More about Mr Booth

“But we learnt more than geometry from Mr Booth.

“We learnt by example about sarcasm, irony, dry wit, how to put bumptious people in their place, when and how to apologise; and that praise hard-won is much more valued than that too-readily given.”

In Llandeilo Grammar School and Tregyb Comprehensive Mathematics was taught as three separate subjects: Arithmetic, Algebra and Geometry.  In First Form we had a different teacher for each:  Willy Woodwork did Arithmetic, T O Algebra and Mr Booth Geometry.  As we went higher up the school Mr Booth took over first Algebra and then Arithmetic so that, by our GCE O’Level year he was taking us in all aspects of Maths.

His method of teaching Geometry, after we’d mastered the basics, was to present us with a theorem to prove or an angle or length to calculate as a challenge or puzzle.  His attitude was, provided we applied ourselves, we were perfectly capable of solving anything he set us - and if we weren't we shouldn't be in his class.

He would write the exercise out on the blackboard.  

We would copy it down and take it home.    

It was almost us against him.   

It worked for me, and I thoroughly enjoy Geometry homework.   

Most of the time when I could solve the puzzle. 

Except once the second term when, whatever I did I simply couldn’t see it. 

I can’t now remember the problem, but I do remember tears of frustration and anger.

The next morning after he’d written the exercise on the blackboard, and before registration, Mr Booth swept into our classroom.

“I’m very sorry Form One.  By now you will have discovered the homework I set you yesterday was impossible.  I wrote an incorrect figure on the blackboard.  Get your books out.  Here is what I should have written.  Copy it down before you go into assembly.”

He chalked it up and swept out again and we learnt that if you do make mistake, own up, put it right as soon as you can and maintain your dignity.

Mr Booth wasn’t usually whimsical but there was the time in Third Year Arithmetic when we were doing speed.

“Right.  All you girls come out to the front of the class …. Half of you make a line over there and the other half over there facing them.  We’re going to play trains …”

Within ten minutes we’d covered closing speeds, relative speeds and overtaking speeds and we girls were allowed back to our seats with the threat “and next week we’ll bring whistles and flags.”

Getting the girls parading about the front of the classroom may seem terribly sexist to modern minds but consider this.

Getting everybody up would have been chaos.

Had he got the boys out they would have just messed about and been silly.

Teenage boys were more likely to pay attention to what the girls were doing than to dry blackboard explanations.

He encouraged people to speak up in lessons, he demanded it, and you had to be at least attempting to follow a logical argument to the correct solution.  Some were terrified but others knew how bright we were and had a propensity to show off.  One boy, a teacher’s son who had taken the Eleven Plus early, did sometimes get full of himself (as my mum used to say) and would give long complex answers which I for one could never follow. 

Once in a while he would put his hand up with a “But sir …”

Strangely Mr Booth seldom cut him off but would let him drone on until he’d had his say and the rest of us sat waiting.  Then Mr Booth would say briskly “Rubbish.  Tommyrot.  Anyone else?”

Showoff cut down to size (with no apparent permanent damage)

Whilst I loved Geometry and saw the point of Arithmetic, I could never get on with Algebra and never got the logic.  Quadratic equations and the rest were all too much intellectual gymnastics for me.

In Fourth Year Mr Booth set us a problem along the lines of “If x hens lay y eggs in a week, how many hens are required to lay z eggs in a fortnight” or some such. 

We kept a small flock of hens so I knew, apart from anything else, hens don’t work that way.

I spent the best part of an evening trying to solve it.  Wrote my workings out and answer in ink and then, in order to vent my frustration, wrote next to it in pencil “Unless they all go broody”; meaning to rub it out before handing it in.

At break time the next day, wandering around the grounds with my two best mates, I stopped in my tracks and said “Oh God!  I didn’t rub it out.”

They sat either side of me in the next Algebra lesson as our exercise books were skimmed over the tops of heads to us (say what you like about 1960s/70s teachers but they had great aim) with a running commentary on what we’d got wrong or failed to do.

Mine was, of course, at the bottom of the pile.

The book smacked on my desk with “ … and one young lady wondered what would happen if the hens went broody.”

I passed  Maths O’level with a grade 3, but decided English, Geography and (God help me) Economics were better bets for A’levels.  After University and a slight hiatus I stayed up in Newcastle returning home to Wales for Christmas, Easter and annual holidays.  Sometime about ten years after leaving school I went into the newsagents in Llandeilo and who should be there but Mr Booth.  I wasn’t sure he’d remember me amongst the thousands he must have taught.   

Anyway I smiled politely and said “Good morning Mr Booth.”

“Ah good morning Miss Boyd.  I trust the hens are well.”

And with that, and the nearest thing I ever saw to a smile on his face, he picked up his newspaper and left the building.