Confessions of a teacher: Because school isn't quite what you remember it to be... (2 page)

"Welcome back" says Jim Walker who is temporarily heading the school until they appoint a new head master, the previous one having retired. The traditional aerial view of the school is displayed on the screen behind him. What comes next is the introduction of new staff members. They stand up one by one as their name is being read and smile awkwardly to the assembled audience. One such new comer is Ross Hall. He's the new head of computing. His slightly greying hair gives him a certain maturity in direct contrast with his piercing and playful green eyes. Smartly dressed and of athletic figure, it is quite clear from the start that this new addition to the staff is going to turn quite a few heads. As a matter of fact, he has already started if the many cranked necks from female staff turning round to look at him is anything to go by. Now for the weddings of the year. More often than not, schools double up as dating agencies. "Congratulations to Miss Dunn who has now become Mrs Rudell. Congratulations to you both". This wedding I'm glad of. May be married life will at last put an end to last year's amorous displays from these two; Sharing the same chair at coffee time and the same straw at lunch time. Next, we're treated to an account of the various school trips that took place at the end of last term. Terence is asked to talk about the history trip to Normandy. He stands up and with a constricted smile and invites Ronald Dunbar to do the honour. 'Education, education, education' is not just a political slogan for New Labour. It applies to Ronald as well. He was once a pupil in this school and after a few years interlude to get his maths degree and teaching qualification, returned to the very same school but this time as a teacher. There, he gradually climbed up the promotion ladder to assistant head. To Ronald's mind, there is no longer any distinction between school and the real world. School
is
the real world. He's in for a shock when he retires in a few months time. "The trip went well", he starts. Next to me, I can feel Terence tensing up and muttering swear words between greeted teeth. Ronald proceeds to give a detailed account of the trip except for some obviously missing information: the trip that went well somehow ended up with two pupils being suspended. Nobody can work out why exactly. I look at Terence who is clutching his fists and rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. He looks back at me as if to say "I'll tell you later". Gosh! I wonder what happened in this trip. I really need to see Terence at some point today. Jim Walker takes back centre stage to announce the change of suppliers in school blazers. If we are to believe this blatant commercial for the uniform suppliers, the new blazer is of a much lighter material and therefore cheaper and more comfortable. The big screen behind his head is now showing a before and after version of the blazer. Personally, I can't see much difference. The image fades out to be replaced by a complete and detailed financial analysis of the costs incurred by the school and the parents. Jim continues: "We will therefore ask you to ensure that all children are wearing their uniform in class". I knew we'd have an invaluable part to play in the future success of this business transaction between the school and the blazers supplier.

The next meeting is spent in individual departments where we'll be given our tasks over the next couple of days. Needless to say, these tasks have absolutely nothing to do with the ones I have on my list which are the truly important ones. Apparently, we are due to have our classrooms painted sometime in the next three weeks. That wouldn't be a bad thing considering the gaping holes on the walls that have been used by kids as personal bins. You can fit your whole fist in them, something nobody would dare to do for fear of the filth that resides in those cavities. When it gets too full, the kids use the tip of their pens to shove everything back in the holes and make more space for new wrappers and chewing-gums. I suppose, the good thing about it is that they won't require much plastering before painting over the walls, the holes, and their accompanying designs of male sexual appendages. That is of course, if they ever get round to actually doing any painting. This is the third year in a row that we're supposed to have basic re-decorating done without anything ever happening. So once again, me and my colleagues will have to spend the little preparation time we have standing on desks and armed with scissors to take down all the pupils' work that ornate our classrooms; a display of sound educational practise and, if the truth be told, a desperate attempt to hide the crumbling state of the rooms.

Two pointless meetings later and at last the day draws to an end. As I drive home exhausted, head buzzing, brain already starting to add urgent tasks to the ones I know I won't have time to tackle anyway, I remember that I never had a chance to speak to Terence. I make a mental note to see him first thing tomorrow morning. I wonder what this was all about... When I get to school the next day, I head straight to Terence's classroom. I find him at his desk, eyes glued on his computer. "Terence", I say, "What on earth happened in this trip?". Terence rolls his eyes to the ceiling yet again, cursing Ronald Dunbar whole heartedly for the second time.

- "Two of the boys on the trip were acting a bit weird" says Terence, "so we decided to pay the four who shared that room a surprise visit. It wasn't long before we found some cannabis stuffed under the two boys' pillows. I went spare with them and they weren't allowed to leave our side for the rest of the trip. After we found the drugs, I suggested to Ronald that we ought to get rid of the stuff and maybe we should flush it down the toilets. He told me that not only getting rid of it wasn't an option but that we needed to bring it back as evidence".

-"What! You mean bringing cannabis back from France to Britain!".

- "That's exactly what I pointed out to him but he wouldn't have it any other way. I was furious with him and told him that if this was the case, he would have to carry it himself and I wanted nothing to do with it".

- "Is that what happened"?

- "Not exactly. I was so furious with him that I forgot to give him the package and I just put it in my jacket. It was quite warm during the rest of the trip so I never actually wore that damn jacket and I forgot all about it. The next thing I knew, we were on the coach for the return journey and it was the middle of the night when we went through customs. I had kind of dozed off when the coach stopped to allow two custom officers to check us out. I was feeling a bit cold and took my jacket out of my bag to put it on. As soon as I did that, I turned green. Well tucked inside my jacket pocket, I had two bags of drugs and there were two custom officers on board the coach. That idiot Ronald was grinning innocently and winking at me while I was sweating profusely and feeling on the verge of passing out. Luckily, the officials took one look around, saw the thirty kids behind us and decided to wave us through".

