An Educational Experience

By Colin Herbert

In many respects, taking my first ‘mock’ examination was one of the most important and memorable episodes of my school life, as this first reconnaissance mission into the world of academic exams was set to change an awful lot in both my immediate and long term future.

Of course, all of this was unknown to the skinny fourteen year old, standing awkwardly outside the dingy pit, which had been given the cheerful title of ‘Dance and Drama Area’.

Some genius had tried to lighten the tone by painting the walls black. It hadn’t helped.

I lurked uneasily in the tiny corridor with its steps leading down into the school’s creative powerhouse. Unusually for someone who lived pretty much in his own time zone, I had arrived early, as I had needed to go via my Form Room to pick up my typewriter.

I had first been introduced to this belligerent piece of hardware the previous year, after finally taking the decision to abandon handwriting as too slow, and it had been my constant companion and occasional nemesis ever since.

When making the selection for me, the typing teacher had, perhaps not unwisely, gone for the robust end of the market, equipping me with a heavyweight electric machine, whose sole concession to portability was the fact that had a case with a handle on it. It was huge, and didn’t appear to weigh a great deal less than I did.

This led to all sorts of fun and games as I manoeuvred my way through crowded corridors with all the clanking grace of a primitive tank. Its mass gave me a formidable presence between classes, and it seemed determined to maim anyone who came too close, despite my best efforts to maintain a dignified low profile.

Several attempts to boot the machine from my hand only resulted in injured feet, and the younger students soon learnt to flee from the brown case with the stopping distance of an oil tanker, lest it crush them entirely.

Now, one year on, I was taking my pet demon into a proper exam for the first time. Now safely contained in its cage, and in the hands of an experienced driver, it had become less of a menace. If I flattened anyone now, it was more or less always intentional. Deep scars, and something that looked disturbingly like teeth marks in the case bore testament to how steep the learning curve had been.

I didn’t have any particular worries about this exam. I knew it would have a bearing on my future, but it was English, and that was a subject I enjoyed. On the technical front, I was carrying two spare ribbons, a correcting ribbon, and enough paper to write at least five good size novels. I’d consulted with the senior invigilator, who as luck would have it, was one of the more sensible teachers, and he’d guaranteed me a desk with an electrical socket, so I considered myself to be ahead of the game, as the corridor started to fill with nervous students.

Finally the doors opened and we trooped in, marvelling at the unfamiliar little exam desks, a world away from the tables we had all grown used to from primary school on. They were arranged in neat, utterly symmetrical lines, except, I realised, mine, which had been dragged over to the wall, completely ruining the effect of ruthlessly efficient order, which the invigilators had been striving for.

The senior invigilator led me to my pleasingly individualistic little table, and helped me set the typewriter up, while everyone else was carefully picking a seat and fumbling with their pens, pencils, rulers, mascots and all the other things they considered indispensable to gain a respectable grade. I didn’t have any of those things, as I didn’t have any room left on my desk, once the typewriter was in place. Even the exam paper itself had needed to be picked up by the invigilator and placed face down on the keyboard.

The exam started on the invigilator's command, and after the initial rush of paper turning, absolute silence descended. I examined the paper carefully, reading it through twice, and tried to ignore the fact that some were already frantically scribbling.

Having considered my first answer in detail, I innocently hit the first key. The noise was colossal. Ear shattering. Mind blowing.

As the echoes died away pens clattered to the floor, paperwork floated down from the ceiling, and in spite of the fact we knew it carried the death penalty, stunned voices could clearly be heard.There was an urgent rattle of footsteps, and the invigilators descended on me like a pack of wolves. Within seconds I was on my feet being escorted from the room, with all eyes burning into me. There was even some discrete jeering as I passed some of my bolder colleagues.

Once out of the room, to my relief, the invigilator started to chuckle. The whole thing was just one big joke as far as he was concerned, and he found me a nice quiet corner in the Dining Area. I was reunited with the typewriter, and plunged back into the exam.

When the time came, I would leave via the Dining Room door, deposit the typewriter in the Form Room and then I would run home without looking back.

That fateful first exam had all ready sown the seeds of a major change though. Unknown to me, the invigilators had reported the matter, and it was being dealt with at the highest level. Funds were being made available, and new ideas were examined. Even before I had finished my mocks, a portable word processor appeared.

Of course, that presented its own set of problems, but that’s a different tale...