Confessions of a teacher: Because school isn't quite what you remember it to be... (8 page)

A bit of Christmas fun.

As I head into school this morning, I suddenly remember that it was Dora's potential life-changing outing with Ross. I wonder how she got on. Later on that Day, I manage to catch Dora in the staff room. Well, if I'm honest about it, I caught sight of her heading that way when we both had a free period and my nosiness got the better of me. I followed her there hoping that the staff room would be as quiet as it usually is. I was correct in this assumption. Our staff-room is deserted most of the time as people seem to prefer to gather in their own base. The only exception is when we're all summoned to bid farewell to a departing colleague. Aside from that, it is monopolised at break and lunch time by four very distinct and minimal clans who have each claimed their corner of the room. A handful of people sit in one corner, the school secretaries in another, the classroom assistants in a third and in the middle thrones the munch bunch. There are about eight of them and their Formica table is constantly overflowing with a wealth of biscuits and pastries, not to mention the occasional full-blown cake. At the end of each feast, all the goodies disappear in a hiding place which is known only to the members of this eclectic group. How do you become a member? You have to pledge to taking your turn in supplying biscuits in exchange for the right to join their feeding frenzy. I have it on good authority that if you forget to bring food when your turn comes, you might as well fake illness with a hope to be sent home or brace yourself for capital punishment. Luckily, there's no sign of the munch bunch or anyone else in the staff room except Dora.

- "How did you get on on Friday?" I ask Dora quietly as I pretend to search my pigeon hole for any news item.

- "Fine. A nice evening but nothing happened".

I have nothing much to add but I can't say I'm surprised. What does surprise me however is Dora's irate spill about 'that bitch Karen Wallace'. It turns out that Ross has suggested to Karen that she should join their exclusive dining group. Karen Wallace is an interesting character, as well as being a KGB agent. She is as manly in her demeanour as Eleanor is precious in her tailored suits. When Karen sits on a chair, it is with legs wide apart. There are only two groups of people in Karen Wallace's world: those she quite likes and those she hates. There is no middle ground. If you belong to the first group, she will endeavour not to make your life a living hell. But if you happen to be in the second group well... the less said the better. Karen has an impressive record of having pushed quite a few people to apply for posts elsewhere. She is what you would call a 'formidable woman' and just about everybody, from kids to adults, is frightened of her.

I had the privilege to experience the full impact of her persona years ago. I had a girl in my first year class who was diagnosed with ADHD, a difficult child who was creating havoc everywhere. I was also teaching Latin at the time and the filing cabinet at the back of the class contained, amongst other things, pictures of the aftermath of the irruption of Mount Vesuvius. The ash cloud descended so fast that it caught and preserved people in the midst of what they were doing. One particular picture showed a girl still wearing a look of horror on her face. Somehow ADHD child had managed to take a peek at the content of the drawer and came upon this picture. She was soon up in arms, jumping about saying that I was a witch and I was going to transform them all into something horrible. I wish I had such powers! There was no calming her down and to make matters worst, she was refusing to leave the room. I sent for my Principal teacher, Jack's predecessor, who had no more success than myself. Karen was sent to deal with the situation. The second she entered the room, the temperature plummeted, sending icy shivers down everyone's spine. You could have heard a pin dropped and even ADHD girl was lost for words. Karen locked her icy stare with every single pair of eyes in the room before saying coldly "get on with what you're supposed to be doing". It wasn't just the kids being frightened, I nearly grabbed pen and paper myself to join them in doing the work. Karen walked up to the child and whispered something to her. ADHD girl stood up, as if in a trance, and followed Karen quietly. She had been shouting about a witch, she certainly got one, just not quite the one she thought. For all her witchcraft, Karen also has a well hidden sense of humour. I accidentally discovered this on a staff night out where I had drunk a bit more than usual and divulged to her more than I should have about my private life which was a bit messy at the time. Karen and I ended up having a good chat and she made me laugh on more than one occasion. When I recovered the next day I had the uneasy feeling that I had disclosed more than necessary about my private affairs. I needn't have worried though. Karen wasn't exactly sober herself and all she retained from the incident was that we'd had a nice talk and what a nice person I was. But to this day, she couldn't really tell you on what basis she formed that judgement about me. Not that it matters, I've ended up in the good guys camp in her eyes.

