The third division in my elementary school class, next door down the hall.
Their classmaster (literally, class-elder here) was teaching russian. Blonde, average looking, not outstanding in any way, had a habit of caricaturally mocking anyone's mispronouncing. Some of these I remember better than most of the lessons.
There was an awkward moment in september 1968, when the first lesson was a poem "Do the Russians want a war", coming just a couple of weeks after the occupation of ČSSR. She pulled some long-winded explanation which didn't quite work, something about a distinction between people, country and government.