XVI — Teacher Vampires - The Ugly in Education

Dewsbury, a grim and lifeless town, a dull and sour town, that’s all I remember of that godforsaken place. It possessed old mills, whose walls had become black over the years, and the people were always hunched and suspicious-looking creatures. Westborough High was the school I had been assigned to do my P.G.C.E. in, and all the children of these suspicious-looking creatures attended it. It was a large secondary modern, and the building was one of those chucked up in the sixties or early seventies just like Leek Street Flats, but a little more durable than them, but nevertheless, still as unattractive.

I was to teach English there, as they didn’t have Italian on the syllabus and wouldn’t have known what it was even if they did. At this time, while I was at Westborough, David was born, and my father died.

I had to teach Julius Caesar, and I enjoyed delivering the bard to this bunch of impoverished kids. I changed the time from Rome to Dewsbury and Brutus, Caesar, and Mark Antony to the name of some local drug dealers the kids had told me about, and we set about understanding the play. Kids are surprisingly astute in their understanding of politics when they make an effort, and the parliament of traitorous deeds is connected with their own world, and they loved the play, and I loved teaching it, too.

There was a problem at Westborough School; however, I was under a nutcase tutelage. To compound matters, her sister-in-law, who was also a nutcase, was Head of the Department. These two creatures immediately disliked me so much that they didn’t ask you to do something, but they demanded it and added ice in their eyes, too, with the mention of it.

I don’t know why they disliked me, and I didn’t really care, as I had enough reserve not to bite, although, at times, I admit it was hard not to. Thinking back, maybe it was something minor they took umbrage with at first, but I’m astute and quick to read a face. Once I’d noticed these two creatures didn’t like me, I began to be wary of them whilst never overstepping the boundary of professionalism, you understand.

The Tutor was small with the most unappealing set of bulging eyes, and I always wondered how she’d married and become sister-in-law to the Head of the Department, who was equally absent of even average looks. Large parts of her head and face are set quite apart. I often wondered what the brother looked like who’d married the former and was kin to the latter bulge of ugliness, but I shook my head and thought of better things.

Those two women put every conceivable obstacle in my way that year to hinder my progress and, in their dreams, have me slung off the course. What made matters worse was that the kids would groan when the Tutor appeared in the room, and they’d mutter, ‘We do not have her again, are we?’

I carried on in such vein, past Christmas and into the cold month of January and the beginning of February when Fiona, my wife, gave birth. The University Link Tutor, Mandy, a wonderful woman, rang up and told me and another two trainee teachers that we were not to attend our meeting that Wednesday morning for our tutorial, as Mandy wouldn’t be in because of flu. We were told to go generally to teach our classes in the afternoon. The other two girls were in Science, and they, too, showed up in the afternoon to teach.

The unfortunate part of this was that no one told the creatures from the English Department this necessary piece of news, and this the creatures seized upon as a heinous act of absence on my part, and, more importantly, hadn’t rung the school to say I wouldn’t be there in the morning. They thought they had their bullet to finally get rid of me, and when I saw them outside the door at the start of my afternoon class in most profound conversation and looking towards me through the glass in the window, I knew something was afoot.

The small, squat creature with the bulging eyes was elected to do the deed, and if I’d have been in their shoes, I’d have chosen her myself, as she was definitely the most frightening and hideous of the two creatures. I was prepared.

She burst through the door to the astonishment of the kids, who were the youngest in the school, and no more than 11 years or twelve, and she began a huge screaming tirade about the rights and responsibilities of being a teacher and about turning up to school and about ringing when one couldn’t and about all the other desperate things the silly creature wanted to get off her chest, if you call it one, that is.

I let the woman have her day; I said nothing and simply waited for her to blow herself out, which she did, in the end.

‘I think you’ve frightened the children, and your eyes are rolling, and you’re spitting, too. Look, it’s on my shirt,’ and I showed the aforementioned shirt to the children, who started sniggering, which sent the creature’s face to a most unnatural colour and shape.

‘Now, Mrs, I suggest you go and calm down in the arms of your sister-in-law, and we’ll speak when I’ve finished teaching. Oh, and by the way, it was Mandy, my Link Tutor, who told me to attend school only in the afternoon. Now, Mrs, off you go.’

I opened the door and looked at the creature with a discernible smirk as she left.

I informed my link tutor of the event, and she demanded I complain, but I wasn’t bothered, as Fiona was due to give birth within the week, which was more critical than any hideous creature and her sister-in-law at Westborough High.

My dad had recently died, and the funeral was set for the following Friday. When I told the creature at school that I wouldn’t be coming in that day, she replied, ‘Well, you won’t get paid. Do you know that?’

‘Listen, I don’t get paid anyway. I’m on a course, and it’s called a P.G.C.E., and I wouldn’t have thought you’d have been so utterly ignorant as to not know that?’

I walked off without waiting for a reply. If the woman had been a bloke, I’d have been sorely tempted to slam him in the face and jack the course in.

