“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.
