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At school I excelled at maths, 
And English I found very hard;
Essays and interpretations floored me, 
Although at poetry I was a bard. 

But I managed a B in my O Grade, 
Under the old teacher who was past it, 
But was relieved when she fled and left, 
Overjoyed when a young graduate started. 

Throughout the school holidays with vocality, 
I swore I’d been fine with the new teacher, 
But my parents insisted that I have a tutor, 
For Higher English, for university to enter. 

I was very angry ‘cos I knew I’d get in, 
With my other grades, two A’s and maybe a B, 
So if I even got a C for 5th year English, 
That wasn’t gonna upset or bother me. 

But they just didn’t understand socialism, 
That state schools were just as good, 
And continued to deride my special school, 
Which had school care very much under the hood. 

So John from Edinburgh Academy came along, 
Every Thursday to tutor me at Higher English, 
But my biggest issue was that he attended, 
My parents church and possessed an evangelical blush. 

I really wanted to discuss the romantic poets, 
The course novel and my essay interests and topics, 
With a normal person who was not north on society, 
Who would nurture me without any Christianity antics. 

He had an axe to my neck about John Keats, 
About Keats’ Ruth and how the man believed in god, 
But I said No, no, no, he’s an atheist, a romantic,
About nature which was then far too divinely awed.

I didn’t even ever write the essays I wanted, 
In fear that John would make my life harder, 
And I always thought before I spoke to him, 
Which is not the best for an English tutor. 

But he is a very interesting, loving man, 
And I did ask if I could use his last name, 
To refer to him, to suggest a distance, 
Between his views and mine, not the same. 

He wouldn’t let me, but I got a B in the end, 
And enjoyed anyway his lessons on literature, 
How to express yourself and answer the question, 
And knew to buffet his regressive caricature.
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