CONTINUATION - ANTI-SEMITISM IN MODERN BRITAIN: A TEACHER’S STORY

CHAPTER FIFTEEN     PETITION

The following day I drove to the school expecting anything to happen. Would I be suspended? Dismissed? Entering the Staff Room prior to Morning Assembly I immediately sensed there was something in the air. There’s a definite ‘mood’ about the place. An atmosphere. An unusual buzz of activity. My friend the Head of R.E. is going round talking to individual teachers and groups. The Head of English, a very respected Senior Master, comes over. Tells me he’s read my letter. Is aware of my meeting with the Head. He asks me what happened. I tell him I’m under threat of suspension and dismissal. That the Head said I should leave. He was planning to call a meeting of the school Governors to discuss my dismissal on the grounds of gross professional misconduct.

He goes to talk to the Head of the Science Department out of my hearing.

I now see some teachers reading a document passed to them by the Head of R.E. and writing on it. Soon everyone leaves for Assembly after which we all return to the Staff Room. The buzz continues up to the first lesson bell.

At mid-morning coffee break things start up all over again. A junior teacher in the Science Department asks me if I know about the petition circulating on my behalf organized by the Head of R.E. I’m told it deplores the threat of suspension and dismissal because of the letter I wrote to the paper and states that I’m a highly competent, professional and dedicated teacher, popular among staff and pupils alike. He and many others have signed it.

I’m astounded. See the Deputy Head and Senior Mistress coming in and out of the Staff Room. They walk around. Talk to teachers. Repeatedly glance in my direction. The Head of R.E. arrives. I see him talking to other Heads of Dept. The presence of the Deputy Head seems to be causing considerable tension. There are words between him and my friend. I do not know what is being said. Soon voices are raised. I think about leaving the room. Hiding in the Library. Instead I stand and drink my coffee. Other teachers come up to talk. I note that the Deputy Head has left. All my colleagues now tell me they’ve signed the petition on my behalf. Wish me the best of luck. I tell them in turn that I never expected such a thing. That I didn’t think my letter would cause so much trouble. It was something that I’d neither expected nor wanted, only here I was all over again, threatened with the sack. They all give me various bits of advice. Tell me I shouldn’t worry.

Coffee break ends. I resume teaching. Half way through the last lesson before lunch there’s a knock on the door. It’s the ‘usual’. Summoned out of my class by the Deputy Head and told to report to ‘the Study’. Cover has been arranged. Having gone in I’m immediately quizzed about the petition. “You drew it up yourself didn’t you,” the Headmaster tells me. “Got the Head of R.E. to circulate it on your behalf.” I reply that this is quite untrue. I never drew up or initiated any petition. In fact I knew nothing about it until I was told. He asks if I know who initiated it. I tell him that I had no idea. His manner is frank. Such a petition would not help me in any possible way. In fact it would only make matters worse as far as the Board of Governors was concerned. I repeat that I never initiated the thing and knew nothing about it. I was speaking the truth. He asked what I thought I had to gain by it? I shrug my shoulders. In all honesty I hadn’t even considered the matter.

The bell rings for lunch. He gets up. Shouts at me angrily that anyone challenging his authority at the school would be the loser, no matter who they were, adding, “least of all you.” For some reason I can’t help smiling. His remark sounds so ridiculous.

His look is so full of hate that if looks could kill I’d be up a chimney at Auschwitz. The meeting ends. I return to the Staff Room and am immediately approached by senior teachers. Told I’d been seen going into the Head’s Study and asked what transpired. I reply that I’d had a serious grilling over the petition. That he’d accused me of initiating it for my own benefit. They tell me that they all ‘initiated’ it, not just the Head of R.E. I’d done the right thing, sending the letter to the paper condemning the activities of the National Front. Minutes later my friend from R.E. gives me the petition to read. I’m amazed by the number of signatories. Many people I’d though weren’t my friends have added their names, along with all the Heads of Departments and astonishingly the Head of the Upper School along with the Deputy Senior Mistress. I’m overwhelmed. Only 4 out of 70 are missing. The Head and his Deputy, the Senior Mistress and the Physical Education instructor. These omissions just about meaningless against the avalanche of support.

I feel overcome when I read the words. Tearful. Say I didn’t know who’d organized it but that I felt deeply grateful and humbled to have their support. That I feel honoured to be one of their colleagues. Head of R.E. tells me that the petition has now been handed to the Head. This is a copy for me to keep.