Teaching is a profession administered by professional people. What utter bollocks.

The first part may be correct, but the second certainly isn’t. I’ve met more professionalism in some bricklayers and joiners than in some teachers. I can remember sitting in the smoke room at Westborough, a small cupboard of a room nestled at the back of the main staff room, and listening to two teachers backbiting about another teacher.

Suppose you’re on a P.G.C.E. or a supply teacher. In that case, the ‘real’ teachers don’t notice you: you’re invisible, and so was I, there on that afternoon listening to these two professionals stabbing another professional in the back.

Moments later, the teacher, who was being stabbed in the back, entered the smoke room, and the malicious gossip ceased, and idle chatter took its place. One of the backbiters then left, and the remaining two began backbiting the one who had just left, all within 5 minutes.

I know some will say, ‘Yes, but that happens everywhere.’ But everywhere, people don’t call themselves professionals.

I’d done near on a full year at the school, and there were only a few days left before finishing. It was a Wednesday, and the other two girls on the P.G.C.E. course, who taught Science, had been given their proformas saying that they had passed, but I was still waiting for mine. There was no exam or test but simply observations from your Tutor, or in my case, the creature, stating that you’d successfully undertaken all necessary teaching and learning.

I was walking down the corridor between two lessons and was in a great hurry to get to the next class before the students arrived when the creature suddenly stopped me.

‘Here, sign this,’ she urged.

‘I’m sorry, but it’ll have to wait as I’ve a class waiting.’ I always availed every opportunity to deny the creature. I left, leaving her with this bunch of papers in the corridor.

Later, I was just about to leave and set off home when she suddenly, like some spectre, appeared from out of nowhere.

‘I’m in a hurry. Can you quickly sign this, as I have to get going?’

The creature’s face was flushed, and you could tell she was highly agitated. My suspicion was aroused.

I took the papers and read the first page she wanted me to sign.

‘Can you just sign the paper, and I can get off.’

‘No, I cannot, and I will read it first.’

Then the creature tried to snatch back the papers, but they were now firmly in my possession.

I’d quickly read the part which she wanted me to sign. It was an acknowledgement that I’d failed the course. I kept my temper and moved towards the photocopying machine.

‘Just sign the damn thing, will you.’

‘No, I’ll photocopy it, and you can have the photocopy, and I’ll keep the original to take back to the university, as they’ll want to contact your Head to discuss this, don’t you think?’

I gave her an ironic smile, and she didn’t wait for the copy but headed out quickly from the staffroom.

I photocopied the pages and then went into the smoke room to read them. Unbelievable. The creature and the sister-in-law had written up a totally subjective account of my year at Westborough. They should have submitted one piece of credible or factual evidence that I’d performed adequately. It was a mishmash of emotional rubbish. And they wanted to surreptitiously get me to sign it in the corridor. I rang the university and headed off there on the bus.

Mandy met me, and we discussed the options. She wanted to go in all guns blazing and drag out the headteacher for allowing such ‘professionals’ to practise in a school. I was more reserved and intrigued to see the creatures’ response the following day now that they knew I had a powerful piece of evidence against them. It was agreed that I would attend the school the next day as usual and see what occurred before making any final decision.

The following day came, and I didn’t have any teaching for the first two sessions, and I sat idly puffing on a cigarette in the smoke room when the creature and her sister-in-law entered.

‘Peter,’ - the woman had never addressed me as ‘Peter’ before - ‘Miss has made a terrible mistake,’ pointing to her sister-in-law, ‘she has signed the wrong thing.’

‘And what about you? Did you also sign the wrong thing, as your signature is on there too?’

‘I was in a hurry and didn’t know what I was signing, to be honest.’

‘Bullshit. You knew you signed a document failing me and that I would have wasted a full year here, didn’t you? Both of you?’

‘We want to sign it again and tick the Pass box if that’s okay?’

‘And what about all this emotional and unsubstantiated trash? What about that? In fact, I’ve an idea!’

The two creatures looked at one another, fearing what was about to be done. I couldn’t resist sucking every ounce of revenge from these two so-called professionals.

‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You are going to write it again, only this time, I’ll be present as you both write it, and I’ll make sure what you write is entirely fitting with my professional performance here at this school. Failing that, the university wants to drag in your headteacher and have you both disciplined, but I fear that’s all it’ll be, and once I’m gone, things will be back to normal for you both, and I wouldn’t have had any enjoyment from it. Now, do you have a blank proforma?’

All three of us then headed off to the classroom, where a blank proforma was produced. We sat around a desk, and I began, ‘We’ll start with you writing down: Peter has been an exceptional student at Westborough.’

When the two creatures had signed and finished one of the finest eulogies ever given to a student, I gave them back the two old copies. They both stood up, and the ugliest couldn’t resist leaving without a comment. ‘You fucking WanKer.’

I passed the P.G.C.E.