Dora is still going on about Karen, proclaiming loud and clear that if Karen goes, she will pull out. I'm pretty sure she's bluffing. Despite her lack of success so far, nothing would keep Dora from an opportunity to be in Ross' company. If both Karen and Dora join in the culinary experience, I'd love to be a fly on the wall to see what happens.

Early December and the first flurries of snow have started to descend upon us. The last few days have been spent making that crucial morning decision: should I take the car or the train? Trains have been my favoured mode of transport over the last few days. As everyone slowly trickles in, registration is delayed to allow for more staff to arrive. The kids are of course in a state of high excitement. "Are they going to close the school, Miss?". We always try to be the responsible and reasonable adult in those situations. "No, I'm sure they won't Peter. The snow is supposed to stop by 10h anyway". To be perfectly honest, we hope they're going to close the school as fervently as the kids do. We're just better equipped at not building our hopes up. At this time of year, we all suddenly turn into weather forecast fanatics. We watch, compare, analyse and predict every weather report we can lay our hands on. There are far more chances of the school closing on account of a burst pipe but with the way things are going, you never know!

There are only two weeks to go before the end of term. This morning, like all the mornings before it, I check outside to decide whether it's going to be train or car. It's raining and the snow has turned to mush so I opt for the car. Bad decision. Half way through my journey, the rain turns back to snow and falls down heavily. Everything becomes white in the space of a few minutes. I soldier on and make it as far as the roundabout after exiting the motorway. All cars are at a stand still and turning back one by one. Someone rolls down their window and tells us that it's a no-goer. A lorry has skidded and is blocking the road. The only thing I can do is go home. I turn the car back but the snow has covered all lanes to make one single road and I find myself led onto the new road which they've just opened a couple of months ago. I'm not a confident driver at the best of times and I am now finding myself driving at 10 miles an hour in blizzard conditions and on a road totally unknown to me. I try to control the panic that is slowly rising from the depth of my stomach. It's a straight road, so all I need is an opportunity to turn back. After driving for what feels like hours, I come to a roundabout which will take me back towards the motorway. There is also a sign to the left which seems to indicate the general direction of the school. I need to make a prompt decision here. Do I follow the sign and hope to get to somewhere I recognise or do I just turn back? With a pang of guilt, I choose the second option. Why are schools so good at making you feel guilty for not having braved death to come to work? I really do not fancy getting lost in these conditions. The journey back home takes me four hours instead of the usual 40 minutes. I have no time to examine my feelings of guilt as driving in this requires all my concentration. I shouldn't have worried so much. When I finally make it home, safe but shaking, I phone the school and find out that it had to close anyway. I was one of the lucky ones. This day turned out to be the worst in the annals of Scottish traffic. Many people didn't make it home and cars were abandoned everywhere. The school remained closed over the next two days and we even got prior warning so we didn't have to attempt the journey. I love the snow!

The final two weeks before the end of terms are always like giving birth. It's the painful final push when you have literally nothing left to give. Traditionally, the last week is spent babysitting more than anything else and showing kids videos to keep them entertained. This year however, the powers above have decreed that we should work right to the second last day. We know that this is going to cause a small revolution amongst the children. We're on the front line and have no energy left to fight back. Jack tells me that even the chimps have to work till Wednesday, despite the fact that it is their last day of French for this year. I'm quite furious about it and I tell him that it's on his head. I will make them work but he'll have to come in to tell them that this decision is his, not mine. He agrees to the deal. The chimps are dismayed when I start handing in books and jotters. They even start laughing, thinking it's a joke. Their faces say it all when I tell them that no, it's not a joke and yes, we have to work. Luckily, Jack walks in before they get a chance to lynch me with whatever comes their way. He tells them in no uncertain terms that it is his decision and anyone who doesn't agree can come and discuss it with him. Jonathan's hand shoots up: "Why do we have to work on the last week?". "What's the French for 'holidays'?", replies Jack. He is met by total silence despite the fact that we've been working on that topic for the last three weeks and they must have seen the word at least a hundred times. "My point exactly!" says Jack. "You're not working hard enough so you have to keep working now". They huff and puff but have realised that they're left with no choice in the matter. I'm convinced they feel like they've been outwitted somehow but they can't quite work out how. As soon as Jack leaves the room, an indignant Callum points out: "It's not fair. Some of us are working hard". To my surprise, this is said without the slightest hint of irony, despite the fact that the only reason Callum and I don't go head to head is because he spends the whole period with his own head cocked in his arms, sleeping instead of giving me grief. We have this tacit agreement (anything for peace!) that I will nudge him from time to time to do a bit of work before letting him go back to sleep. If that's Callum's idea of working hard, I would love to see what he does for relaxation! The period draws to an end and the Christmas break is in sight. Only a couple of days left to frantically make a start on the second year reports which are due the first week back.

