“There’s an important thing happening soon,” I announced to my parents shortly after starting school in the UK. “I don’t know what it is, but it has four letters.” The thing in question was my GCSEs, and I had to pick my subjects in a hurry. I chose history over geography, which seemed like a good idea until I turned up at the history classroom. “You can sit there,” the teacher announced, “but there’s no point participating. You’ve missed too much, so you’ll fail the exam.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of this. It didn’t sound fair, but perhaps she was right? Some time later, however, I watched in horror as she made one of my classmates wipe acne-covering makeup from her face, her cheeks flaming with shame. So I decided that this teacher was indeed awful and got set on revenge. I would prove her wrong!

The British Agricultural Revolution of the 18th century may have been as foreign to me as the correct colour of ink for underlining headings (red, apparently). But this would not be the case for much longer! I read every book I could find on the Norfolk four-course system and horse-drawn seed drills, which honestly wasn’t much fun, but did the trick. I sat the exam and received a B, which may not have been an A, but was a great deal better than a fail.

I think of this teacher occasionally. I don’t know if I was her first foreign student, but I’m sure I wasn’t her last. Perhaps she gave the next one more of a chance. Or maybe she carried on exercising her revenge on the students, who no doubt made her life a misery. How much fun can it be to teach insolent teenagers about turnips, after all?

Maria Smedstad bio

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