Was it Isis? Was it Eve? Was it Olias, being somewhat precocious? Which of my little darlings screamed "Oh No!" and then asked "Not boiled potatoes?" with a hopeful whimper of "please..." which was never spoken but was definitely said.

It was none of them - it was Toni. A full grown mother of three, crestfallen at the thought of having to eat boiled potatoes.

Even adults have their prejudices

I have some sympathy for her. Many years ago (1972) when I was a pupil at what I now know to be a fantastic primary school in Melksham (St Michael's - I'll Google it in a minute and see if it's still going*) I used to go home at lunch times with my brother and sisters and my mum would cook us fish fingers or beef burgers or something similar.

There was a short period though when my mum was ill and we had to stay for School Dinners. A fearful prospect that was not welcome. Things went badly to start with and I didn't eat the food (I was only 4) but after about 3 days an incident occurred which has scarred me ever since.

There was a teacher at this school I particularly disliked - feared. She was a large, spectacled lady, with a very matronly look who I can still remember dressed in old, puritanical style cotton dresses. She was somewhat pungent and not given to smiling and her name was MRS BOYLE.

Now of course Mrs Boyle wasn't anything like this. She was probably a lovely old dear, who had nothing but kindness and compassion for all life, but I was 4 and this is how I saw her. Then came THE INCIDENT and this hasn't helped my memory of her at all.

As a youngster I hated boiled potatoes - everyone hated 1970's style boiled potatoes. Big, hard in the middle, dry and powdery on the outside, giant mountains of unpleasant, badly cooked, matter. I started to cry. Mrs Boyle started to tell me off. I cried some more, she turned to shouting at me. No amount of her shouting could force me to eat more than a few bites of the horrid, Everest sized lumps of crap, bland and off-white, dirty mountains of flavourless starch. Here was a small four year old boy, being shouted at by an overbearing old hag, because he wouldn't eat his boiled potatoes. It was abuse. Clear, cut and clean - abuse.

I take it all back. Mrs Boyle wasn't a kind and gentle old biddy but a wicked harridan, an overbearing, child hating, abuser and she probably ate kittens alive.

After the incident, the headmaster, a lovely man called Mr Crawford, wrote a letter to my Dad explaining what had happened and that it probably wasn't a good idea for me to stay for school dinners any more. After that we were taken to lunch by the very kind lollipop lady, Mrs Cobb, who made us fish fingers and beef burgers and no boiled potatoes.

If Mrs Boyle or any of her surviving relatives want to sue me for my accusations - bring it on. If however, you too have been abused by this horrendous excuse for a human being, please write in the comments box below and we can share. Let's come together in the "Mrs Boyle made me eat boiled potatoes group" and together we can heal.

I wonder if she is still alive - if she ever was.

I don't do boiled potatoes very often as you can probably guess. These were good though - so good Toni actually commented that they were addictive and she couldn't stop eat them. Praise indeed.

* It was bulldozed in 2012.