Class Struggle

By Mark Bryce

This poem was originally written for an annual poetry recital competition held at our son’s primary school. Participation was compulsory and was judged across the entire form for each year. The only criterion was that the poem had to be from an Australian poet. I was inspired to write the poem after our son’s teacher tried to convince us he could not read at all. We disagreed with this assessment. He was bored. Soon after this a government statewide examination found he had a reading age several years beyond any other child in his form. My son won the poetry competition for his year, with a performance of this entire poem from memory.

Bobby Marranty was a smart little boy,
Who made his dad proud and filled his mother with joy.
He gamboled, he played and ran all about,
And never did argue, grumble or pout.
And every time Bobby met somebody new,
They remarked it was sad that such boys were so few.

But his school teacher didn’t like little Bobby so well,
His difficult questions sent her nerves all to hell.
He asked about dinosaurs, stars, birds and books,
While ignoring her growls and her withering looks.
He wasn’t afraid, he didn’t quite fit,
Miss Dread was perturbed by this boy and his wit.

Then, finally, one day, he asked a question so tough,
Steam shot from her ears; she’d had quite enough.
She snapped up a ruler from Jenny Vee’s table:
“Can’t you shut up!” she screamed, “I’m sure that you’re able!”
Then gleefully broke the hard rule on his head,
And Bobby fell down, and the kids screamed, “He’s dead!”

But Bobby survived and the children all cheered him,
While their teacher now glowered and thought she now feared him.
Though Bobby now ached with acute cranial pain,
He was happy he’d proved his bad teacher insane.
All the kids said so, too, as they went out to play –
That Miss Dread must go − “And she must go this day!”

“But the grown ups can’t help us,” some lamented, and cried
“We’ve already asked them. They’ve already tried.
When the District Inspector had her trapped in her room,
She simply dispatched him with a whaling harpoon.
And three parents who went to her room to complain
Were tortured for days in her Chamber of Pain.”

With lunchtime soon over, the children went back
To be broken by rules, by the cane and the rack.
Each child, each to each, made sly, furtive glances,
Hoping one of their friends would soon take their chances.
But no champion arose to take on the test,
Of challenging this monster, to see who was best.

Until, that is, Bobby, whose head was not right,
Shouted, “Come on, now, Comrades, it’s time that we fight!”
Up leaped five children with a rallying cry,
And twenty more hollered, “Miss Dread, now you die!”
With crayons, rulers and glue held in pots,
They advanced on their teacher like armed Huguenots.

But their teacher fought back by throwing some blocks,
And plasticine trucks and some tell-the-time clocks.
So the children resisted by building tall towers
And squashing the trucks and counting the hours.
Until, finally, it seemed, this brute was defeated,
Hog-tied by Bobby while she screamed and she bleated.

Then he had her devise a dictation test,
With the threat of a texta held at her chest,
And made her count backwards from twenty to one,
And explain the position of Earth, Moon and Sun.
While declining a noun, she made the remark:
“Why, now that I’ve tried it, this teaching’s a lark!”

With a skip and a flourish she brandished the chalk,
Stood in front of the class, and proceeded to talk.
She taught them some math, some reading and writing,
And the children decided, “This is better than fighting.”
So Bobby Marranty was a hero, at last,
For the days of the tyrant had finally passed.

Then, promptly, next morning, the parents returned,
To ensure that the weapons of torture were burned,
Along with Miss Dread, who was stacked on the pyre,
So the families and teachers could cheer on the fire.
Then Bobby observed in a speech to the school,
“There can’t be good learning when your teacher is cruel.”