Confessions of a teacher: Because school isn't quite what you remember it to be... (6 page)

- "They may be polite", pipes out a voice on my left, "but they have rude names for their restaurants."

I am surprised by Kyle's outburst and totally baffled as to what he means.

- "Like what?"

-"Well, when me and my mum and dad went to Paris last summer we ate in that restaurant called 'balls sack'".

I'm dumbfounded. I'm from Paris and I can't for the life of me think of a restaurant with that name. I try to think of the French words to see how he could have got to that translation but nothing makes sense. I know that when all else fails try phonetics. I try phonetics and it hits me.

-"Was that the name of the restaurant?" I ask the child as I write 'Balzac' on the board.

-"Yes, that's it! I've you eaten in it too Miss?"

I try not to laugh as I pronounce the name correctly for him and it doesn't sound anything like 'balls sack'.

-"Honore de Balzac is one of the most famous writers in French literature, Kyle."

He looks at me with a blank expression and simply says: "Ah". I am quite sure that, as far as he's concerned, Kyle has once eaten in a Parisian restaurant very rudely named 'balls sack', which is what he will tell his children and grandchildren no matter what I say.

We're half way through the third day of this inspection and I still haven't be inspected. Most of us will be but some will escape as they are only five inspectors for nearly 200 staff. I hope I am in the latter category. Jack is a nervous wreck and keep tabs on the progress of the inspection when he doesn't have a class. He's already popped his head in twice this morning to tell us which corridors the inspectors are patrolling. I wish he wouldn't do that as we're still jumping with every intrusion. In any case, it looks like they're getting closer to our department.

Sometime later that day I meet a slightly despondent Dora in the toilet, which has been surprisingly free of counselling sessions so far. As we wash our hands side by side, she asks me the question which is on every body's lips these days: "Have you been inspected?". I tell her I haven't yet and politely return the question. Dora has been inspected and now feels relieved. She tells me the inspector had a nice pleasant chat to her at the end but she heard that the poor NQT (that's Newly Qualified Teacher) in history was grilled for ten minutes at the end of his lesson with questions that could have him qualified for
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.
"And apart from that, how are you doing Dora?". I keep that question open enough that she can choose to give me a short or long answer. I'm getting good at this questioning business and I think I could give Bloom a run for his money. The 'how are you doing' question isn't even on his list. Dora chooses a mid-length answer as we both have a class next period and the bell is about to go. "I'm okay", she says. Then, after a silence: "Stan and I have decided to go our separate way". She tells me she's quite sad but relieved at the same time. It was for the best. Once again, I tell Dora she's welcome to talk to me if she needs to and this time, to my surprise, she tentatively suggests we go for a coffee some time. "For sure" I reply and we both head towards our next class which happen to be across from each other. I have the fifth year while she gets the mushroom class. The mushroom class has progressed greatly and have now moved on to tomato slicing and onion chopping. Me and the fifth year are really looking forward to today because we think we're going to witness the first attempt from the mushroom class at baking their very own pizza.

Teaching can be quite therapeutic at times. Your personal life may be crumbling around you but when you enter the classroom everything has to look normal. Teachers are so well versed into pretending that everything is absolutely fine that they can even start believing it themselves. This is also why pupils can't imagine their teachers as individuals. As far as they're concerned, teachers are like brooms. They get locked in a cupboard at night and taken out the next morning. Whatever is going on in Dora's life, she is back to releasing sexual tension through her vegetables, to the great delight of the fifth year. It's not all bad, though. Thanks to Dora, I have learned how to make prawn cocktail. I didn't know that the sauce was a simple mixture of mayonnaise, tomato ketchup and a dash of lemon. Dave and I had it for dinner last month and it was very tasty. I think prawn cocktail followed by pizza may well be on the menu tonight. May be I should ask Dave if he thinks I'm running a successful home. Then I remember the state of the house and think better of it.

Return to normality.

The four days inspection is over and I'm glad to say that have escaped the interrogation of Her Majesty's Inspectorate. In the ensuing weeks, there are some major developments in David Bloomberg's case. David had a long official meeting assisted by his Union Rep., something we told him before, should have been the case right from the start. After a short and tearful toilet counselling session, his head of department has gone off-sick with stress for the last two weeks. David can't divulge much about the meeting except that he produced a thirteen pages document with copies of e-mails and other correspondence that exposes the bully and her protectors as liars. Furthermore, with the new Head as a more objective referee, things are starting to look up for David.

Talking of the new Head, I still haven't seen what he looks like. All I have at my disposal to create a mental picture of him is Jack and Lea's description accompanied by those of the lucky few who have managed to clasp eyes on him. I'm starting to wonder if he's not Harry Potter in disguise, patrolling the school under his invisibility cloak. The only way the new Head master has made his presence felt is through the memos that have started to litter our pigeon holes. Each of these memos start with "Colleagues...". I suppose that, at least, he doesn't start them the true KGB way with 'Comrades'. To push that thought further, it might be quite good to pair his 'Colleagues' with Eleanor's sentence openers: 'Right!'. In time of crisis that would give us 'Right Colleagues!...'. This morning memo reads: "Colleagues, I would like to induce consultation regarding the 33 hours week". The 33 hours week is a cunning plan from the money savers to get rid of teachers while pretending it is educationally sound and the only way forward if we want to comply with Curriculum For Excellence. The basic idea is to cram more periods in one day so as to offer more subjects. The real reason is that if everyone takes on one or more than one additional class per day, they will need less of us. It's a con if ever there was one! Despite the so called consultation, there is absolutely no doubt that it will happen, no matter what we do or say. It is wholeheartedly supported by the local Authorities who already have Dollar signs in their eyes.

