Diary of an Assistant Mistress

by Teri Power

  Oz came in to my form room looking very grim. At first I thought it must be some problem with his personal life. When he said what I thought was "I have a letter from the crooks," I assumed it was some communication from Jane's solicitors.

  Then suddenly I knew it wasn't. Mrs Crooke had addressed a letter to Snooks setting out a comparison between the work young Crooke had done and the work a pupil in one of Alistair's classes had done.

  According to this letter, Alistair's forms have done nothing but sentence analysis all year - which seems inherently unlikely. Oz said there was no rush but he wanted all my lesson plans and schemes of work for the year by tomorrow.

  Encouraged by last night, James had brought one of his videos home. He found me knocking seven bells out of the Dell and dropping the odd tear of rage on the keyboard.

  I did not sleep.

  November

  Tuesday 1st November

  In Snooks' office. The Crooke was there, Oz was supposed to be defending me but he had gone sick with diplomatic cowardice. I produced my immaculate file of recently updated lesson plans and schemes of work. "I don't want to see that rubbish." said Mrs Crooke, and swept it into a waste bin. The Snooks made no remonstration but smiled behind her hand as I dug the file out.

  I talked about the grammar work which I had set for young Crooke but mum angrily rejected that as irrelevant. What she wanted to know was why Mr Cook's classes had been taught prepositions and her son hadn't.

  I explained that "Knowledge about language could not be separated from language itself." She said she didn't hold with that left-wing nonsense and I pointed out (rather mildly I thought) that it was a quotation from the Conservative Party's National Curriculum.

  I sat back and let her rage on after that. Snooks took a back seat and saved her remarks for the end.

  "I am sure Mrs Power is aware of your views now, Mrs Crooke, and I can assure you that I will be monitoring her work very closely from now on."

  Wednesday 2nd November

  Oz was back in the best of health today. Quite sprightly when it came to giving me the slip on the stairs. I cornered him at lunchtime and he attempted to hide behind his sandwiches.

  I gave him my edited opinions of Mrs Crooke, Snooksey, the National Cur and spineless HODs who don't stick up for their staff. I virtually pushed him in the direction of Mrs Snooks with his comments on whether teachers are required to be identical in their teaching methods and whether one paranoid parent should be allowed to dictate the curriculum of the school.

  Someone had obviously been talking to Snooks (probably an adviser - I knew they had some use) because the result was that she called me into her office and said that she wouldn't take the matter any further ... for the time being.

  I was so relieved I left my ninth year marking in a carrier bag in the staffroom.

  Thursday 3rd November

  Oz looked even worse than usual when he told me that I had an adviser coming in to see my lessons this afternoon. They are of course supposed to give us rather more notice than this but as Oz put it - quoting Snooks apparently - those with nothing to hide have nothing to fear.

  A lunchtime spent doing the ninth year marking I should have done last night. Mr Adviser turned out to be one of those people who are always sure you'll agree. "I am sure you'll agree we must set certain standards." (everyone agrees with that: nobody agrees on what the standards should be - which brings us back to square one.)

  The lesson went very well because Tracy and Nick were both absent. I later discovered that Oz had spirited them away to do a spurious test.

  The adviser quoted bits of the National Cur at me, and he was a bit miffed that I quoted back bits of the National Cur at him. A bit like old Methodists topping each other with Biblical quotations - and about as relevant to the education of real children. We parted on good terms and he disappeared into Oz's office.

  Later I caught Oz and he pointed out that this would provide a very useful piece of evidence in my favour because in the nature of things the adviser's favourable report would go before the Board of Governors. He also said that having an adviser in with practically no notice did mean that there was less time to panic.

  I got through half a bottle of sherry before James came home. A bit late to panic but I managed it anyway.

  Friday 4th November

  Finding it very hard to concentrate. I ought to be pleased that it looks as though Snooks' attempt to catch me out with an adviser backfired but I am not. It seems life is a constant battle and I just went down with shell-shock.

