Pleeaze! Tell Me That Wasn’T a Teacher!

By Nick Crozby

Pleeaze! Tell me that wasnt a teacher! is a humorously written, anecdotal account based on the multifarious events and incidents the author, Nick Crozby, has been privileged to encounter, enjoy and occasionally suffer during his long career in education. The events related were real but the names of all those involved have been changed to preserve anonymity. Pleeaze! Tell me that wasnt a teacher! follows his hesitant steps as a trainee teacher, struck dumb during an early lesson, confronted by parents in his first few weeks of teaching, and then encountering talented and dangerous pupils. Near disasters at a steel works, sea sickness on a ferry, claustrophobia down a coalmine and narrowly escaping avalanches in the Alps are just some of the fun times he enjoyed with his pupils. With his well-chosen stories and incidents Nick not only entertains but informs the reader about the nefariouscolourful behind the scenes goings on in the educational world.

The dialogue is colourfully illustrated with many incidents some sad, others naughty and some very moving. Nick encountered a stuttering sportsman, a one handed pupil and even a boy brought up in a kennel providing him and you the reader with many poignant moments. He describes attempts to involve the wider community encountering in the process cases of child abuse, meeting a target criminal and working with police and social services on a regular basis.

Incidents and characters seemed to follow him during his time in higher education

Many pupils stand out for different reasons and Nick is still in contact with several of them.

Nick Crozby married his childhood sweetheart and has been happily married for over 50 years. They have two children and three grandchildren.

Nick Crozby is the authors pen name.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491879542

Nick Crozby

The author, Nick Crozby, was born before the outbreak of World War Two. As a child he always wanted to be a teacher and when old enough he trained as a Secondary teacher after successfully completing his Bachelor of Arts Degree and Educational Diploma courses. He then taught in several different schools before taking up a teaching appointment in a College of Education where in the course of his work he was involved with many schools, ran In-Service training courses and undertook research. He wrote numerous successful school text books and worked with The Schools Council, Her Majesties Inspectors, Local Education Authorities, Advisers and Radio and Television Companies on a wide range of different projects. His special interests lay in the areas of Fieldwork, Community Education, Disadvantage and Disaffection. As head of a Middle School he was able, in conjunction with outstanding colleagues, to put into practice many of his ideas. In his spare time he was a keen sportsman playing and helping to run rugby and cricket teams as well as doing occasional disc-jockeying for relaxation! After taking early retirement Nick worked for a short time as a sponsoring editor with a major educational publishing company. He and his wife, Emm, then founded a highly successful teacher recruitment company. Soon a chance meeting took their work in a totally different, unexpected direction which resulted in Nick and his wife working with schools and teachers’ worldwide and especially in the Middle East opening up new horizons with many exciting experiences, opportunities and stories. Now being fully retired Nick and his wife enjoy a quieter more relaxed lifestyle, gardening, motor-homing, writing and craftwork and live in Spain for a part of the year. They also collect smoothing irons of which they have a considerable collection. Nick Crozby is the authors’ pen name. He married his childhood sweetheart and has been happily married for over 50 years. They have two children and three grandchildren.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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Pleeaze tell me that wasn’t a teacher!

Pleeaze tell me that wasn’t a teacher?

It’s a Wednesday afternoon in the early 1980’s and I had just entered the school office where I was surprised to see my lifelong friend Keith sitting nervously in one corner gingerly sipping a cup of coffee and glancing quite furtively and apprehensively around. Keith, who was himself an excellent teacher, taught in a rather posh junior school in a trendy spa town and had many children from well off families including a number of American children from a nearby base.

What do you mean by that? I proffered somewhat sharply! Rather taken aback.

Well! Er… He hesitated. Then very tentatively and deliberately he started to say.

Well! You’d told me so much about your school and its problems and you always seemed so full of it that I thought, since it is my schools half term, I’d come over on the off chance that I might be able to see exactly what goes on here and why you love it so much. He watched for my reaction and then continued.

I approached through the council estate and it was all you had described; run down, boarded up shops and houses, litter strewn streets and verges, roaming dogs and I loved the abandoned and burnt out cars. By the time I reached school I had very mixed emotions: amazement at some of the things I had seen and that it was so different from the environment of my school: incredulity at the fact that you chose to work in this environment.

I couldn’t deny what he had seen. That’s just as it was. He continued further.

I was then pleasantly surprised at the smart, appealing looking entrance to the school that I could see quite clearly was bright and clean. Someone cares I thought! And I loved the attractive, boldly painted welcome sign as I drove over the speed bumps into the grounds. I parked, Oh! And Yes! I locked the car making sure it was secure and then tentatively approached the glass fronted doors with a mixture of hesitation and excitement.

I interrupted him briefly wanting to get back to my room in case I was needed.

