by Mike Kent
‘That’s right. How many has she got, then?’
‘Six at the last count. Four boys and two girls. She always wanted a girl, so she kept on and on until she got one. Except that she got twins by mistake. She can’t really look after one properly, let alone six. And she’s always losing them. They just tend to wander off while she’s having a gossip. Look, are you okay? You look a bit pale.’
‘I guess so. It was just a bit unnerving, that’s all.’
‘Of course it is. And we’ve all been through it. But you’ll soon become hardened to the odd difficult encounter. You just have to remember that parents who come on the attack have probably got rotten things going on in their lives, and teachers are easy targets. From what Dorothy says, you’ve got the makings of being a smashing teacher, and that’s what schools like this need. People who care. Anyway, I’ve got to dash after school, so if I don’t see you, all the best for the future. And don’t worry about Mrs Garrett.’
He smiled, shook my hand firmly and hurried out of the room. I followed him, and after a few minutes Dorothy appeared at the end of the corridor with the class. They filed noisily into the classroom.
‘Well, I’m having a great afternoon,’ I sighed.
‘I know. I’ve just been on playground duty and they told me all about it. Do you want me to take them for the last half hour?’
‘No. Just put a notice on the door saying ‘No parents past this point.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she laughed. ‘It’s all good experience. Naturally I wouldn’t let any harm come to you. We do try to look after our promising students. After all, they might decide to try for a job here. I’ll come back just before hometime.’
‘Well, it’s my last half hour with you,’ I said to the class. ‘What would you like to do?’
‘We’ve worked so ‘ard these last few days’, said Rouse, ‘I reckon all I want ter do is sit.’
‘That’s all you ever want to do, mate,’ called Susan Davis.
‘No I don’t. I do me fair share. Don’t I Sir?’
‘Well, I must admit I have known you to put a pencil to paper on the odd occasion.’
‘Read us a story, Sir,’ called Julie. ‘I like listenin’ to stories.’
‘Yeah, a thrillin’ one,’ said Badger eagerly.
‘Come on then,’ I said, ‘everybody sit quietly in the book corner and I’ll read you one of my favourite stories. I loved it when I was your age. It’s all about a witch with iron teeth who likes eating children…’
‘Blimey!’ Adams exclaimed. ‘Sounds just like my Auntie Jean!’
The children laughed and hurried into the book corner. There were the usual minor scuffles over who should have the cushions and then they settled down contentedly to listen. I read the story well, watching the delight on their faces as I imitated the crackled rasp of the witch’s voice, and feeling the intense concentration of their enjoyment.
‘Cor, I really liked that one, didn’t we Sue?’ said Susan Davis, stretching her legs as the story ended. ‘You don’t ‘alf read stories well, Sir.’
‘Yeah,’ Fred agreed. ‘It really frightened me. That bit where the witch was chasing the little girl in that magic dish was really scary.’
‘Miss is here,’ said Susan Brennan, glancing at the door. ‘Quick, everybody get back in their seats. It’s time for… well, you know.’
‘Sssh!’ urged Susan Davis. ‘You’ll spoil it.’
Dorothy walked into the room, smiled at the class, and looked across at me. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Kent,’ she said secretively, ‘but it’s nearly hometime and I think the children have something to say to you.’
Their faces glowed, as though each had a hidden secret and Rouse, obviously the elected spokesman, stood up. For the first time since I had been at the school, he looked a little shy.
‘Well Sir,’ he faltered, ‘me and the class ‘ud jus’ like ter say ‘ow much we’ve enjoyed you bein’ ‘ere and… er… we wish you was stayin’, Sir.’
He sat down and fumbled in his desk.
‘Go on,’ Susan Davis shouted. ‘That ain’t all.’
‘I know, I know,’ he said irritably, piling books out of his tray and onto the floor. ‘I’m jus’ lookin’ for it, that’s all.’
‘Trust you, mate. You’ve probably lost it.’