  I don't think anyone learnt anything from me today.

  Saturday 5th November

  Staff firework party. I don't know what Snooks would have made of the guy - it had two John Major masks to suggest a two-faced effect. Fortunately she wasn't there: if she was, nobody else would be.

  I remember a character in Sartre who couldn't get drunk - I am sure I am recalling incorrectly when I think he was called Matteus Ros‚. Anyway, I felt very like him: everyone was apparently having a good time and I felt isolated and unable to get involved. I made a good attempt - I even laughed at Oz's jokes - doubly so when he couldn't remember the punchline.

  I suppose the hearty behaviour of the PE department didn't help. They behave like drunken rugby club members with a severe immaturity problem - and that's just the women.

  Sunday 6th November

  I have had depression and this isn't it. It is a close enough facsimile however. I decided the whole place needed tidying up and practically everything needs to be thrown away.

  James recognised the signs and contrived to keep out of my way. I

  recognised the signs and didn't blame him at all.

  Monday 7th November

  I mentioned George Eliot to my Lit group and Fiona said, "OOh!" (she says that sort of thing) "Wasn't he on Wogan the other night."

  I could hardly resist asking her what he said but she couldn't commit herself on that.

  One day I will be dead. One day Fiona will be dead. Does it matter whether I teach her anything?

  One ought to look on the bright side. One day Wogan will be dead, too.

  Tuesday 8th November

  Noticing my state of mind, James has so far restrained his requests. Well, it couldn't last but he has chosen the wrong time of the month to renew them. I turned a deaf ear to his innuendoes about the pipes needing repair as well.

  He had brought home a video and I bristled a bit until I saw what it was called. I didn't know there was a video of Milan Kundera's "Laughable Loves." I could hardly refuse to watch that. It brought back fond memories. We laughed, we very nearly cried and in the end I suggested that we keep the humiliation game to the bedroom - it is too damned cold in the kitchen.

  I am getting fairly good at this form of abuse. If nothing else, I can at least enjoy my expertise. So can he.

  Wednesday 9th November The appetite grows with eating. James had all sorts of suggestions of things we might try. Then I brightly suggested the humiliation game with stiletto heels, he winced and wilted visibly and the topic of conversation changed.

  Thursday 10th November

  Outside the weather is brighter and clearer. So much for the pathetic fallacy. Inside the clouds won't shift. The whole day was just mechanical. I found myself verbally flaying Nick for forgetting his book again and, having noticed what I was doing, I just stopped. This left Nick very confused. If it makes him think, it will be a bigger punishment than any I can devise.

  Dinosaurs ruled the earth for millions of years unburdened with intellect. Man will never do the same: his mind devises ways of destroying the planet much faster than it devises ways of saving it. Dinosaurs didn't get depressed about the state of the world either.

  There is no point in getting depressed. There is no point in not getting depressed. Very deep. Where is that bottle.

  Friday 11th November

  Today was the day I was going to pull myself together. It started well enough with a flat batte
ry in the Sierra: that's right: the Ford that always starts in the morning. It always does if some prat hasn't left the rear window heater on all night.

  A cold coming I had of it but Jill gave me a lift for the last 200 yards or so.

  A cascade of crap from the pigeon hole. I was able to cast nine tenths of it in the bin. I nearly included the note from Mrs Crooke complaining about little Willie's homework being too difficult. Instead I circled all the spelling mistakes and sent it back so she can do it again.

  I then summoned little Willie and spent assembly explaining the homework to him. I refuse to punish him because his mother is a witch. It must be bad enough at home for him.

  Torquemada expressed regret that I had missed assembly because it had been about the true meaning of Christmas. Yule, I corrected him, it only became Christmas when the Christians hijacked it.

  "Shairley you don't advocate pagan rites."

  I am interested in everyone's rights, even Christians.

  He then went on to be quite amusing about Christmas in the local shops where they have a special offer on festive tanks.

