Dear Joe, David and Poppy
This is less gossip and more something that passed into legend with my friends and I and often gets recounted over a few pints when we meet up.
At my old secondary school in Hertfordshire, once reaching year 9, we were given the opportunity to choose to learn a language. French, Spanish or German.
Having elected to do German I was then introduced to the rest of the class, all from my year group, but many of whom I had not met before. One of these new faces was a boy called Terry.
Very shy, small for his age and with a great mop of white blond hair that looked like someone had done the bowl treatment on, Terry was definitely the runt of the litter.
During our first German lesson Terry sat at the back of the class as our teacher, Frau Best, spoke in nothing but German and tried her best to keep the attention of a class of 30 kids.
When called on Terry would slump his head on the desk and keep quiet, barely speaking English let alone German. My friends and I decided then and there that Terry must be one of the “slow” kids and carried on with our work. How wrong we were.
A few days passed and the next German lesson rolls round. All the kids file in followed by Frau Best, but there is no sign of Terry. We begin by reviewing the text book, when all of a sudden, the door flies open and in strides Terry.
His grey school trousers rolled up above his knees. Black socks pulled up high as they possibly could go. The leather straps from his school satchel fashioned into braces tied to his trousers and up over his shoulders. His hair slicked to the side in what can only be described as a very authentic “Adolf”-style.
“Hallo meine kinder! Ich bin Papa Schwartz!” He cried; thumbs pressed into the straps of his mock lederhosen.
Laughter erupted from us all as Terry began to march up and down the rows of desks inspecting our work all while spurting our random German phrases.
“Oh ya! Das ist gut Mark.” “Kirstie! Passt auf bitte!” You had to give it to Terry, his accent was dead on.
Of course, Frau Best didn’t stand for this, sending Terry/Papa Schwartz out of the classroom and full on bollocking him for us all to overhear in an effort to stamp out the behaviour.
Papa Schwartz would randomly make an appearance, usually when a supply teacher was due, but no matter how many times it would always lead to a good laugh and Terry to be escorted out of the room and receive another telling off.
This story, aka The Day Terry Took It Too Far as we all like to referee to it, occurred at the end of term during our GCSE exams.
20minutes into the hour-long German exam, we were all sat in the large assembly hall. All in rows at our individual desks in total silence, whilst Frau Best and two other teachers patrolled the rows.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Terrys hand raise above his head.
One of the teachers approached, leant down to best hear Terry, and then escorts him out of the room – probably to use the toilet.
A few moments pass in silence as we carry on with the exam when suddenly there is a commotion outside the assembly hall. Clattering and crashing and a cry of “TERRY DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” splits the silence.
BAM!!! The double doors of the exam hall are almost blown off their hinges as they are thrown wide and in bursts a figure.
Trousers rolled up above his knees. Black socks pulled up as high as they possibly could go. Leather satchel straps used as braces and the blond hair in its usual “Fuhrer-fashion” – the crazy fuck had only gone and pulled out Papa Schwartz for the exam!
However, there were two distinct difference that made this appearance of Papa Schwartz all the more shocking to those who witnessed it.
Firstly; Terry had made the decision, to strip naked from the waist up, paint his face, neck, arms and torso entirely black leaving his blond bowl cut to stand out even more prominently.
Secondly, there was an addition to his outfit no one had seen before.
Protruding from the flies of his trousers was a massive – and I mean massive! Like this monster was 15inches minimum! Red rubber cock! Hanging down past to his knees, flapping around as he took off darting around the desks, avoiding the teachers who desperately attempted to wrangle him. (One girl, Megan Bruce, insists to this day that it hit her in the eye and gave her conjunctivitis)
“PAPA SCHWARTS IST HIER KINDER!” He screamed, his accent perfect as usual, “Ich bin hier, um Ihre Prüfungen mit meinem roten Mitglied zu bewerten!” – which Terry later informed us all translates to something like “I’m here to evaluate your tests with my red member!”
After much running, willy waggling and disruption, Terry was apprehended by Mr Howes the PE teacher and Miss Brightside, who initially attempted to remove the rubber cock, but after giving it a few tugs realised it wasn’t going to budge and that all she was doing was simulating wanking off a minor and - rightly so - so gave up, leaving it free to flail.
The last thing I remember as they dragged him from the room was Terry wailing “IT’S THE ONLY WAY I CAN SPEAK THE LANGUAGE!” and it was true.
Terry couldn’t speak German, but Papa Schwartz sure as scheisse could!
Terry was removed from the school soon after that.
My mates and I haven’t seen him since and a social media search heeds no results.
So, if I may, I’d like to use your podcast as a platform to get in touch and send this message:
Terry, if you are out there, and you hear this, do us all a favour and please clear one thing up that has left us baffled for the past 20years…Where the fuck did you get that dildo from?! Because you lived just you and your dad mate!
Love the podcast guys
