teacher student rivalry

SHE hated me.

I could hear her steps struggling to keep up with mine. She had to choose between walking and speaking. Following me, frantically muttering breathless threats, but I could hear the fear in her voice. The acid fear that corrodes and distorts the voice was making her speak in a high-pitched tone. 

“Stop it!” She kept saying, and the more I heard it, the faster I walked. I was almost running up the last flight of stairs that led to the head’s office.

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It was the sixties – to be exact, the summer of 1969; the sputtering embers of that hot, fervid decade. Of course we didn’t know that at the time. The ‘sixties’ is a later invention – a social, political and cultural inferno that, safely over, has been elevated to the realm of untouchable saintliness. It's what happened to Martin Luther King, Muhammad Ali and John Lennon. Now they are celebrated but ‘at the time’ they were a menace to J Edgar Hoover and all things decent. They became truly good only by being truly dead. Like the ‘sixties’.

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