  I began with "Mock exam cover." which I duly did. Seventeen percent of the candidates had fair hair and fourteen percent had brown shoes. Of the seventeen percent who had fair hair, twenty percent had brown shoes, whereas ... from which we can conclude that I was fairly bored.

  My tenth year IT class can only be described as atrocious. For some reason they will not work while the eleventh years are on exam leave. It was more than I could do to keep them sitting down. In fact I was in mid-tirade when Pat decided it would be a good time to bring round some visitors.

  My seventh years were reasonable but I was interrupted four times while reading The Hobbit and had to re-read the page each time. Poor old Bilbo has been captured by elves more times than is reasonable.

  Then there is the CPVE class than which I would sooner have an enema with nitric acid. They were pretty awful also.

  I collapsed into a chair in the staffroom and treated anyone who would listen to my uncensored thoughts on my day. Rather to my surprise they applauded. I could only laugh.

  Saturday 12th November

  Tea at the vicarage. John's dog is a bit of a liability. During the meal he leapt up and started trying to get acquainted with my leg in a highly personal manner. John suggested that it was probably because I have a cat. It have never seen a dog do that to a cat before!

  Sunday 13th November

  Dinner with Tessa and Oz. Tessa was elegant in black and Oz was rumpled in grey. I noticed James subjecting Tessa's nylons to minute scrutiny once or twice. She responded by asking him in a highly animated manner if he had seen any interesting films lately. Since the last film he saw was untitled, uninhibited and featured a lot of black leather undergarments and their contents, I wondered what he would say. As it was, he made an effort to talk intelligently about Silence of the Wolves. As he did this he accidentally rested his hand on her knee and I accidentally elbowed him in the nose.

  Oz made a few fumbling attempts - but then that's the only kind he makes, bless him. In fact they were so fumbling I would be hard pressed to state exactly what was being attempted.

  When I dragged James away from Tessa, he casually remarked that screwing someone so thin must be the next best thing to necrophilia. I wasn't quite sure what to make of this pleasantry. I suppose it was meant to convey that he had no desire for Tessa but with James one never can tell.

  Monday 14th November

  The good news was that I didn't have to teach periods seven and eight. The bad news was that I had my one and only appraisal interview of the year. Oz, who has not set foot inside my classroom except to half-inch the overhead projector (and he does that when I am not there), now has to comment in writing about my teaching performance and objectives.

  It went well until I introduced the question of moral education, at which Oz started falling about laughing. I explained that I was trying to beat a "moral turpitude rap." Oz chose to interpret this as trying to write a moral turpitude rap and suggested a few lines: "I got turpitude coming out of my ears, The doctor say: get away from them queers."

  He chose to accompany this with a sort of Amerindian war dance round the office and I don't think it was very constructive.

  Tuesday 15th November

  Oz has produced his draft report, or as he put it "daft rupert" and it is all over bar the spelling checker. The Section on Moral Education is clever and sensitive - as I should have known it would be. Snooks and Torquemada will be livid.

  He wanted to put in something about my contribution to multicultural education but I said this was daft as my culture was almost 100 percent British.

  Wednesday 16th November

  One of my pupils said to me "Why do we learn Dickens - he's dead isn't he?" I tried to explain that some things improve with age but she wasn't having any. After all, yesterday's newspaper or top record is forgotten so why should a writer be remembered? So I tried to explain that they were good books and she said that she didn't think so and then other pupils came to my rescue by saying that he had written a lot of good stuff for television so he couldn't be all that out of date.

  I don't remember liking Dickens when I was at school either. I thought Great Expectations was cruel to children because he seemed to be making a joke out of being beaten. I was lucky enough to have parents who didn't beat me but plenty of my classmates knew that there was nothing funny about it.

  Thursday 17th November

  The radiator has leaked all over the classroom floor. I eventually got hold of beaming Bill and, well really, I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition! He acted as though it was my fault. He felt he would have to report it to the head. There was too much of this going on.

