Those of you who have been reading for a while will probably know I used to be a teacher. Those of you who are new to this blog… I used to be a teacher. Three years in secondary education, a term in primary.

I had a fairly hellish time for the most part, culminating in having a nervous breakdown and having to get signed off sick with stress. While this meant that I could legitimately sit at home in my pants and play video games all day while getting paid for it (and not having to write about said games), it was a demoralising, embarrassing experience that reflected much of my time in the classroom — demoralising and embarrassing.

But it wasn’t all bad, and lest you get the impression that I spent my entire time in the classroom hating every single child who sullied the sanctity of my room with their presence, I wanted to take a moment to appreciate one particular student who has stuck in my mind ever since. She isn’t the only one, and if I’m strapped for writing ideas I will talk about my memories of the others at a later time. But she is the one that popped into my head when I was considering what to write about this evening. I attribute at least part of this to the fact she has a memorable name, and is the only person I’ve ever known with that name.

Her name was Berri, and when I knew her she was in year 8, or the second year of secondary school. I only knew her for a year, as I was only employed at the school in question for a year thanks to the headteacher who employed me officially being Shit With Money. But that’s another story.

Berri may have only been in year 8 at the time, but she was incredibly mature for her age. She was the sort of kid you could have an actual meaningful conversation with, rather than simply chasing them up for homework. She was intelligent, witty and had common sense. She also had the patience of a saint, something which I display for the vast majority of the time but sometimes found reaching breaking point when confronted with a class of unruly, uncooperative children who thought their weekly Music lesson was an excuse to goof off. Berri never got annoyed, though, even when young Danny, her classmate who liked to climb bookcases and shout “CUNT” at people, was at his worst.

Berri was also very musical, which meant that the vast majority of the secondary school music curriculum was pitched way below what she was capable of. She never minding mucking in and doing a task that was beneath her ability level, though, and if she finished early she was more than happy to go and sit in a practice room playing her violin. Although classical music isn’t particularly cool among kids, seeing a peer who is good at a musical instrument is usually enough to impress even the most unruly child into temporary silence. In retrospect, I should have perhaps taken advantage of this fact more regularly.

In short, I appreciated Berri for being one person in those classes of 30 that I didn’t have to worry about. She was one pupil who actively made my life easier and more pleasant, rather than more difficult and unpleasant. Her practice room was often a haven of calm when the rest of the class, supposedly composing a piece based on Indian raga, were in fact just trying to see who could press the “DJ!” button on the school’s keyboard the most in the space of five minutes. She never said anything, but I could tell from the way she acted and looked at me sometimes that she understood how much pressure I was under, and how difficult I found dealing with the unruly mobs. That look of understanding that she occasionally gave me was one of a few things that kept me safe in that hellhole.

I always thought that she was out of place at that school, populated as it was mostly with the sort of twats you’d see on Britain’s Chavviest Teens, should such a show exist. I hope that whatever reason brought her there wasn’t enough to keep her there, and I hope that in the intervening six or seven years since I last saw her that she has been able to make the most of everything that she had to offer the world. If she went on to university after school, she’d be about halfway through her course now. I wonder what she’s doing.

Wherever you are, Berri, and whatever you’re doing, thanks for making my life a fraction easier. I wish you the best of luck as you look forward to your life as an adult truly starting, and hope you achieve all that you deserve to.