Starlight in the Ring

by H. N. Quinnen

  “They are powerless, Dirkie,” Mr Burgher responds, laughing.

  Mr Van Vuuren, flicking through the documents again, continues, “The outcome of this stage was notified to her lawyers. The Appeal Panel found that the previous panel had cleared the Academy. It confirmed the Academy to have followed appropriate procedures, and upheld its findings. No evidence of bias was found, and the Appeal was not dismissed. It reiterated the offer made during the second stage to enable Baker to complete her assessment, and achieve her teacher licence. Regardless, Baker proceeded to the fourth stage with her concerns. Why did you do all this?” Mr Van Vuuren asks, aggressively this time. “You are very stubborn. That’s not a characteristic of the good teacher you claim to be. You should be meek, and accept our criticisms.”

  “Sir, I believe I have adequate written evidence to prove my case. Should anyone of you have time to look at it, and compare the contradictory statements made by the Academy, you would see that they are wrong, and I am right.”

  They seem to lack understanding of my main concern, I remark internally.

  “You sound bold, young lady,” says Mr Burgher.

  Mr Van Vuuren says, “This report involves the Star Academy’s Board, later that year. Again, Baker attended with a representative from her Teachers’ Association. It suggested that an Independent Assessor should review Baker’s performance. However, by that time she was outside the government rule that a licence must be gained within a certain period. This outcome was notified to Baker by letter, which asked her to respond to the offer. Why did you ignore this opportunity, Miss Baker?” Mr Van Vuuren asks harshly.

  “Firstly, I needed the Academy’s responses to all my concerns. Secondly, I expected them to accept their mistakes, offer me an apology, and then emerge with a reasonable, achievable solution. It was unfair to expect me to comply with the Academy’s proposal prior to addressing my needs.”

  “Unrealistic, Baker – your dreams misled you,” Mr Van Vuuren says, shaking his head in disagreement. They talk among themselves softly in Afrikaans. I can’t hear them, but there’s no reason to worry about it, as I will be told the final outcome.

  “Finally, the Academy sent Baker a Completion of Procedure document,” reports Mr Van Vuuren.

  I feel exhausted. I want to have a break, and a glass of water. I’ve had enough grilling, but I can’t ask, and I’m afraid of what they might say.

  Mr Van Vuuren goes on to explain the responses of this Review Panel.

  “Baker’s scheme application and a copy of Completion of Procedures were received by this office with no other enclosed documents or details of the case. The Scheme Application Form stated that certain lawyers were representing her, and would shortly provide the details of the case. They did not do this until our office sent a chasing letter. The lawyers then indicated that she was no longer their client. We received copies of her documents that did not set out her case details. We wrote to her seeking these. She responded, giving her explanation, and we were able to commence our review, and issued its draft decision. The Academy confirmed it as being accurate. Baker commented on the decision.”

  “Did we consider Baker’s comments, before we made our final decision?” Mr Erasmus asks, appearing concerned at this stage.

  “No, there was no need, Mr Erasmus. We don’t allow people to defy our authorities here. This matter shouldn’t have reached this stage in the first place. Our Assessors take decisions about who to let through, and which students shouldn’t join our teaching staff. This is simple to understand. Not every native should be a teacher. I hope you will agree with me in this. You know the ‘complications’. For your own information, Ben Schoeman Skool offered Baker a teaching assistant-ship after finding a suitable teacher for her post. She rejected it.”

  I know what they’re talking about, and I’m surprised that they know about it. Who informed them? I remember my dad’s warning: he always said, “Betty, you can never win.”

  “After lunch, Mr Burgher will take us through the details of how we reached our conclusion about this case. Baker, be back here for three o’clock,” Mr Van Vuuren commands, piling the documents on the table.

  “Yes, Sir,” I say, blankly. I pick up my handbag, sling it over my left shoulder, open the door, and walk out, following the exit directions through the long corridor. My mouth is dry. Anger flashes in me like a hot wave. I feel dizzy. My God, I shouldn’t pass out! I have never felt an emotion manifesting itself in such a drastic way.