If you’ve finished your coffee come across to my room and continue with your story there.

As soon as we were seated in my room he was now bursting to continue. He couldn’t get it out quickly enough.

Well! He continued. This was a common word in Keith’s vocabulary as you may have already gathered!

The drop kick!

Well! As I pulled on the door handle I noticed the freshly painted corridor and the sparkling clean floor. In front of me was a wrought iron plant stand with healthy looking, brightly coloured plants trailing out of it. Nice!

The bright red Geraniums and the variously coloured Fuscias were plants I had reared in my greenhouse at home. I was determined that the school should be attractive even if the surrounding neighbourhood left much to be desired and as Keith would see later I also made sure that each classroom had a selection of colourful plants that the kids in the class were encouraged to look after. One of my deputies was into tropical fish and so I had encouraged her to set up an aquarium as another feature of interest for the kids and it too was strategically placed in the school entrance area. The kids loved it and it somehow gave an air of tranquillity. Keith had spotted that too.

I couldn’t miss that large aquarium that was nestled to one side of the entrance area. There seemed to be quite an assortment of different fish! It all looked very warm and welcoming. But at that very instant that I put my foot into the school a door on the opposite side of the corridor flew open and a teacher, or so I thought, appeared dragging by the scruff of the neck a boy, who I guessed must be 9 or 10 years old. Oh! God! This is not what I expected! I thought! Then it flashed through my mind that you had said it was a hard school but surely not this! But then this blond haired, fairly buxom, sleeveless blouse clad female flexed her considerable sized heavily tattooed muscles and effortlessly hoisted the lad off the floor and held him horizontally at arms-length and at waist height. He screamed at the top of his voice! She screamed back! Am I in the right place I thought or is it a madhouse! I don’t believe it! But just as all sorts of thoughts are going through my mind this harridan viciously threw the boy down onto the floor screaming at him You f*** little bastard while she executed one of the best drop kicks I had ever seen (and Keith was in fact an outstanding stand-off half who had once played briefly at county level) and proceeded to judderingly boot the boy towards the main door. I dodged out of the way (he was adept at sidesteps too!) as the boy picked himself up and ran out shouting F*** you! F*** off! You slag! back at her. At that point you suddenly appeared out of what I now know was your room followed by another well-dressed man who rushed after them and followed the blond and the boy out into the school grounds. You glanced up, saw me, pointed down the corridor and said to me to go to the secretary’s room and you’d join me shortly. I went there as quickly as I could… for safety’s sake! After a short while that is where you came to find me

Having got all that off his chest he breathed a sigh of relief! And I could fully understand why Keith was perplexed as I had repeatedly told him what a fabulous school it was. I had told him that I called it a frontiers school: that is one where we were always looking for new, better and more appropriate ways of teaching our children and encouraging their learning. So I said to Keith.

Before I try to explain things to you let me get two of our pupils to show you around their school and you’ll then have a more balanced view of our situation. While you do that I can go check on Gary and his mum and the social worker.

It was our school policy to let pupils show any new visitors around school as we were constantly trying to improve the kids’ self-image and the image of their school and it clearly showed the visitor what we were about. We did not choose the best pupils for this and sometimes pupils chose the option of acting as a visitor guide from our Rewards List when they had earned privileges. After about forty minutes Keith arrived back at my room chaperoned by two boys who were looking quite pleased with themselves.

Thank you boys please go back to class now.

I said to them and Keith was effusive in his personal thanks to the boys saying how much he had enjoyed being shown round. I looked at beaming Keith.

Well! Have you had a good look round? Did the boys talk to you about all our activities? What do you think about the school now and what we are trying to do? I waited a moment or two as Keith was thinking and wondered what his reactions were going to be.

Oh! I’m a little punch drunk! I was mesmerised by the kids and the things they were showing me. They were so full of their school. There’s so much to take in. I really need time to digest it all. I was so impressed! You do so many different things and do them in ways different to those that I’m used to."

He paused and thought some more.

Tell you what, while I collect myself why don’t you start by explaining to me what I witnessed as I arrived. I couldn’t believe it and it doesn’t fit with all I’ve just seen with my guides!

Well. He’d got me at it by then!

