‘Yes, you are,’ he had said. ‘The atmosphere in the school since the teachers knew you were coming has been manic.You write a report about the school and how things can be improved and the teachers have to do it.’ He waited for a response but when I didn’t reply, he added, ‘Well, don’t they?’
‘I suppose that’s how it’s supposed to work,’ I had told him. ‘So what improvements would you recommend?’
‘Not many,’ he’d said. ‘It’s a good school. There’s not much wrong with it.’ The boy had thought for a moment and then added, ‘The library could do with more good-quality books in Braille and Moon.’
‘Moon?’
‘Moon is an easier alternative to Braille,’ he had explained. ‘It was invented by Dr William Moon back in 1854. I’m surprised you’ve not heard of it, you being a school inspector. Braille is a better system in lots of ways but Moon is pretty good for kids who can’t manage Braille. You ought to look at it. You see, someone with a visual impairment is likely to be behind in his or her reading and they need really good material to get them turned on to books. It’s awfully expensive to convert a book into Braille so lots of books aren’t available.’
‘I will certainly take that on board when I write my report,’ I had told him. ‘So tell me, Michael, what is the best thing about St Catherine’s?’
‘That’s easy,’ he had replied without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Miss Pinkney.’
That same Miss Pinkney now entered the hall for her interview like a seasoned actress coming on stage. The door was thrown open and she made a grand entrance, dressed in a multicoloured smock of a dress, red leather sandals and a rope of enormous amber-coloured beads.
‘Good morning to you all,’ she said in a deep, resonant voice. She approached the chair, her sandals making a slapping sound on the wooden floor. ‘May I sit?’ Without waiting for an answer, she plonked herself down and smiled widely at the panel.
The interview went very well for Miss Pinkney. She answered the questions fully and confidently, and it was clear that she was a highly-committed and enthusiastic teacher with the experience, expertise and the force of character to be a first-rate deputy headteacher. When Mr Parsons climbed on his hobbyhorse about decline in standards, poor behaviour in the young and lack of discipline, she challenged him.
‘My goodness,’ she chortled, ‘you do sound so dreadfully pessimistic. The picture is not quite as bad as you paint it, you know, and I speak from working with children for many years. On the whole, I have to say that I am very impressed by the youth of today. I love working with them and I have a great deal of faith in them. I know there are the awkward and the demanding and, on occasions, the repellent youngsters who are hard to cope with, and it is always these who seem to get into the newspapers, but there are many many children who come from caring, supportive homes and are in the hands of dedicated and talented teachers.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mrs Thornton beside me nodding. She was obviously impressed with what she was hearing.
The chairman of governors grunted. ‘Mr Phinn,’ he said, ‘would you like to say something?’
‘What do you think are the keys to educational success?’ I asked her.
Miss Pinkney answered without a moment’s thought. ‘Great expectation and high self-esteem.’ She clasped her hands in front of her, displaying a set of large coloured rings. ‘Shall I go on?’
‘Please,’ I replied.
‘If you feel good about yourself, you feel good about others, don’t you? And, you are more likely to feel confident of your own worth and abilities. I think it’s so important to build up a child’s feeling of self-worth. I work with dyslexic and autistic youngsters and many have such low self-esteem. They think they’re useless. I try and build up their self-confidence and convince them that they aren’t on the scrap heap and can achieve great things. I firmly believe that if a teacher expects the moon, perhaps her pupils will go through the roof and dwell amongst the stars. Sounds a bit fancy that, doesn’t it, but I certainly have great expectations of the children I teach at St Catherine’s.’
‘Ah yes,’ interrupted Mr Parsons, ‘St Catherine’s. That’s a special school, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is,’ she replied.
‘And you work with handicapped children?’ he asked.
‘Disabled,’ she said. ‘Handicapped is a word we no longer use.’
‘Yes, well, I’m not big on so-called political correctness,’ mumbled the Chairman.
