There was a riot in my school when I was 15.
It never (to the best of my knowledge) made the news or even reported in the local papers.
Enough people that I have told this story too have looked at me with a more than healthy look of disbelief and its fair enough, its a wonder that no one actually got hurt.
I started to doubt what happened too! And wondered if it was one of those fantastic dreams that you are not sure looking back if they are real or fake.

My school was pretty ordinary, I've spoken before about how much I hated it and was hated by pretty much everyone in there.
But in my GCSE years I found a small group of friends and was kinda happy to go into school.

My school was heavily in debt and as far as I can recall (remember that I'm going back 7 years here!) they decided that the best way to save some money was to get rid off all the teachers that had been there years and were actually established and respected and replaced with cheaper ones fresh out of uni and ready to start a lifetime of being took advantage of and mocked.
Of course there may have been other reasons why these teachers were chucked and a lot of crap ones kept.
A lot of kids and other people were up in arms about this. Me? I couldn't care less.
Anyway, one day a Thursday I remember cos I had drama, history and then PSRE.
A girl. T. popped her head through our door just before the pips went to send us off to the first lesson of the day.
"We're on strike."
Wahoo!
To be fair this was a false start, a few wandered round the corridors aimlessly, I had a brief discussion with GT and the other lads I was hanging with at the time and we made our way slowly to our first lessons, many kids where missing and many turned up late. Our drama teacher couldn't really care less I guess and there was rumours of things being planned in the school library.
The second lesson. History passed in the boring dull way it always did and then we had break and then all hell broke loose.
PSRE was a deadly dull compulsary subject even though we didnt have to take the GCSE if we didnt want to, in which we were supposed to learn about being tolerant to disabled people, religious types, etc, to avoid taking drugs and how to put condoms on bizarre white things that even now I can't describe and we watched Priest which gained legendary status in our school by having gay sex scenes, although our teacher refused to let us watch that part so I can't really comment if it was just a gay kiss or something that had been blown up out of all proportion.
Anyway I took this class with A and we spent most of our time playing noughts and crosses and writing letters to his girlfriend.
He was always trying to encourage me to bunk off and go hang out in the caff at the park, but I being the goody-goody that I was always refused convinced I'd get caught.
There were several cries of Strike! and this time no one went to classes.
Instead there was a mass rush to the main hall, where we made our way to stand aimlessly, I saw E's sister there and said hello and they were as puzzled as us.
Our Head of house came in then and bellowed at us to get back to classes and from then on it was pandemonium and everyone for themselves, running down one corridor, only to find a teacher there and then doubling back on themselves, crowding and crushing.
Forty or fifty kids running one way and then back the way they came and I was seriously worried for the safety of the little first years.
Running up and down staircases, yelling and shouting. I became seperated from all my friends and the only thing to do, to prevent ourselves from being crushed as I was caught in the crowd was to go with it, just running one way along the library corridor, towards the main staircase, only to find a big burly teacher there and then getting jostled and shoved and running backwards at one point until I could turn around and go with the crowd.
For nearly an hour 2,000 pupils ran riot over the school, yelling, shouting, running back and forth, hearing rumours that we should go one place, only to find a teacher there and to turn and dart back the way we came, and I found myself in the corridor where I normally had PSRE looking aimlessly for my Brat or a friend to figure out what my next action would be as all I wanted to do, was avoid getting caught, either by a teacher or by the crowd again.
I saw the crowd head one way, and then turn and run again, like a stampeding herd, followed grimly by a few dedicated teachers.
I was then caught by my PSRE teacher and herded into a classroom, where we ate Cadburys Roses and watched "4 Weddings and A funeral" until order was relatively restored.
A was one of the last caught in that hour of madness and came bursting into the classroom, telling us eagerly about how our House Head had cornered him against a wall and screamed at him and how he had wiggled free and then deciding to go and have a fag in library only to find the door locked and bolted with the librarians in and a few scared looking first-years inside.

It started up again half-heartedly during the rest of the day, but never to the same effect as that mad hour.
We came home bursting of the stories and laughing about the adventure only to have them dismissed by Mothership and Dad as over-exaggerated madness.
So that's our riot, and it just reinforced my belief that I never wanted to go into teaching!