  All my childhood pressures come to the fore. I have no desire to continue this kind of life. I need change. I want a life I’ve never experienced before. But who will give me, it? I want to be recognised, and treated well. Greg, you’re my only hope.

  With a dry throat, and feeling rather hungry, I walk to the nearest café, and buy myself some sandwiches and a can of coke. I go to the park, sit on the bench and eat. The weather has changed, and it feels chilly. I look at my watch – it’s half past two. I return to the office, and this time Mr Burgher leads the hearing:

  “I’m going to give you a summary of the evidence that we gathered to inform our decisions. Should anyone wish to speak, do let me know,” he says. “Betty Baker complains that the Academy failed her assessment for upgrading her teaching qualification to teach here within the required timescale.” Mr Burgher pauses, looking up at me. “You still feel the same, Baker?” Everybody is quiet as they wait for me to respond. I’ve missed the question, as my mind has wandered off.

  “Y…yes, Sir,” I reply, my eyes widening with apprehension.

  And then Mr Burgher continues reading their report:

  “The Academy states clearly that Baker was given plenty of opportunities to undertake reassessment of the failed lesson, and proceed to final assessment, well before she was out of time under our rules. The Academy warned her about running out of time. We, the government representatives, have carefully considered the information and evidence provided by Baker and the Star Academy. I note that at the time of the failed lesson observation, Baker was within the time limits for achieving her licence. The Academy rearranged an opportunity to retrieve this lesson observation within a matter of days. Unfortunately, this was missed twice.”

  I distract myself by thinking about Greg, the man who respects and loves me. I imagine our happy days together under difficult circumstances, and remember that some people are genuinely kind.

  Mr Burgher continues with the deliberations:

  “I note that Betty Baker failed to meet the required standard to pass the lesson observation in question. This was a matter of academic judgement. I understand that passing this observed lesson was required in order to carry on with the next stages of this assessment. I also understand that the requirements of the licence to teach are set by our government. The Academy has a duty to ensure its students meet the necessary standards.”

  I accept all has gone against me, just as my dad said it would. I feel a sharp pain within my body, as of trapped wind. I guess the sandwiches with raw onions caused it. So, I rise up gently for a stretch. They all look at me, perhaps wondering what I was doing. I sit down to hear their final judgement.

  Miss Swiss takes over, saying, “We are satisfied it was reasonable for the Academy to require that this lesson observation be passed for the process to continue. We are also satisfied that the Star Academy acted reasonably in repeatedly offering Betty Baker opportunities to retrieve the failure. She could have opted to accept such an offer, and complete her assessment within the time limits. However, she chose not to, as she wished the Academy to complete her final assessment without her having to do another lesson observation. Essentially, she wanted the Academy to override or disregard the judgement of Assessors. I have not been persuaded that there is a compelling reason why this should have been done. Had Betty Baker acted on the Academy’s offer, my understanding is that she could have received the licence within the recommended timescale. I’m not persuaded that the Star Academy is responsible for her failure to do
so.”

  She sneezes, picks up a glass of water and drinks slowly. After wiping her mouth with a tissue, she remains quiet for a while and then looks at me, perhaps expecting my comment. I maintain my silence.

  “For the above reasons, I don’t find this aspect of this case justified,” says Miss Swiss.

  I attempt to explain my case again for the last time, hoping they might understand me. My voice starts to vibrate with anger and frustration. “Excuse me, I informed the Academy of the problems I faced, and it failed to resolve them. It hurt my feelings badly and caused me stress which led to illness in the week of my assessment. That’s how I missed the assessment opportunity. Can’t you see this isn’t my fault?”