I'm meeting the chimps next and I shudder at the thought of having to see more of them under the 33 hours week than I already do. They're all here, minus Sam who has temporarily left us to give birth. Over the last few days, the chimps have devised a game whose rules totally escape me. They take it in turn to shout 'Jim!' across the classroom. That got me quite paranoid the first time. Teachers do get easily paranoid when they know that kids scrutinise every one of their moves and make swift personal judgements. What do they mean by 'Jim!'? Are they suggesting that I look like a man? Last time I looked in the mirror, there was no mistaking me for a member of the male species. May be it's not 'Jim' but 'Gym', hence suggesting that I need to do some exercise. But at a size 10, I doubt very much I would ever qualify for the heavy weight championship. I subsequently discovered that it had nothing to do with me as they were doing it in other classes. Nobody to date has been able to work out what it means. As I walk in, Stacey is in a state of high excitement and brandishes her mobile phone about while a flood of gibberish comes out of her mouth: "And she said he was gonna text her but he texted me instead to text her that I couldn't text Tracey if she had already texted...". This makes no sense at all but I can see that Stacey is giving free rein to her indignation. She makes me think of an orator working out the crowds during the French revolution. The boys listen to her and seem to agree on the fact that Stacey has been very unfairly treated. "Jim" says Jonathan as he nods in agreement with Stacey. "Jim, Jim" adds Louis to echo his sentiment. I have no idea what they are talking about, nor do I really want to know about their teenage issues. All I know is that I've got to calm Stacey down before she works everyone into a frenzy. I could kick myself when I say the first thing that comes to my mind: "Who is that Jim?". To my astonishment, it works. They all burst out laughing and Stacey is joining in, having forgotten everything about the swiftly averted international crisis. Jonathan and Marc are literally rolling on the floor with laughter which gives me an opportunity to hand out jotters. I know for a fact that they'll get fed up with the floor if I ignore them, and I am right once again. I'm still no further forward with the 'Jim' mystery but, for the moment, Stacey has forgotten about her story. She's not forgotten about her mobile phone though which she has carefully placed at her side. I say nothing as I can see that the device is switched off. Not for my benefit mind you, but simply because she doesn't want to be at the mercy of those multiple texters. We do manage to get through one very simple worksheet and a bit of colouring in before the bell goes. I wonder if I'll ever find out who Jim is.

Dora and I have arranged to meet for a coffee over the weekend. She's first there and I follow a few minutes later. We both order and chat about the staff and the kids. She doesn't know anything about 'Jim' either. The conversation turns to Ross Hall. I have noticed that Dora has been spending more and more time in the computing base. She's even organised for a select few to chip in regularly and go out to a nice restaurant at the end of every month. Needless to say, Ross Hall is one of the monthly diners. "You and Ross seem to be getting along well", I say tentatively to Dora. "Oh, we're just friends" she replies, blushing over her cup of coffee. But Dora is in the mood for confidences. "Well..., I'd love it if we could be more than friends but he had plenty of occasions to make a move at these diner things and never did, despite giving me the impression that he'd love to". Lea and I have talked about Ross Hall. We've come to the conclusion that he might be gay (which is absolutely fine) but not know it himself. According to our amateur psychological analysis, Ross loves the company of women but send them mixed messages because he is confused by his own sexuality. Somehow, I don't think Dora is ready to hear our theory. "There are plenty of fish in the sea" I say to Dora, even though I hate clichės. "Like who?" she asks. Well, point taken, there aren't too many eligible parties in our school and the good looking ones have already been snatched. Although, that never stopped some of them to engage in torrid affairs that always end badly. "I've got a plan", continues Dora. "I bought two tickets for the Opera in three weeks time and I've convinced Ross to come with me on the pretext that the friend whose ticket it was can't make it any more". I say nothing. Dora is definitely not ready to hear mine and Lea's theory on Ross Hall. Well, if Ross doesn't make a move then, he never will. I'm getting to really like Dora and her amorous dreams keep me in suspense. Why should she not go after Ross? She's now a single woman and a fairly attractive one at that. I guess I'll have to wait three weeks for the next episode. I also guess that in all likelihood, nothing much will happen. I'm pretty sure that Dora will find the man of her dream once she distances herself from her infatuation with Ross. After all, there are plenty of fish in the sea; just not in the school pond.

Who shot the Jani.?

Early November and Ronald Dunbar is back to his old tricks. He had kept a low profile since the drug smuggling incident on the history trip but when Ronald does a blunder it is usually one of incredible magnitude. Victor, the head Janitor, had confiscated an air pistol from a kid that day and was marching victoriously (no pun intended!) up to the head master office carrying the weapon in one hand and dragging a sheepish looking fourteen year old by the other. Unfortunately for Victor, the head master and his second in command were away at a meeting, leaving him to tackle the issue with Ronald as the next in the hierarchical order.

- "I confiscated this from him", said an irate Victor showing the air pistol and pointing to the kid simultaneously.

- "Go and sit down over there", instructed Ronald to the child.

Both Ronald and Victor were standing facing each other outside the head master office, with the secretaries keeping an eye on what was happening from behind their glass window. Victor's eyes were gleaming with the thought of a reward, or at the very least congratulations, for having averted a potentially lethal incident, while something quite different was going through Ronald's mind. He knew he had to punish the child in some way. That particular child was on the verge of a week suspension which his latest criminal activities would make absolutely unavoidable. Suspending him would look bad on the school, notwithstanding the fact that it would involve endless phone calls and interviews with the parents as well as lengthy paper work. Victor was expecting fair retributions and Ronald was looking for a way out.

- "Is that a gun?", asked Ronald looking at the pistol in his hand.

- "Well... yes... it's an air pistol".

All Ronald heard was the word 'air' and he saw his way out.