards his dignity. Thus it is that, as the lesson ends, he can leave triumphant, the
unquestionable champion of his classroom, with all potential opponents, no matter how
large, hairy, or utterly gormless they may be, outwitted.
The Nice Chap (magister timidus)
It takes a hard man to kick a bunny rabbit, and pummel it until it lies gasping and helpless.
But then, to be a hard man is the fondest aspiration of many Upper Shells and they seldom
have the opportunity to practise. So when a target is noticed, friendly, new to the School,
more prepared for education than for autocracy, no quip is left unmade, no paper aeroplane
unthrown, and no abuse unhurled. The nice chap, who had come expecting, if not enthusiasm
from his pupils, at least some interest in their education, rarely knows how to react and
most often freezes, like a small animal in the headlights of the oncoming juggernaut. The fate
that awaits him has the same sickening inevitability and is, unfortunately, probably
unsuitable for inclusion in a family magazine.
But who are these brutes who brutalise timidus, the morons outwitted by ridiculus, the
workhorses put through their paces by obstinatus, and the young minds expanded by
fervidus? Here we move from the realms of zoology into those of primitive anthropology.
Thomas Munby (Milne's)