  Miss Swiss speaks, ignoring my comments, saying, “Mrs Arno was Miss Baker’s assessor, and not her mentor. She was not appointed to train her. The Academy can’t alter the professional judgement of an Assessor, since this would undermine the quality of the assessment process.” She pauses, and then continues, “The minutes of various case hearings show that the Academy dealt thoroughly with the issues. I have seen from the papers provided that Betty Baker raised concerns with the Academy, that Mrs Arno’s role in assessing her was different from what she was told earlier on.”

  I ask, “What really was Mrs Arno’s role meant to be in this process?”

  Miss Swiss, shaking her head with wide eyes, says, “Our role today, is not to investigate the detail of this case afresh, but only to review the Academy’s handling of it. We’re here to investigate whether its response was reasonable, and in accordance with its regulations, and not anybody else’s. I note that Mrs Arno assessed Miss Baker with another teacher who participated in the decision to fail Betty Baker. However, she has only taken issue with Mrs Arno’s judgement; why is that?”

  “Betty Baker, could you explain this?” Miss Swiss asks.

  I look at them again, saying nothing. I’ve decided not to defend myself anymore. It’s pointless: they have already made their decision. They keep saying ‘we’, and I wonder who I am dealing with, here.

  “Miss Baker suggests that the Academy’s investigation was biased, and that the procedures used were time-consuming and ineffective. But we dealt with this case in accordance with our procedures; Baker caused many delays.” Miss Swiss raises her voice at this point.

  These words ring strongly in my ears. It hurts to observe that this panel assumes I blamed the Academy for my own mistakes.

  Mr De Beer then takes over the lead. “We have summarised the case earlier in these proceedings. I note that the Star Academy does appear to have complied with the processes it set out. We have not seen evidence of bias in the decision made by the Academy’s panels. Just like Mrs Arno, all panel members are connected, in one way or another, to the Academy, but they are all unknown to Baker. This was good, to ensure that our services are not challenged.”

  I keep looking at my watch, wondering when they will finish. This is not what I expected, just to obtain an outline of what the Star Academy said. I realise the fairness I’m seeking is far from being achieved. This has been a futile exercise. I draw my own conclusion that my interaction with the Star Academy was an unfortunate incident.

  “We have considered all the evidence of complaints set out. We consider the final decision of the Star Academy to be fair and reasonable in all circumstances, and do not find your case to be justified. We, therefore, make no recommendations,” concludes Mr De Beer.

  “Do you have any other comment, Betty Baker?” Mr Van Vuuren asks.

  I remain silent; and then Mr Van Vuuren utters his final remark: “The Star Academy, and Mrs Arno, in particular, must receive an Award in recognition of their excellent services this year. Make a note of that, Miss Swiss.” And he brings the hearing to a close.

  “They deserve it, definitely,” agrees Miss Swiss, beaming with a smile while putting the documents together into her briefcase.

  I look at them for a while with tearful eyes, and then say loudly and clearly, “I thank you all for providing this opportunity to hear my case. Thank you all for your precious time.”

  They look at each other. I receive no response this time around. I can tell nothing I said could influence them to change their minds. Bargaining with them is practically impossible, and a waste of my valuable time. I need help to adjust to this predicament I find myself in, without further trauma and unnecessary pain.

  I rise up and open the door. Before I leave, I give them another look – a friendly one, perhaps one they will remember for as long as they live.

  I release my internal pain as I walk towards the staircase. I look down, and the drops of my tears leave an invisible trail that only I know of. It’s good that human tears are colourless, I think to myself. I distract my mind as I think about Greg, his love and promises.

  I walk down to the bus station, singing my favourite songs to myself. This continues as I wait for the bus. It arrives after ten minutes, and I board to look for a seat. Usually, I sit in front unless all of the seats are full. Today, I leave the vacant front seats to sit at the back, hoping not to meet familiar people. I get off and walk home. Betty Baker, you should not cry again, I say to myself.

  I reach my front door, turn the key and go in. I throw my handbag on the floor, and go straight to the mirror to look at my face. With my eyes red and swollen from crying, I realise I still have hope for a better future, but somewhere else. Life is wonderful! I must enjoy it with Gregory, from now.