I’ll try but it is really a long story so I’ll try to nutshell it for you. Gary, for that was the ten year olds name, had been suspended from school for two weeks as a result of having lost his temper, picked up a desk and thrown it at one of our lady teachers. Although she is small Gail is one of our best teachers who is timetabled for part of the week to work with some of our more difficult pupils and is brilliant at what she does. The room she takes the class in is bright and attractive thanks to the time and effort she puts in before and after school (whoever said teaching was a nine to four job certainly hadn’t been to my school and seen the work put in by most of my staff!) and the kids like to go there. Nevertheless the desk throwing was the last of a number of acts of violence from Gary that day, the previous ones had been against two of his classmates and after all I have both the teachers and the pupils’ safety to think about. This morning the senior social worker had arrived at my door not long before you arrived to talk about Gary’s situation. We have a lot of involvement with social services and we enjoy an excellent working relationship with them that we have built up steadily and we regularly attend joint meetings with them and other agencies concerning problem families and their children. As you can well understand many of our kids and their parents have contacts with social services and several have their own regular social worker. He asked if I was prepared to take Gary back as his mother was having difficulty with him at home all the time. Mum by the way works in a massage parlour on a parade of shops fairly near to the school and so was presumably missing work and her money.

Keith was listening intently, eyes wide open. I continued.

I explained to the social worker that, as he knew, I would take any pupils into school whatever their problems but that we had to have assurances from both the pupil and the parent and on-going support and cooperation from the Social Services. With that he informed me that Gary was outside with his mum and had come to apologise. He fetched them into my room and they sat down. I always try to make my room warm and welcoming, quite homely in fact, so it didn’t smack too much of authority so I kept my desk reasonably tidy, had two attractive pictures on the wall and a small coffee table with another Geranium perched on it. A deep pile rug finished off the comfortable atmosphere: or so I hoped. We discussed the situation very calmly and at length and I spoke to mum about her role and what needed to be done. She seemed to be fully understanding and compliant. Gary had sat throughout all this discussion gazing disinterestedly out of my window onto the school fields. Mum then turned towards her son and told him to apologise and to promise to behave himself. At that point he jumped up and made for the door uttering in a loud screech Not f***ing likely. B***r off!"

Like a flash Mum, moving surprisingly quickly, beat him to the door and grabbed him by his collar. The rest you know! Welcome to our school!"

Keith took a drink from another cup of coffee my secretary had brought in while I was explaining things to him.

Phew! Well! At least I’m glad it wasn’t a teacher! What a relief! However I have to say I feel sorry for the boy however badly he had behaved. Seeing his mother with him explains a lot doesn’t it! I’m also full of admiration for you and your staff and what you are trying to do here. The kids are so proud of their school and all that is going on.

Pointing to the coffee table where Keith’s cup now lay empty I said.

It’s strange you know. That is our most important piece of equipment in school!

What do you mean?

I’ve found out that when you get a parent into your room whether they are nervous, aggressive or whatever if I offer them a cup of tea or coffee it somehow seems to break the ice with them: it slows them down or throws them off balance. Not what they expect! Thus tea, coffee, milk and sugar feature highly on our petty cash accounts!

By the time we had discussed some of the other things he had seen the school bell rang to announce home time.

You’ll have to excuse me Keith as I like to be on duty at the door as pupils leave. And with that Keith said it was time he was going anyway so he left to get into his car. Meanwhile I positioned myself strategically to patrol the door area to make sure there was a smooth going home time exodus. I usually shared a few words of praise or some banter with kids as they filed out. Eventually and satisfied that all had gone well I returned to my room to finish off any outstanding work that needed completing and there was usually plenty of that. In the serenity and privacy of my room I quietly reflected on aspects of the day and I suppose I sported a somewhat self-satisfied smile. Well life was good wasn’t it! But then! Oh! No! I should have known better!

The uppercut!

Sir! Come quickly there’s a fight in the playground.

Sir! Sir! Another pupil called. It’s awful!

Downing my pen I speedily exited the building following the kids thinking to myself as I went that I thought we had managed to obliterate the playground punch-ups that I had inherited with the school! But surely enough there towards the bottom of the playground and near to the main gate, there clearly was a severe altercation going on and the kids were gathering round. As kids do! Jeering! Cheering! Fight! Fight! My initial feeling was one of bitter disappointment as I immediately thought to myself: I bet it’s those damned Doherty’s and Howells at it again and I thought they’d got over their troubles! But as I approached the group I could see quite clearly that this wasn’t them: in fact it wasn’t a bunch of agitated kids at all. There was a smallish, weedy looking man wheeling a push chair with a small child inside. He was giving a blond haired, buxom lady a verbal onslaught over something very important to him, though I never found out what it was that was at the root of the upset. What I was just in time to witness was a blonde lady who purposefully, deliberately and slowly raised her right arm and then swiftly swung one of the best knockout punches I had ever seen! (And I had followed Mohammed Ali’s illustrious career and seen several of his fights!) It connected abruptly to the man’s jaw and he fell like a log to the floor. Whereupon the blonde stormed out of the grounds, as she did so pushing aside some of our boys and girls, and all the time mouthing off to anyone who would listen! I rushed, together with a number of pupils, to check that the guy was O. K. it had been one hell of a punch! He was coming round so we helped him get to his feet and to dust himself down.

She’s nothing but trouble her! Silly cow!

