My school was a knife-addled rape shed in the slums which couldn't afford the decent teachers with their shoestring budget, so I can't think of many. My Head of Year was the standout individual though. He was this big bloke in his mid sixties who taught woodwork and metalwork. He was genuinely a nice guy, who somehow managed to know how every pupil in his year (over 300 people) was doing in every subject, and if you were underperforming in some area he would make a point to come find you, and (sometimes in not the softest terms) get you back on track. My friend and I got caught wandering through town one lunchtime (looking for a decent meal, as our canteen was absolute e) and were sent to his office.

He wasn't in his office, and when we found him, he had actually been looking for us, as he had found a textbook that he thought might help my friend with his DT coursework. He looked genuinely sad about what we'd been doing, and said he'd 'deal with us later'. He didn't, and would later say that we had enough to worry about instead of a pointless punishment for taking the initiative.

I met him in a bar last year and we had a pint. He's retired now, too old