  “Baas Jimmie’s bullets missed me that night. I miss Mark.”

  from Betty’s Diary, 10th January, 1968

  Chapter 10

  Abroad

  May 1974

  The aeroplane lands at Heathrow Airport at 7.30 a.m. I get out and follow the other passengers boarding the bus to the terminal exit. I join the queue to the passport control, and get cleared. Finally, Gregory had arranged the visa. I collect my luggage and follow the directions to the underground station to catch the tube to Euston railway station. From there I will get my connection to Leeds. At Leeds railway station, there are many trains to Skipton, my final destination.

  At Euston station, there’s a little wait before the 10.35 a.m. train pulls into platform 13. This gives me time to walk around, cooling my nerves. I imagine what it is going to be like, meeting Greg after all these years. I have some concerns. Will he recognise me? How is his appearance now? Am I really physically attracted to him, as I was six years ago? What will happen if I find him less attractive or vice versa? That would be a dilemma. No… a disaster! I smile, walking through the gates to platform 13.

  Suddenly, the train approaches, and the doors open. Before I board, I check the name on its side to confirm it’s the right train for Leeds. Yes, that’s it. Feeling relaxed and encouraged, I sit next to the window to have a clear view. More passengers get on the train, taking all the available seats. The train departs exactly at 10.35 a.m. from Euston station. It is packed; some passengers are sitting on their luggage, just by the entrance. I’m fortunate to get a seat; I think to myself, as the train is speeding, heading towards the north of England.

  I look at a little old lady with grey hair who is sitting next to me. She is so short that her feet cannot reach the floor. I glance at her secretly every so often, hoping she will speak to me. She doesn’t. She is coughing constantly, and her heavy breathing makes a loud sound as if she is snoring. She appears uncomfortable, as she blows her nose.

  Suddenly, there is an announcement, “Attention, passengers. The shop selling refreshments is now open at the end of carriage B. Please make your way to the front of the train, if you want to buy cold and hot drinks and snacks.” I wish to have a hot drink, but due to my tiredness, I give this a miss.

  After a while the train stops. It has reached the first station. Passengers get out as others come in. I dismiss my thoughts of having someone to talk to and resist the feeling of having a nap. I stay awake and enjoy my journey to Leeds.

  I get off and go straight to the
Enquiries desk to ask for train times and the platform for Skipton. I’m conscious of time. I want to travel on the next train, but queues are very long. I explore an opportunity to push in order to get served quickly. I see other passengers joining from the back. Feeling embarrassed, I wait patiently for my turn. I’ve been reciting my question mentally already, so I ask him, “What platform is the next train to Skipton, please?” The man looks at the time and, without looking at me, he says, “In 10 minutes. Platform 2b, love. Next please!”

  Saddened by his attitude, I hurry to the platform. To my disappointment, the first carriage is full of passengers. Struggling to carry my heavy luggage, I continue walking up to the end of the train. All the carriages are overflowing. ‘What shall I do?’ I ask myself. ‘Shall I push in, and keep standing all the way? How far do I have to go? I don’t know.’ I stand still, unable to decide.

  I look to my left and see a metal bench similar to those I used to see when I was a child. My thoughts bounce back to early-childhood memories. I wonder if African natives are allowed to sit on those benches.

  A feeling of utter despair overwhelms me. I drop my heavy suitcase, and sit down on the bench. For about ten minutes, the train is stationary. Appearing to be bored, some passengers are gazing through the windows. It’s worth waiting for the next train, I decide. I would be unable to stand all the way because my feet are throbbing due to tiredness from travelling all night.

  I hear an announcement, “The 13.45 train to Skipton is delayed by approximately fifteen minutes.” This delay doesn’t worry me. I’m waiting for another train anyway. I hear another announcement. “The engine of the first train has broken down. Please board the next train.”