A group of suspiciously chattering pupils stood looking at the notice board.
To say that I was, that they were, surprised at my apparent physics prowess would be understatement to the power of ten.
That year like all years, I had occupied my customary seat next to the window where I could benefit from draughts of sea-air passing through the single glazing and hide my physics
"Look lads, we're going to do a really brilliant experiment," was the teachers' sales-pitch.
I remember being lulled into nascent curiosity.
There was a wooden bench propped up at an angle, a sort of wooden trolley with ticker tape attached to it. The trolley went down the angled bench, the ticker tape followed.
That was that.
What had it all meant? I didn't, I don't have the foggiest inkling of an idea.
I remember feeling that I had been had.
If that was the ultimate excitement that one could have in a "physics classroom" then clearly it wasn't going to be for me.
I enjoyed scribbling, feeling the draught, looking vaguely out of the window while paying ear-service to the ambient educative goings-on.
I liked the teacher in so far as he left me in peace.
I never enjoyed physics as much as the year that God mysteriously decided that I would be gifted sudden brilliance in the key testing moment.
I came second in physics.
The teacher must have thought he had worked really well.
I remember nothing else.
"Education is what remains after one has forgotten what one has learned in school."