Rouse gave a sudden sigh of relief as he uncovered a package wrapped in bright red paper. Holding it carefully, he walked out to me.
‘This is for you, Sir,’ he said. ‘We… er… ‘ad a little collection, an’ we didn’t know what to buy, so we asked Miss, ‘an’ she said you’d like it, an’ I reckon…’
‘Blimey, Rousey, don’t go on all night, for Gawd’s sake,’ Susan Davis interrupted. ‘Give ‘im a chance to open it.’
‘I am,’ Rouse objected. ‘I’m jus’ sayin’ a few words, that’s all. On these occasions someone always says a few words.’
I smiled and carefully unwrapped the package as the children watched eagerly. Inside was a beautiful edition of collected poetry for children, and every child in the class had signed the first page. I was completely taken by surprise, and touched by their warm generosity.
‘It’s lovely,’ I said softly. ‘It’s really lovely. Thank you all very, very much. I’ll treasure this book, and I’ll read the poems to the classes I teach in the future. I’ll also treasure the happy times I’ve had with you over the last few weeks. You’ve really been a great class to teach.’
‘Ah, ain’t you nice, Sir,’ sighed Susan Davis.
The bell rang for hometime and the children went out slowly and quietly, intent on saying their separate goodbyes. Rouse smiled sadly at me and shook my hand.
‘I’ll miss yer,’ he said gruffly.
‘I’ll miss you too. And don’t go wandering off with Mrs Garrett’s children.’
‘No fear. I’m keepin’ well away from ‘em in future.’
When the last child had left the room, I put the story book, and my new book of poetry, into my briefcase. The classroom seemed strangely silent and peaceful.
‘They’re a nice lot, aren’t they?’ said Dorothy quietly.
‘Yes, they are. I really will miss them very much indeed.’
‘You’ll remember them, too. Even after you’ve taught for ten years, you’ll still remember your first class.’
‘Well, I’ve certainly moaned at them enough. You’d think they’d hate my guts by now.’
‘It doesn’t work like that. Children are canny little creatures and they know when you really enjoy being with them. They don’t mind being grumbled at when they know that. It’s always the same routine when you have a new class in a new school. You battle through your first lesson and they try you out. You retaliate, and they usually try you out harder. So you try harder too. Then in the end they realise you might actually be worth listening to. By the end of the year, they’re like your family.’
‘It doesn’t seem right, though, does it? I mean, you should be able just to get on with the job of teaching. You shouldn’t have to battle to get their attention first.’
‘If you think about it, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have to prove yourself a little. I think there’s a bit of the entertainer in every good teacher. You’ve got to have a sense of timing and be interesting. Adults don’t like being with someone who bores the pants off them, so why should children be any different?’
She picked up a pile of new story books from her desk and began to stack them on the library racks in the book corner.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘It’s been great fun having you here and I’m sure you’ll do well. I’ll get all of them to write to you soon. They’d like that. You’ve obviously scored quite a hit with them.’
‘It’s really convinced me that I do want to teach,’ I said. ‘Even if I have to put up with angry mothers and kids being sick on sc
hool visits.’
Dorothy smiled. ‘Ah, well, that’s all part of the fun. The pay’s rotten, sometimes you don’t get a break all day, you spend most of your weekends marking and planning. But if you really like the job, there’s nothing to compare with it. I really think…’
She broke off as she realised that Mr Reed was standing in the doorway. He looked cautiously in her direction, and then saw me.
‘Ah, Mr Kent. Glad I caught you before I went home. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve given you a reasonable report.’
‘Thank you,’ I said flatly. ‘It’s very kind of you.’
‘There were one or two difficulties, of course. You seem to have upset Mrs Garrett quite considerably. Couldn’t really understand what the woman was going on about, but she mentioned your name unfavourably a number of times.’
‘It doesn’t surprise me. I got a little cross with her,’ I admitted, not wishing to argue the point.