The last day of term has finally arrived and there is a hint of festive spirit mixed with the obvious exhaustion felt by the staff. It is of tradition that we all gather in the staffroom for an extended coffee break and some spiced wine (non-alcoholic of course) to receive the annual pat on the back from high ranking members of the KGB. Jim Walker is sitting next to a tall bald guy who hardly says a word. I wonder who that is. I've never seen him before. A few puzzled looks, other than my own, are straying in the direction of the stranger. After a few moments of banter, Jim stands up and bangs a spoon against his glass to demand attention. We get treated to the usual yearly speech about how well we've done so far, what a trying time this has been, a few funny stories thrown in for good measure and how we well deserve our break. Jim allows some time for the applauds to mark the end of his speech before turning to the baldy stranger who is still sitting next to him, apparently emotionless. "Can I also take this opportunity to introduce our new headmaster, Kevin Trainor" says Jim as he points to the guy who is still seated. "Kevin, would you like to say a few words to the staff?" The answer comes right back, causing waves of shock and awkwardness amongst the assembled party: It's a simple, straightforward and resounding 'NO' from the new ruler. He has chosen not to address his staff. He doesn't even seem to notice the resentment that is suddenly building up. Come on, there wasn't much involved there! We're not waiting for a fully fledged speech but just a few words would have been nice. Something like: "Although I have only started in the school, I have seen how hard-working you all are and I am looking forward to working with you. The inspection has gone well and I wish you all a very good and very well deserved break". Heck, even I could have done it and I'm no fan of public speaking!

Part 3: January, February, March.

The official line.

The first day back is always a shock to the system, albeit less so than after the summer holidays. Like my colleagues, I've only got one thing in my mind: completing these damn second year reports. In the good old days, we used to be able to take them home and use pens to write what we really thought of the little darlings. The combination of technology and political correctness has changed all that. All educational establishments nowadays seem to have embraced the concept of intranet, a kind of hub where one can find all sorts of information relating to a particular establishment (or several of them) within a local Authority. The names attributed to these wonders of technology range from the sublimely ridiculous to the divinely ostentatious: Pegasus, Noodle and in our case, Blow. I vividly remember when 'Blow' was first introduced to us at an in-service day by representative of the local council. They had brought along a twenty minute video clip which showed a primary teacher having to refuse all invitations to go out because of her workload. That is, of course, until 'Blow' came into her life to set her free. Three years down the line and everything we do is Blow-related. We check our e-mails via Blow, keep aware of what's going on via Blow and are even invited to create Blow communities. Contrarily to what was implied in the promotion launch, Blow isn't doing any marking for me and hasn't made a dent on my workload. From a purely personal point of view, the only blow I'm interested in is the one on my skin from a fresh breeze on a hot summer's day. On the other end, parental reports and classes registration are accessed through a software called 'check and go' (not 'check and Blow'). Judging by the name, one would assume that it is designed to make teachers life easier. After all, the only thing you have to do is point the mouse at it and 'go'. The reality is very different. You may well click but you're going nowhere fast. It takes a couple of minutes of your lesson to bring the page up and 30 seconds to input your user name and password. Then the page does a disappearing act before coming back up saying 'loading', a process that can take a further 2 minutes. I would accurately guesstimate that it's an added 4 minutes and 30 seconds off each lesson. That, of course, is if everything goes well. On a regular basis this software will ask you to change your password or, even worst, it will check all its own files before telling you that you have to come off the system and start again from scratch.