Read Online Out of the Woods But Not Over the Hill by Gervase Phinn - Free Book Online Page B

many staples. Then there was the primary teacher who shared an amusing anecdote with her older colleague in the staff room, only to be told that she was too enthusiastic and that she would soon learn that teaching wasn’t a bed of roses. The cynic continued to tell her that she wouldn’t teach if she had the chance again, and certainly wouldn’t encourage any of her own children to become teachers.
    â€˜Good teachers,’ said Bishop Samuel Wilberforce, ‘take on the most important role in society for they change lives’, and Seneca, who possibly had the most challenging job of all as the tutor of Nero, said that ‘part of my joy in learning is that it puts me in a position to teach and nothing is of any value to me unless I have someone to share it with.’
    I was fortunate, growing up, to have the very best teachers: the great majority were keen, enthusiastic and dedicated, and possessed of a sense of humour, indeed, a sense of fun. I was also immensely fortunate, in my first year as a teacher in a large comprehensive in Rotherham (it was called ‘the probationary year’ in those days), to work for a visionary and compassionate head teacher, Dennis Morgan, and a deputy head teacher, Roy Happs, both of whom gave such valuable advice, support and encouragement, and who never missed an opportunity to show recognition for what I did. One of Mr Morgan’s maxims was that teachers new to the profession should have the option to fail and power to succeed.
    I have to admit that in my first year, I failed a fair bit. I was reminded of one of my faux pas recently by a former pupil of mine. I, a green probationary teacher, took a group of students to the swimming baths for the weekly lesson. In those days, it was obligatory for girls and boys with long hair to wear bathing caps. One small, nervous little girl, having forgotten her cap, was told off by the swimming teacher and told to sit on the side. Next to her sat another girl, who was laughing at the distressed child.
    â€˜And what do you find so funny?’ I asked.
    â€˜Nothing sir,’ she replied.
    â€˜I don’t think it’s very nice to laugh at somebody else,’ I told her. ‘Anyway, why aren’t you in the water?’
    â€˜You know, sir,’ she said.
    â€˜No, I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘I’m not psychic.’
    â€˜You know, sir,’ she repeated.
    â€˜No, I do not know!’ I snapped. ‘Why are you not in the water with the others?’
    â€˜Time of the month, sir,’ she said.
    â€˜Oh,’ I said, colouring up. Then I used the teacher’s stock-in-trade response. ‘Well, don’t do it again,’ I said, walking quickly away.
    Silence in the Library
    I have always been a passionate supporter of school libraries. I suppose, as a former President of the School Library Association, I would be expected to say as much. When I was inspecting secondary schools, the first port of call was always the school library. I always hoped that I would find a cheerful, optimistic, bright facility, stocked with glossy paperbacks, contemporary and classic novels, poetry and picture books, up-to-date non-fiction material, quality hardback reference books and dictionaries, and magazines and journals that appealed to the young and helped them in their learning. I also hoped to see the tables fully occupied by quiet and dedicated students.
    Sadly, this was not always the case. In one old, established grammar school, I was shown into a bare, cold, featureless room with a few ancient tomes and dog-eared textbooks scattered along the high wooden bookcases. The atmosphere carried a warm, pervasive smell of dust, and the grey walls did not help. This was the supposed central learning resource, the foundation of the curriculum and the place of academic study, reading and research. The books on the shelves bore witness to the fact that there had not been a full audit or clear-out