‘I see. Well, if you’ll take a little advice, never lose your temper in this job, Mr Kent. Lose your temper and you’ll end up having a slanging match. Nobody will enjoy that apart from the children. It’s quite pointless. Still, in this game you learn by your mistakes. You’re thrown in at the deep end and you either sink or swim. Considering this is your first teaching practice, you seem to have made a creditable attempt to swim.’
‘He certainly did,’ said Dorothy. ‘The children liked him very much, and that’s important.’
‘Mmm. Well, we could debate that at some length, Dorothy. I think the fact that Mr Kent was actually able to teach them something is probably more important.’
He hesitated, decided there wasn’t anything else he wanted to say, and held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Mr Kent. I wish you luck with the remainder of your course.’
Dorothy breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door.
‘Wonderful. He’s such a pompous old sod. Let’s go and have a cup of tea in the staffroom.’
An hour later, as I left the building and walked towards the train station, I was stopped by a child shouting behind me. I turned to see Adams running down the road towards me with a box under his arm.
‘Sir, Sir!’ he panted, straining to recover his breath. ‘I saw yer from me window. Wait a minute, I’ve got somethin’ for yer…’
He held up the box eagerly, and placed it gingerly in my hands. ‘‘Ere you are, Sir,’ he said with a broad smile, ‘they’re for you.’
‘Gosh, not another present? Anyone would think it was my birthday. What on earth is this?’
‘Heggs.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Heggs. You know, Sir. I told you. Me mum keeps chickens and they lays heggs for us. She says you’ve got to try ‘em, Sir. This lot are really fresh. Straight from the chicken’s bum. I’ve got to go now. Come back and see us soon!’
I stood for a moment and watched as the boy ran back to the entrance of his tower block. Then, in great contentment, I hurried into the rush hour crowds to catch my train.
MARCH
A FILM SOCIETY, GLENN MILLER, AND THE BOYS FROM ST BERNARD’S
It wasn’t until March in our second year that Duggan, Gerry and I got around to starting a film society. Gerry’s passion for the moving image had often led us to discuss the idea, but any spare time seemed to be taken up with belonging to existing societies. Clubs and societies were a thriving and staple component of college life. Everybody joined at least one. When the students of St. James’s weren’t studying, writing essays, wandering around London or spending time with their partners, they were expected to be working for a society. Students could play chess, tread the boards, sing in a choir, collect butterflies or debate in a religious or political group. They could also exercise, meditate, Morris dance, roller skate, or tiddly-wink their way through numerous evenings and those who needed particular relief from the stress of the daily lectures could weave baskets, or even make kites. Starting a new society simply depended on the organiser’s enthusiasm for his hobby, and students scanned the noticeboards weekly to see which societies were new, and which had collapsed due to a declining membership.
Although there was a television in each of the common rooms, it was a rare sight to find a student in front of one for very long. Indeed, you were considered a very dull person if you couldn’t find at least one society that interested you, and many students joined four or five. Amongst other things, Duggan had improved his chess and I was learning to play the guitar, a skill I thought would definitely be useful when I started teaching in earnest.
Due to the heavy schedules of our social lives, the amount of work we were doing had decreased considerably, although a balance had to be maintained to give the lecturers an impression of intense study. Some tutors were more astute than others; Duggan had managed to hand in the same essay, slightly re-arranged, three times to one of his education lecturers, but tutors like Dr Frost could spot a modicum of waffle at five hundred paces and it simply wasn’t worth trying to hoodwink them for a moment.
There were, of course, the end of term examinations, a minor irritant that briefly interrupted the joys of student life. Exams had to be passed, but so far they’d proved no great obstacle since invigilating lecturers often read their newspapers, marked work, filled in crosswords, or merely fell asleep, leaving the students to pass their papers amongst each other at will. After the examinations, which it seemed hardly anybody ever failed unless they’d given up after writing their names, everybody was free to return to a minimum of study and far more pleasurable pursuits, such as the corridor darts tournament Duggan had organised after we’d been given an old darts board by the landlord of the local pub for outstanding patronage.