The smile disappeared from Miss Pinkney’s face. ‘It is really not a question of political correctness,’ she retorted. ‘It is more to do with sensitivity and respect. It wasn’t that long ago people were calling children with cerebral palsy, “spastics”, and those with Down’s Syndrome, “mongols”. The appropriate term is “disabled” and, yes, I have worked with these children for a number of years.’
‘And don’t you think you might find it a bit different working with normal children?’ asked Mr Parsons.
‘And what do you mean by “normal” children?’ she asked.
‘Well, children that have all their facilities, that aren’t handi – disabled.’
‘Children with a disability are like any other children,’ she told him. ‘They have the same feelings and fears, likes and dislikes. They enjoy the same things. They can be as delightful, difficult, happy, moody, sad, loving, naughty as any other children. It is just that they have rather more difficulties in life to face than many others. And I have to say that many disabled children show remarkable courage and forbearance. Shall I go on?’
‘No,’ grunted Mr Parsons, ‘that’s quite sufficient.’
When Miss Pinkney had left, the Chairman turned to the headteacher. ‘Not very appropriate outfit for an interview, was it?’ he observed. ‘I’m of the opinion that teachers should be dressed like teachers. She looked like a gypsy fortune-teller in that coloured tent. And fancy wearing sandals for an interview.’ He shookhis head. ‘And I can’t say I liked her manner. Over the top with her answers, I thought, and I didn’t like the way she was always asking me questions. It’s for us to ask her, not her to ask us.’
I noticed Mrs Savage producing a thin silver pen and small leather-bound notebook from her handbag and proceed to make a note.
‘So what did you make of her then, Mrs Thornton?’ he asked.
‘I should prefer to see all the candidates before I express my opinion, Mr Parsons,’ she told him.
‘Which is normal interview procedure,’ added Mrs Savage.
‘Oh, is it?’ said the Chairman.
The second applicant was a tall, pale-faced man in his twenties, with an explosion of wild, woolly hair and a permanently surprised expression. It was Mr Hornchurch.
‘Take a seat,’ said Mr Parsons. I could see from his expression that he was less than impressed with the outfit that this candidate too was wearing. Mr Hornchurch was attired in a loud checked jacket, pale grey trousers, pink shirt and a multicoloured tie. ‘It occurs to me,’ continued the Chairman, flicking through the application form, ‘that you’re a bit on the young side for this position.’
‘It is true,’ Mr Hornchurch answered, crossing his long legs, ‘that I have only been in the profession for a relatively short time, but I feel quite confident about taking on the role of the deputy headteacher.’ He went on to give a series of splendid answers, outlining what he had developed at Tarncliffe Primary School, the results the children in his class had achieved, the prizes they had won and the fact that the headteacher had actively encouraged his application.
Mr Parsons gave a cynical smile. ‘Some might say she was keen to get rid of you.’
‘Some might say that,’ replied Mr Hornchurch pleasantly, ‘but I am led to believe that I am a valued member of her teaching staff, which I hope is reflected in her reference.’
When it came to my turn, I asked the candidate what, in his opinion, characterised a good school. He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward and reste
d his hands on his knees.
‘A good school,’ he said, ‘is cheerful and optimistic, a place where children can learn in a safe and secure environment, where they feel valued and respected, where the teachers are enthusiastic and committed, and the leadership is purposeful and dynamic. There should be no bullying or racism, and there should be decent toilets. For me, the good school –’
‘Toilets?’ exclaimed Mr Parsons.
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Mr Hornchurch. ‘If you were to ask children what they think characterises a good school, the state of the toilets is always high on their list. You see, if the toilets are clean and attractive, everything else in the school is likely to be the same.’
‘That’s, of course,’ said the headteacher, glancing in my direction, ‘if they are working properly.’
I determined that my first port of call back at the Education Office would be the Premises and Maintenance Section.
The third candidate, a lean woman with a pale pinched face and dressed in a black suit and prim white blouse buttoned up to the neck, looked startled when she saw me. She drew her lips together into a tight little line and stared at me with Medusa ferocity. It was Mrs Sidebottom from Ugglemattersby Junior School.
