I was in my twenties and working in a challenging school. It was almost the end of the day and I was counting the seconds, wondering how I could endure any more. It had been a day of pupils bickering, swearing and answering back. But worse was to come.

Some of the classrooms had those dreadful folding concertina doors. Two boys decided they had had enough of school and dashed out. I was left with 28 children who couldn’t be left alone. I kept thinking: “The bell will go any second.” It didn’t. Instead in marched a woman with two sidekicks.

“Two boys are running around in the playground. It’s not our job to look after them,” she shouted. “You’re the teacher.”

I thought she was going to smack me. All I could do was ask a child to fetch the head. Somehow, he convinced her to go to his office which took about five minutes because she wanted to milk her 15 minutes of fame.

The sidekicks soon scarpered, not wanting to stay around in front of the head. The children went home but I felt in a mess.

The supportive staff confided that she was a constant trouble maker who rowed with everyone. Unfortunately for me, she was far worse than usual because the family was moving from the area at the end of the week.

A kind caretaker congratulated me on staying at this particular school for the whole day. “Most supply teachers have had enough by lunch time,” he said.

The writer is a supply teacher from Lancashire.