The success of this had inspired Duggan to organise an indoor sports week for corridor three involving darts, skittles, ludo, cards, and shove-halfpenny with a board he’d found tucked away in a cupboard on teaching practice and which the teacher had gladly given him to get it out of the way. Duggan had charged a substantial entry fee, and was pleasantly surprised when the entire corridor had offered to join in, lured by the promise of half the collection going to a charity and the other half to whoever ended up as champion of the week.
‘You certainly managed that extremely well,’ said Gerry admiringly, as we sat in Duggan’s room the following Monday morning drinking steaming mugs of coffee before the first lecture. ‘Who’d have thought it would be as popular as that?’
‘It’s your talent for organising,’ I said. ‘It’s obviously been great practice for running a school sports day.’
‘We’ve been meaning to start a new society for a long time,’ said Gerry. ‘So I think it’s time we actually did it.’
‘We’ve got to start something that’ll be really popular,’ said Duggan, making a fresh mug of coffee and opening a new packet of milk. ‘Apart from the drama club, practically everything here is a fairly specialist affair.’
‘Then let’s go for a film society,’ I said. ‘We’ve talked about it often enough. Gerry’s got the specialist knowledge, Duggan’s got the organising capacity. Samantha will come up here and flog ice creams and hot dogs in a short skirt and I’ll work the projectors.’
‘Sounds fine to me,’ Gerry agreed. ‘Where’s the teaspoon?’
Duggan scratched around on the floor underneath his desk. ‘Down here. Milly dropped it this morning when she was wiping the desk. We’ll have to invest in another one soon. I think she uses this one to clean her nails.’
‘I’m surprised there isn’t a film society here already,’ I said. ‘Most colleges seem to have one.’
‘There was,’ Gerry replied. ‘About two years ago, but when the students who were running it left, nobody started it again. Got any biscuits?’
Duggan hunted in the drawer of his desk. ‘No. You should have had some breakfast. There’s three slices of bread in here. They’re a bit old.’
‘How old
.’
‘Well quite old, actually.’
‘What, more than a couple of days?’
‘A bit more than that, I think. I could cut the mouldy corners off.’
‘No thanks, I’ll starve. Anyway, since there was a film society here before, all the equipment must be still be available somewhere. And the lecture hall would make an ideal cinema. There’s a good sized screen in there.’
Duggan thought carefully for a minute.
‘Our outlay needn’t be very large. We’ll have to pay for the hire of the 16mm films, of course. If we lose on that, I suppose we’d have to fork out of our own pockets.’
‘I don’t think so. The students’ union will give us something to get going,’ I said. ‘After all, lots of societies have started and failed. The butterfly club, and the skiffle revival society to name but two.’
‘I rather fancied the skiffle revival society,’ Duggan smiled. ‘I suppose nobody had a washboard.’
‘Anyway, a film society is hardly a crazy idea,’ said Gerry. ‘It could even be a great success. If we borrow a couple of sixteen millimetre projectors from the lovely Miss Pratt’s audio-visual department and have a meeting fairly soon we could probably start next month.’
‘What sort of a meeting?’
‘We’d have to form a committee. And it would give us some idea of how many people were interested.’
‘And they’d be bound to bring their women,’ Duggan added enthusiastically. ‘There’s a balcony at the back of the lecture theatre and they’d be queuing to sit up there. Right, one more coffee, then we’d better go. It’s physical education and Mr Trainer will miss me if I’m not there. I’d hate to disappoint him.’
We scribbled a hasty list of all the things that needed to be done. Gerry would write off for catalogues from the film hire companies to give us a rough idea of how much the programmes would cost to put on, Duggan would think of ways to publicise the shows so that we reached the biggest audience, and I would look into the cost of refreshments, ticket printing and equipment organising.