Mr Parsons was clearly taken with her tidy appearance for his manner changed. I suppose she looked to him like the good old-fashioned, I-stand-no-nonsense sort of teacher that he wanted at Westgarth.
‘Do take a seat, Mrs Sidebottom,’ he said amiably. ‘I’m sorry you have had to be the last in, but somebody has to be.’
‘That’s quite all right,’ she replied, giving a thin-lipped smile. ‘And my name is pronounced Siddybothome.’
‘So,’ said Mr Parsons, ‘can you tell us why you want to leave your present position?’
She smiled wanly. ‘I feel I need a greater challenge,’ she said. ‘As you may know, the Junior School in which I teach at present is due to amalgamate with the Infant School.’ She glanced briefly in my direction. ‘I really feel that it is time for me to take on greater responsibility. I have to say that I believe in very high standards, some might say my expectation is rather too high, but in my opinion there needs to be discipline, routine, good order in the classroom, and well-behaved children, attributes which I feel are sadly lacking in society as a whole.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Mr Parsons. ‘I’m constantly saying so myself.’
‘I am, and I make no apology for this, a traditionalist, some might say rather old-fashioned.’
‘Not a bad thing,’ said Mr Parsons, nodding.
‘And were I to be appointed to the position of deputy headteacher,’ she continued, cheered by the supportive comments and friendly nods of the chairman of governors, and preparing to give us the benefit of what no doubt was a prepared statement, ‘I should endeavour to develop in the children self-discipline, acceptable behaviour and good manners as well as teaching them the essential basic skills of reading, writing and arithmetic. I do have managerial skills and a great deal of classroom experience with difficult children. I am efficient, punctual and have had few absences, qualities which are essential for the deputy headteacher.’
‘Very good,’ said the Chairman, nodding again.
After the interview panel had each put a question to Mrs Sidebottom, I asked her, ‘And how important in a school, do you think, are extra-curricular activities?’
‘Extra-curricular activities?’ she repeated.
I elaborated. ‘School concerts, Saturday sports activities, trips out of school, that sort of thing?’
‘They have their place, I am sure,’ she said, ‘but the main function of the teacher is to teach children – as I have just said – good behaviour and manners as well as the usual lessons. In my opinion, such things as those you describe decorate the margin of the more serious business of a school and, in any case, should be left largely to the parents.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘No more questions thank you, Mr Chairman.’
When the time came for the panel to consider the three applicants, Mr Parsons said straight away, ‘I have to say that the first two candidates didn’t look like teachers to me. Neither of them was, in my opinion, dressed properly for an interview. Nor was I impressed by their answers – far too airy-fairy, for my liking. The last candidate seems to me to have her feet firmly on the ground. She looks the part, sounds like a teacher after my own heart and, as far as I’m concerned, she’s the one we should appoint, and I don’t think we need waste any more time –’
‘Might we hear what the inspector has to say?’ asked Mrs Curry who, apart from asking one question of each candidate, had sat quietly, listening intently.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Mr Parsons.
I was careful, when giving my assessment of the candidates, to outline what I considered to be their strengths and weaknesses without indicating which one I favoured. I explained that I had observed all three applicants actually teach so was in a position to comment on their classroom practice.
‘Thank you for that,’ said Mr Parsons. ‘Now, in my opinion –’
‘And might we now hear what the headteacher has to say?’ asked Mrs Smethurst. ‘After all, it is Mrs Thornton who will be working closely with the successful candidate.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr Parsons, somewhat flustered. ‘I was just about to askher.’
It was clear to all that Mrs Thornton preferred the first candidate and considered the last totally unsuitable.
‘I just don’t think,’ persisted Mr Parsons, when Mrs Thornton had finished speaking, ‘that this Miss Pinkney looks like a teacher who will fit in here.’
‘May I ask, Mr Chairman,’ said Mrs Savage, asking a question for the first time, ‘if you are judging the candidates only on their appearances?’