He uttered as he grabbed hold of the push chair to stop himself falling down again: he was quite groggy!

She’s always causing trouble her.

And with that he set off across the playground to a different gateway obviously not wanting to risk another encounter. Yes. You’ve guessed. It was Gary’s mum yet again. Obviously she was having one of those days. But let’s be honest you have to acknowledge her sporting prowess: drop kicks, uppercuts! And perfect execution! Hopefully I wouldn’t experience any others! I wonder what it was her "customers enjoyed at the parlour! The mind boggles!

Amazingly a few weeks later I was flabbergasted when I had an unexpected phone call from Keith. When he had gone back to his middle-class leafy lane school he had been talking to his head teacher and then to their parent teacher group and as a result of their deliberations he was phoning to ask if he could bring his drama group to our school to put on a show for our kids. The suggestion was discussed at a staff meeting and I was able to ring Keith to let him know that we would be delighted for them to come to school. Arrangements were made and they duly turned up bringing a whole contingent of pupils, teachers and parents. Many of the parents were American whose husbands or wives worked at an American communications base and I hoped they were not too surprised by the difference between our school and the one their children attended.

Once I had spoken to them briefly they all got a conducted tour of school led, of course, by our eager pupils! Our kids showed off their school and all the things we did and what a great atmosphere there was. The parents in particular were impressed by the maturity of our pupils and by the pride they showed in their school.

We all returned to the school hall where Keith’s pupils then put on a super show which our kids watched intensely. Keith had written the fantasy play himself and it involved lots of colourful costume and some singing. Our pupils watched intently, deadly silent at times, laughing at others and cheering when appropriate. Having really enjoyed the afternoon we then had our kids and staff shepherd the cast and their parents to our dining hall where they served them biscuits and squash and everyone seemed to go home happy.

One of our pupils who had been involved in helping came to see me the day after.

Sir! Do you think it would be a good idea to write thank you letters to the school that did that show for us? You’ve told us in assembly that that is what you do when someone comes into school to see you or to help us!

I was impressed.

Good thinking son! What a good idea. If you wait a minute I’ll write a brief note to the teachers about your suggestion and if you don’t mind you can take it round to them.

In due course a number of nicely written thank you letters were sent to their school and for my school it was another useful lesson in manners! And another step along what was to be for all concerned a very long road.

CHAPTER TWO

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How did all this start?

In quieter moments I sometimes reflect on how I managed to get to this point in my life? In fact my own story had started many years before. I always wanted to be a teacher as long as I could remember. As a child I played at schools and, as many of my neighbours’ kids were younger than me, I was usually the one who organised things. If I’m honest I suppose I was also a bit bossy! I never lost that desire to teach so after completing my degree in 1959/60 I commenced an Educational Diploma course that, to be forthright, I did not enjoy much until our teaching practice started.

31 years! Life sentence!

But before that as a devoted Geographer I liked the idea of teaching overseas and in 1959 I decided to apply to The Commonwealth Office in London to enrol on their Tropical Education post graduate course with a view to working in Nigeria or Kenya. I was delighted to be offered and duly attended for an interview in London and was very excited by the prospect and obviously somewhat nervous. The place itself along with the immaculately tailored staff I encountered smacked of the old school tie and of privilege. However the interview must have gone well because before the end of the interview I got a distinct feeling that I was going to be accepted. The short interview drew to a close. Is that it I thought and I’ve come all this way. But I was offered a place on the course immediately.

You will be sent a contract. Study it carefully and then return it to us dutifully signed.

I thank them profusely and asked whether details of the course and timetable would be sent to me before the contracts arrived or at the same time. Up to that point I had only had an outline of the course.

Once we have received your signed acceptance we will send you all the documentation. Oh! And by the way you know you have to sign on for 31 years!

It was said with a straight face so I knew immediately that the interviewer was serious. I was flabbergasted! Gobsmacked!

I beg your pardon would you mind repeating that?

He repeated it again word for word.

What! I don’t believe it! I understood that a teaching contract was for two or three years. I can’t do that. Not sign on for 31 years! What if I can’t cope with the tropical conditions? That sounds totally unreasonable to me!

I didn’t mince my words as I couldn’t believe that nowhere had this information been given to me before I accepted the interview. Or perhaps my research had not been carried out sufficiently thorough! Though I knew it had been! He could see that I was disturbed and cross!

You mustn’t worry about the 31 years: it is not a problem for you. If you find you are unsuited to the climate or the situation you just have to cancel your contract!

Once again I was incredulous. Had I heard him right? Just cancel? If so then, I thought to myself, what’s the point of signing it in the first place. Any doubts about the wisdom of my decisions that I had had so far surfaced rapidly.

I’m sorry. I don’t feel I can continue on that basis. And I stood up to leave.

They thanked me for attending, said