I try to refrain from laughing but I can see that Terence is still furious about the whole thing. I can see his point. After all, he came very close to making the newspapers' headlines:
Teacher caught in possession of drugs blames it on pupils.
That would certainly have dampened his holidays, not to mention seriously harmed his career. But thanks to Ronald Dunbar's dedication and ingenuity, we now have the evidence we needed to convict the two culprits and impose on them the full force of the Law. They have been condemned to a one week suspension.

August: Enter the jungle.

Here we are again. A brand new year tinged with excitement, good intentions and trepidation but for whom? the teachers? the pupils? Both probably except that I know and they know that the euphoria won’t last long. Give both sides a month and we will resume our monotonous road of boredom and frustration on the path to education. But at the moment all looks well through the rose tinted glasses of the first day back.

My first class of the day is a first year. That’s a nice way to start the new session. First years are usually quite sweet. I say usually, because their sweetness depends on many fluctuating factors such as the school area, the nature of that particular crop of first years and the pupils’ height. In my humble experience, there is a direct correlation between the proportion of unusually tall first years and the amount of discipline you will have to inflict upon them. In any case, the school I teach in is quite a good one and, as they trickle into the room, I am please to see that they all appear to be of a reasonable size for their age. However, let’s not be too complacent. The secret of any good teacher is to display the correct dosage of pleasantness and implacability. Register done. Introduction done.

As I’m speaking to them, I spot a small blond boy with one eye on the window and the other one on his desk. I think to myself: is this a squint or is he blatantly not listening to a word I’m saying? I am going to have to sit him at the front to keep an eye on him, or even both eyes if his strange ability to direct his gaze in two opposite directions is anything to go by. I move the children into the seats I have allocated to them on my seating plan and take that opportunity to move cheeky squinty boy to the front. He sits there, second row on my left with a bottle of orange juice on his desk and a skate- board standing upright against his chair. “Juice, not allowed” I proclaim to the whole class. As for the skate- board, he explains to me in the most reasonable of voices that it is the form of transport he has been using since primary to get to school. Well, who am I to argue about the efficiency of skate-boards as a replacement to public transport? Besides, when I look at him, seating here with one eye on the skate-board and the other pinned on the wall, I strongly suspect that it is a squint after all. The rest of the day goes quite well. Third year then, second year. Second year usually think they own the place, but I must admit, this class is delightful. Long may it continue!

Second day back and I’m getting ready to face the animals otherwise known as my fourth year class. Luckily they’re not lions. With the lions, you can’t take your eyes of them or drop your concentration even for a split second. If you do, you get eaten alive with blood and guts spilled everywhere. Fortunately this year, I only have the chimps. You’ll be lucky if you can teach them as much as one trick but they mean no harm. The chimps are completely different from the lions. They are daft and playful. They will often gratify you with pointless stories and conversations that will leave you either baffled or rolling on the floor with laughter. Don’t try to ask them much about what they’re supposed to be learning though. Even the most simple of questions, such as telling you the months of the year in the correct order (and that’s in their own language, never mind in French!) will be met by a look of utter surprise accompanied by a grunt that is meant as a question mark. Having recovered from the initial shock, they will most likely fix their eyes on the ceiling so as to convey to you the impression that their grey cells are doing over time. Do not be fooled by this. Just give them a few seconds and they will confess to their total ignorance on the subject.

A school runs on a buzz of rumours. Some of them will prove to be true, others totally unfounded. This one is; founded that is. A note came this morning from the guidance team to the teachers of Samantha M., also known as Sam to anyone who ever comes in contact with her. I do. Sam is one of the chimps. “Samantha is pregnant and we would ask all her teachers to show diplomacy in this particular situation” says the note. Teachers are well trained in the business of diplomacy but what about the children?

Duly expecting Sam walks into the classroom, her belly preceding every one of her steps. With great amount of huffing and puffing, she grabs her now protruding stomach as if to align it with the rest of her body. Eventually, both mother and baby manage the tight squeeze between the chair and the desk. This equipment, common to all modern days schools, was never designed with pregnant sixteen year old in mind. May be they should review the situation since this breed of pupil is on the increase. I am suddenly faced with the mental picture of twenty pregnant girls sitting in front of me and having to add the art of midwifery to my already existing skills. Please, no! In any case, there is only one pregnant Sam today and she sits there, waiting. Not for long though. Five minutes later, Sam is back on her feet and announces from the top of her voice that she needs the toilets.

“ She's got a bun in the oven” clamours Jonathan from the back of the room. “Did you know that Miss?”. Before I can even reply, someone beats me to it: “Yeah,and I'm the father!”. A dust of hilarity spreads over the whole class. Right, time for action on my part. "Sit down, get your jotters out and stop being so immature!". I turn to Steven, the self-proclaimed father:" And you, it's not funny!". Actually it is but I can't possibly tell them that. The laughter slowly recedes and they start complying with my instructions reluctantly. As I turn to write the date on the board, I nearly jump out of my skin as I come face to face with Sam. God! I nearly forgot about her. She'd been standing there behind me the whole time. "Yes, what is it now?" and I can feel my irritation mounting. “So...” says the impregnable and still dignified Sam, “...can I go to the toilets?”.

Diplomacy they said? Diplomacy is now out, never to be mentioned again. Perhaps, just perhaps, they have got it right and we haven't. The best thing may well be to proclaim loud and clear the very thing you don't want to broadcast for diplomatic reasons. The matter is now truly dealt with and they all look at me with the expectation of a perfectly normal lesson ahead of them. All of this without any help from diplomacy.