Mr Grosch was my Latin master. He played a game with his first year boys. They sat in rows and lines and he would ask them questions in turn if you answered a question that the others had got wrong you moved up closer to the front, supplanting those in error. This competitive game suited 11-year old boys and would be useful, even today, in instilling a sense of competition where it is needed.
Mr Morgan was my Maths teacher. He hated untidiness. I was and always have been untidy. He thought I was useless at Maths. His particular punishment for untidiness was to percuss the perpetrator's skull with his middle finger as a doctor percusses an abdomen or a chest. It hurt. He was very surprised when I came top of the class in Maths.
Mr Sweet was my French teacher. His particular punishment was to lift the boy from sitting to standing position by the short hair in front of the ear. That is even more painful even though it doesn't leave a mark. It did not improve my French, though this was the first time I heard someone use the 'F' word at school.
As methods of carrot and stick, the carrot was more successful than the stick. Although I was good at Maths, my handwriting never improved. I trace my proficiency at Maths (and indeed all maths-based sciences, to my rote learning my tables from the age of 4 onwards.
Mr Wetton was my primary school teacher. He was keen that we should do sport and keen on mental arithmetic. I was the only child in his care who had achieved 100% for three successive mental arithmetic tests. He gave me his silver pocket watch as a reward.
Is a pattern emerging here?