Gillian B : 11 - Teacher Torture (or: Ol’ Soggy) (ff/FF)

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Gillian B : 11 - Teacher Torture (or: Ol’ Soggy) (ff/FF)

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(Reposted from the original site. Enjoy!)

No dimly-remembered old tale from me this time. This one happened a few Saturdays ago at our annual school fete...

Each year, about the beginning of July, my school holds its annual fete, part of school "Activities Week" at the end of the academic year. There are lots of stalls and sideshows of one kind or another, mostly run by pupils or their parents. The whole event is in aid of various (mainly local) charities.

Do you know what an "Aunt Sally" sideshow is? It's where you pay to throw things at a human target. We have had some form of Aunt Sally stall at the fete for longer than I've been on the staff there. It started out with one or two brave teachers being sponsored to let pupils throw wet sponges at them and has escalated from there. The principle is still the same, a number of teachers present themselves as human targets for half hour stints (usually in pairs) and pupils get to throw things. We sell a limited number of tickets for the privilege of 5 minute worth of throwing. It used to be a flat rate for tickets, but that led to a vigorous black market, so ticket sales are now strictly by sealed-bid auction! I've volunteered as an Aunt Sally every year for the 8 years I've been on the staff.

The staging of the Aunt Sally show has become more elaborate over time. About 5 years ago, someone coined the title "Teacher Torture", which has a nice ring to it, so it has stuck ever since. The restraint applied to the willing victims has also increased over the years. The first two years I was involved, we were expected just to stand still and take it - in practice a lot of ducking and weaving took place. That progressed to being expected to sit on chairs, then to chairs with lap straps, then last year to being tied to chairs and (optionally) gagged. (I let it be known beforehand that I would be gagged, because I thought I would probably command a higher ticket price at auction that way.)

Another woman teacher (let's call her Mhairi, pronounced "Varry" - it's a Gaelic name) and I put our names down to do the first half hour shift as a pair this year. Dressing up is not compulsory, but very much de rigeur, so Mhairi and I went as St Trinians-style schoolgirls. (She went as a willowy sixth former with a gym slip that barely covered her bottom and left two inches of bare thigh above her stocking tops, while I went as a dumpy fourth former with a baggy knee-length outfit over woolly tights, a wig with sticking-out plaits, painted-on freckles and a front tooth painted black to suggest a gap.)

This year, the team that organised Teacher Torture excelled themselves. I had complained last year about the discomfort of being not only soaked to the skin but also tied up with wet ropes. This year's offering was a pair of chairs which had been adapted into sort of 3-dimensional cartoons of electric chairs, with lots of straps fitted to them. Also, above each chair hung a shower head, with a pipe leading to a big plastic barrel about 6 feet off the ground. Between the chairs a post had been banged into the ground and on it was a notice - "Ol' Soggy".

Mhairi and I were ushered to our seats by two girls (sensibly) wearing waterproof jackets, trousers and boots. The restraints were made of the nylon webbing used for car seat belts, with Velcro to secure it. A 5-point harness secured us over the shoulders, round the waist and between the legs (after adjusting my skirt). Additional straps held us at wrists, elbows, ankles and knees. All in all, not uncomfortable, but devastatingly effective! As we were being strapped down, it dawned on me that, as Mhairi is the head of Craft, Design and Technology (Art and Woodwork, in my day), she must have provided the workshop space to build this stuff. "You knew about this!" I accused. "Umph," she replied, already gagged, which I understood as "Yes." My gag put an end to the conversation. We were cleave gagged with school scarves, and someone wanted to do it properly - the scarves had been knotted first.

As we were the first victims of the afternoon, the rules of engagement were explained to the waiting kids, so in true damsel-in-distress fashion we were treated to a detailed lecture outlining our fate before anything actually happened! There were three available lines of attack. There were two see-saw-like catapults for launching "custard pies" (paper plates piled with cheap shaving foam), there were more Super Soakers than I'd ever seen in one place before and there was "Ol' Soggy". The barrel above and behind us was fed by a pipe from a stirrup pump (hand operated up-and-down job). Pumping the stirrup pump would progressively fill the barrel. The output pipes from the barrel came out at the bottom, then went up the side of the barrel, nearly to the top, before going down to the shower heads above us.

We were subjected to alternate barrages of custard pies (most of which actually went wide or went over our heads) and sprayings with the super soakers, which at least cleared the foam off our faces. Every now and again, the pumping would get the water in the barrel to the critical level, then it would self-syphon itself out through the shower heads until the barrel was empty again. By the end of our half hour, we had been on the receiving end of the best part of 50 custard pies each and probably 20 gallons of water, so it didn't take much acting to struggle and squeal appropriately.

At the end of our ordeal, Mhairi was shivering with cold. The weather was cloudy, but not at all cold on Saturday in our part of England, but if you're strapped to a chair and wet right through to your knickers, it doesn't take much breeze to feel really chilly. I had anticipated this from previous bitter experience. I had the warmer costume anyway, but I was also wearing my long winter underwear underneath it all just to make sure - and I had insisted on wearing gloves. I was nevertheless more than happy at the prospect of a warm staff room and a chance to change out of my wet things afterwards.

Last year, after my soaking, I had (jokingly) demanded a stretcher to take me back to the school building. A number of small groups had rapidly formed and attempted to outbid each other in the charity donations they were prepared to make for the privilege. This was fun but got in the way of the planned events of the day. This year, I held a separate auction beforehand, with bidding restricted to students in the sixth form group who have me as their class teacher. The winning syndicate were on hand while I was being unstrapped from the chair. They were provocatively dressed as "doctors" and "nurses", with amazing amounts of stocking-clad leg on view (and some of it not on girls!) The stretcher they provided wasn't the ancient canvas job out of the school first aid cupboard, which I expected. It was one of the kind they use for mountain rescue, which wraps round the injured party and then fastens with straps. Accordingly, I was wrapped in a big red blanket, then strapped securely into the stretcher - completely immobilised, but at least I was warm! While this was going on they "forgot" to remove my gag. I was duly paraded round the school playing field where the fete was going on and finally taken into the staff room and unpacked from the stretcher.

After I'd dried off and changed, I was able to enjoy the rest of the afternoon (including en enjoyable session singing in the school choir), with occasional visits back to "Ol' Soggy" to watch some of my fellow teachers being assaulted.

Two curious observations from the day. First, there seemed to be a fairly even mix of boys and girls with tickets to soak the male teachers, but for the female teachers, girls far outnumbered boys. Second, the custard pies that actually hit me always turned over exactly one and a half times in the air, so they were foam side down as they struck - I wonder how long it took somebody to get that to work.

Well, it was fun and it raised a lot of money, but I'm glad we only do this once a year! The fete and various spin-off activities raised about 3000 pounds of which about 80 was down to my efforts, so I'm really quite pleased.

The end
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