Bravo, Mrs Savage! I thought to myself.
‘Well, that and what I’ve heard,’ he replied, testily.
‘It seems to me, Mr Chairman,’ she continued, ‘that Mr Phinn, having seen all the candidates teach and observed them in a school environment, has a clearer picture than any of us here as to what they are really like. In addition, the headteacher has clearly intimated her preference for the first candidate. I should also like to draw your attention to the references, which do indicate that there are strong reservations about the last candidate. Appearances can be deceptive, as I am sure we are all aware.’
‘Mrs, er…?’ began Mr Parsons.
‘Savage,’ she replied. ‘Personal Assistant to Dr Gore, the Chief Education Officer, and his representative on the Appointments Panel, here to ensure that the rubric of the “Procedures for the Appointment of Staff” is adhered to.’
‘Mrs Savage,’ said the chairman of governors, speaking her name with deliberate emphasis, ‘I don’t need to remind you that it is the governors of this school who make the decisions in appointing staff, not inspectors nor education officials.’
‘No, Mr Chairman, you do not need to remind me,’ replied Mrs Savage, with an edge to her voice. ‘It is I who send the “Instruments of Governance” to schools and am more conversant with them than anyone.’
‘That’s as may be –’ he began.
‘If I may finish,’ she interrupted, like a politician during an awkward television interview. ‘I shall say this, Mr Chairman, that if the governors decide to ignore the advice of Mr Phinn and of the headteacher, who has expressed her preference, and they disregard the references, which of course they are at liberty to do, and Mrs Sidebottom, were she appointed, turns out to be unsuccessful in this important managerial role, then it will be the governors’ entire responsibility.’
‘There’s not much chance of that,’ said Mrs Curry. ‘My vote goes to Miss Pinkney.’
‘And so does mine,’ agreed Mrs Smethurst.
‘Thank you, colleagues,’ said Mrs Savage in her most obsequious voice, her small silver pencil poised over her notebook. ‘I take it, then, that I may record that Miss Pinkney is to be offered the position?’
23
‘Well, that’s another of Dr Gore’s little jobs about ready for the off,’ I said, snapping the red folder shut. It was Thursday morning, during the last week of November, and I was trying to catch up on the paperwork that was piled high in my in-tray. When two of my colleagues arrived, however, I pushed the work away, deciding to finish the rest at home that evening. There was little chance of getting anything done when both Sidney and David were in the office.
‘And what little job is that?’ asked David, peering over the top of his spectacles.
‘The NACADS Conference,’ I told him.
‘Well, all I can say, dear boy,’ said Sidney, leaning back on his chair and puffing out his cheeks dramatically, ‘is that you deserve a medal for working with that domineering, disagreeable, umbrageous, bad-tempered woman.’
‘You have to know how to handle Mrs Savage, Sidney,’ I told him. ‘You just rub her up the wrong way. I’ve become quite adept at dealing with her now. And, actually, she’s not been too bad.’
‘I just ignore her,’ said David. ‘That’s the best way.’
‘The only way I would handle that virago,’ said Sidney, ‘is to place my hands around that long swan-like white neck of hers and throttle the life out of her. She’s unbearable. She’s more strident than a tree full of screeching crows. Do you know that when I arrived at Manston Hall first thing this morning, to drop off my exhibits for your FRACAS conference, she was standing at the entrance, hands on hips, dripping with gewgaws –’
‘Dripping with what?’ asked David at the same time as I muttered ‘NACADS’ rather crossly.
‘All that ghastly showy jewellery she is wont to wear,’ explained Sidney. ‘She was dressed in a ridiculous peasant-style blouse with great balloon sleeves and a flouncy red skirt, looking just like an ageing Heidi. Anyway, she asks me, “I take it you are here to put up the art display?” I was tempted to reply, “No, Mrs Savage, I’m here to rip off my clothes and dance naked up and down the drive singing selections from Oklahoma!” What did she think I was there for?’
‘So, what did you say?’ asked David.
The Heart of the Dales Page 34