  I didn't like to point out that the sender on the fluorescent light has gone too. I'll get one in Woolworths rather than be blamed for sabotaging the electrics.

  Friday 18th November

  Letter from mum, enquiring whether I can meet her plane from Aberdeen at 14.00 on 20th December. Nothing like forward planning. In this place, if you know what you're having for lunch at breakfast time they call it forward planning.

  I see that another high court judge has advised the jury to let off a rapist because a woman may mean "yes" when she says “No”. I am glad that's been cleared up.

  December

  Thursday 1st December

  Walked to work. It was raining quite enough for my purposes but I needed the time to think. I have to get my thoughts in order before the day starts. In any case I received a letter from the police asking me to produce (they sort-of insisted actually) my insurance document at the police station and I would rather get that done before I go any further.

  Oz has lost the oral grades, so George and I would have to fill in the form again if George hadn't revealed with a flourish that he had kept a copy of the grades "just in case." So did I. We have known Oz too long.

  In my form room, Maurice rather hastily hid a copy of a magazine under the desk as I walked in. When he reluctantly produced it, it turned out to be a glossy magazine with pictures of male strippers. I did not confiscate it. In the present climate I would not like to be caught with it in my possession. In the face of some hilarity from the class, Maurice said that he had borrowed it from a girl but personfully refused to name the girl.

  I left it at that. More moral turpitude, I suppose. I'm not paranoid. They really are all out to get me.

  When I called at the police station, it was closed. The entry phone gave a recorded message that it would be open in half an hour so I thought I would kill time by mugging a couple of old ladies outside the nick. When I eventually got in, there turned out to be a typing error on the insurance policy which meant it did not cover me. A couple of police officers in the background muttered comments, the only word I heard was "shit" which is a semi-official police term for anyone remotely Asian in appearance. I said I would get the insurance company to send a corrected copy and asked their fax
number. At this they openly laughed. The idea that a mere woman - let alone "shit" like me - would know anything about fax machines was a big joke.

  The insurance company then agreed to fax through the document to the cop shop and took my number so they could ring me back.

  Thirty minutes later my phone rang and - yes - there was the bleeping of a fax message being sent to me. I rang them back but the line was engaged. It took about an hour to sort out but at least I won't have to try to get into Fortress Norbury again.

  I rang the police station to verify that I had satisfied their demands. "Oh you were the sh-woman who was in earlier." said the laughing policeman. I wonder if shwoman is a new term of abuse. I thought of saying I was "She who must be obeyed" but thought better (or worse) of it. There is always a temptation to amuse someone who is laughing at you so that it seems as if he is laughing with you.

  Friday 2nd December

  Walked to work again. I will single-handedly save the environment at this rate. Maurice was a little concerned. Apparently his father had caught him with the magazine and concluded that Maurice is gay (a little early to say, he is 12) and that it is my fault.

  I found this a little hard to comprehend but Maurice had apparently told dad that "Miss Power didn't see anything wrong with it." His father now wants to take him away and put him into a single sex school. Unless he has a girls' school in mind, I fail to see how this is supposed to discourage homosexuality. Everyone I know who went to a single sex school has suggested quite the opposite. Apparently Mr Porter wants to "make a man of Maurice." Gavin suggested that he could start by changing his name, I reminded Gavin that I know what his middle name is (it is Lawrence - a perfectly normal name, but Gavin is deeply ashamed of it and offered me money not to tell the class).

  I mentioned the story to George, who went to a single-sex public boarding school. I have never had George quiet for a whole lunch-break before. Oz then called me into his office and pointed out what the local press could make of the incident - "MALE STRIPPERS AND THE SEVENTH YEAR - TEACHER APPROVES." Just what I needed to feed my paranoia. In fact I think Mr Porter was just letting off steam. He is not the sort of parent who writes letters. They never stop to think how much of a nuisance they are being. A word to the teacher (if the matter is really that important) would usually solve a problem: a letter to the head usually just creates three more.