History

One of the things that we looked forward to at school as we entered 5B (equivalent to U.S. 9th Grade) was the opportunity to drop classes that we were not good at, or interested in. Up until that point, we all took pretty much the same school subjects, and this was our first chance to define who we were and where we were going in life. As the start of term approached, I considered what I'd studied so far, and began to make my list of what I felt I really wanted to keep, and what I wouldn't miss. I knew that being one of the more academic students, I'd only be allowed to say "no" to a couple of subjects at most and quickly came to the decision to say goodbye to Latin and History.

The way it worked, I'd discover, is that we'd be called up to Sister Barbara's office one by one. One of the more severe nuns, Sister Barbara was the headmistress and struck terror in practically everyone. Outside her door was a panel of two lights, one red and one green. Red meant that she had someone with her, green meant that you should go in. I took my place in line, and watched the lights flash. By the time I was next to her door, and the light turned green I was petrified. I went in and stood there mutely. My memory is fuzzy, but I know she asked me what I'd be dropping.

"Latin, sister." Big mistake. Sister Barbara taught Latin for our year and above and I should have known that she wanted to have as large a class as possible. To be honest, I suspect if she let everyone drop it who wanted to, she'd have been teaching an empty room! She told me in no uncertain terms that someone with my aptitude for languages needed Latin, and I would do well. I'm sure my mouth opened and shut silently, goldfish-fashion. There was nothing I could do about it.

Now I had to tell her I wanted to drop history. Simple, right? She has to let me drop something. All I need to do is open my mouth and say the words "History, sister". So simple. So easy. Two words.

"Biology, sister."

What?!

I have no idea how it happened. My brain and mouth had stopped talking to each other at the worst possible time. Suddenly, I was stricken off the class list for biology and committed to another two years of history. Oh, the agony. The torture. I had no idea how I would get through it.

Fast forward almost two years. It was time for "mock O-levels", the practice exams which would determine how many real GCE O-levels we'd take that summer as we turned sixteen, and which of us would leave school at that age or go on for another two years. The grading system was changing that year on a national scale, in an effort to make the country look better educationally. D and E, historically regarded as "failures" were now classified as marginal passes. Only an unclassified or "U" grade would not be recorded on our certificates and we'd have to achieve less than 30% to get an unclassified. You guessed it, I was well under 30% when my mock history exam was graded. Mrs Tunnicliffe had a heart-to-heart with me, saying she knew I knew my facts and I just needed to structure my essays better to get my knowledge across. I had my doubts, but assumed she knew my mind better than I did.

I was put in for nine O-levels. I got a D for Latin, and a U for History. I wonder what I would have got for Biology.