It's 1983, I am ten years old. I have asked to start music lesson with Mr Critch.
The main reason is to avoid normal lessons, my so called friends advised me to do so and get out of maths or whatever we did on Wednesday afternoons at wood ham burn junior school.
Mr Critch is about five foot seven, with a bit of a bald head like an egg in the nest. He has glasses (the classic pedo look) and in short....he was a twat.
I came into the class, not knowing a thing about music. He had already put some music on the black board in a series of scales upon a musical stave. He was going through the note types such as quavers and crotchets. I assumed (and this is the key word here) I assumed he was speaking directly to the other kids in the class because they had been studying a while now, I didn't think I was expected to know, memorise or understand ANYTHING HE WAS TALKING ABOUT, and when you think of it logically....HOW COULD I??? This is my first music lesson where music theory is learned.
So he asked me a question about the music on the board, to which I could not answer correctly. He went into a rage, I could not believe it he went from ZERO to a full rage of pure hate. He actually screamed at me so much that one of the other boys started crying, one of those boys who ADVISED ME TO GO TO THIS MUSIC LESSON. I now understood WHY, it was because our music teacher was a PSYCHO, and the ironic thing is that I had come out of my original lesson to avoid my day to day teacher of this year which was MR DRAKE (see other posting of him in this blog)
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
So one if not both of the other boys in the class (small class - no surprise) they were sent out, while I stayed in with the fucking psycho teacher who lost control because I COULDN'T UNDERSTAND MUSIC BECAUSE I HAD NEVER READ MUSIC IN MY LIFE PREVIOUSLY. That's understandable.
SO he sat me down (i was always sitting anyway, maybe he sat me down further) and he spoke to me again. I believe he went through some drum rudiments using only a drum stick, he had decided upon five minutes that I was a drummer. Then he changed his mind and gave me what I presumed was a French horn, it was a horn of some sort.
On this horn was a squeaky valve, now this is the thing. I personally believe that the valve would always squeak due to wear and tear and without dare I say - lubrication. Mr Critch said that the squeaking would stop only If I practiced every day until next week.
So every day I practiced, but it was difficult because only one small puff of the horn would shake the house from it's foundations so there was always hammering and shouting from my parents, so I couldn't really practice at all.
Naturally, when I returned to music class the following week, I played for Mr Critch and there it was again, that squeaky valve. Once again, the psycho hit the roof. He reigned down torrent after torrent of hate upon my head, and I tried the only option I could think of at that time which was BY TELLING THE TRUTH - YOU CAN'T GO WRONG WITH THE TRUTH AS THE HEAD MASTER USED TO SAY. I told Mr Critch about my problems playing the horn at home, that it disturbed the peace, but he would'nt accept it of course he probably lived in a posh house in the middle of no where on his own estate you see, not like us lot, stuck in council houses)
He went nuts and once again, the other boys started crying.
After that, I avoided the bastard at all costs. During sports day, I remember it was such a hot day, the bastard was looking for me all over the sports field. I could see him asking kids, teachers and the odd parent if i was at school, if I was in attendance, if so and so was my mother / father or if I was entering any of the races and games - What a complete psycho......I mean...WHO WOULD DO THAT???
Meanwhile I was hiding between parents legs or crouching down, anything I could do to avoid him. I entered more races that year than any year, and you know what, I won more too, that's how scared I was, just so you know, I didn't race with the French Horn, that was left at home. He was like the kiddy catcher from 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' a real fucker. That ordeal went on all afternoon for me, it was real tense, too tense for a ten year old. He must have been really angry with me to come searching for me.
Just so you know there is no point to this story apart from the hate I feel towards him.
One Sunday morning I remember just looking at 'songs of praise' or 'morning worship' as it may have been called back then. It was an early Sunday morning edition I believe. I was not a viewer, I must have just been curious to watch for a minute or so, it was actually filmed in Durham Cathedral this morning so maybe that's why I was interested as Durham was quite close to me. As I watched, the camera pulled back slowly and revealed Mr Critch, sitting in the congregation ,hymn book open, smiling and singing his heart out. I grabbed my dad and told him "Hey dad, there's Mr Critch, the crazy teacher from School" My dad wasn't bothered of course but I was really angry because of him. It is something I still hold onto today, something to do with the WARPED mind of some religious people IF NOT ALL, How could someone SO EVIL be religious, and a religious fanatic (the worst kind). I have seen so many examples of this over the years, we see it in old Catholic Schools, and nunneries where innocent people were punished supposedly in the name of god.
They are animals.
Let me tell you, I hated Mr Critch with a passion, right now I would love to track the bastard down and punch him in the face, but I have a feeling he is already dead. If he is....I hope it was a painful slow death and I hope he realised that heaven does not exist.....especially for evil men such as him.
Burn in hell Critch.
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