I expect to be summoned to the Study again any time. Suspension more than likely. The crime of the petition added to my letter. He may even think he’s got enough to fire me on the spot. Outright dismissal. The lunch period one of tremendous tension for me. I can’t eat a thing. I want to walk out of the school across the fields. I go outside. Smoke heavily.

No further trouble however during rest of the day. I go home for the weekend enormously relieved. Show Louise the petition. She says it’s a miracle I’m still there.

Monday morning. Called out of the Staff Room during coffee break by the Head himself. We go to his Study. He informs me that he deplores the petition. Again suggests that I initiated it, using another member of staff to collect signatures. “I will not have this sort of thing at my school,” he shouts.

I’m waiting for my suspension, even dismissal, but somehow sense it won’t happen. He’d have done it by now but somehow he can’t. He angrily tells me he’ll discuss the whole matter with the Chairman of Governors. Nothing more. No Board of Governors meeting mentioned.

Following day the reasons for him holding off are clarified. I receive a letter from the Director of Education at the local authority. It states that I’m not suspended from duty. That I will soon meet with the Chief Inspector of Schools of the Authority to discuss all my problems at the school.

I feel very relieved. I’m safe for the time being. It gives me another three months but after that I know I’ll be failed and have nothing. I need to find another job fast.

 

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN      JUST NOT SUITED

The petition and support from my colleagues notwithstanding, I know my time at the school is nearing an end. The signals are plain enough. From the Director of Education himself. No, I wasn’t suspended but I’d soon be seeing the Chief Inspector of Schools. What on earth for I wondered? Did it mean another round of inspections? More of the same, telling me I wasn’t up to the standard required, or was he referring to honest, meaningful dialogue? A frank discussion about my situation and problems. The hound might be back on his leash but for how long? There was no disguising the fact that he wanted me out but unlike his predecessor he was altogether more ruthless. Whatever I did to make things better he’d do whatever it took to find a way no matter what.

The next few weeks were calm, but even then they had their moments. A couple of grillings from the Deputy Head about the petition. Just enough to make me feel bad days on end. It was “the general consensus of the authorities,” he told me, that it was something I’d organized myself. Pressured my fellow teachers into signing. That was the view of the Head which had been communicated to the Director of Education and the Chairman of Governors. I told him that it was an out and out lie. I’d known nothing about the petition. I’d be contacting the Director and other people concerned with education locally through my solicitor to deny any such allegations. I’d had enough. I wasn’t prepared to discuss it with him any further. I got up to leave but was told to sit down. The meeting wasn’t yet over. Did he want to talk about departmental matters I asked? He immediately suggested that I should leave the school. Hand in my resignation. It was in my best interest to do so. Move on to somewhere more suitable.

I thanked him for his concern. Said that I was mindful of his advice but that it was the general consensus of the overwhelming majority of staff that I was a highly competent and dedicated colleague and that I should stay. With that I got up, thanked him and left.

The end of November rolled round. I was still waiting to see the Chief Inspector of Schools after almost a month. Then a surprise. During mid-morning coffee break I’m notified by the Head that two Government Inspectors from the Department of Education have arrived to see me. I accompany him to his Study. It’s clear that he’s spoken to them prior to the meeting. This now takes place in his Study which he vacates. The atmosphere is brisk and business-like. They ask me to detail my experiences and difficulties at the school. I begin by contrasting the attitudes of the current and former Headmaster and their Deputy towards me with the vast majority of the teaching staff as evidenced in the petition which I show them. I outline some of my worst experiences to date such as the contrived suspension and ongoing harassment, together with the manner in which I’m addressed by the Head. I tell them that I take my work very seriously and have an excellent rapport with the kids I teach. That I enjoy my work at the school and everything would be fine if the authorities laid off with the bullying. Commenting on my experiences since I’d been there I make it plain that these arose from the time I complained about the anti-Semitic content of a school assembly and revealed to the former Head that I was Jewish. After that there’d been repeated requests from him and his Deputy that I should leave, both of them telling me time after time that my chances of passing the Probationary period at the school were minimal.

The Inspectors listen impassively saying little. I do not feel they are sympathetic. They ask whether I like being at the school to which I reply that I certainly enjoy teaching there. That I found the work rewarding and that my relations with my colleagues was good. If I hadn’t experienced all the harassment I’d be entirely happy working there. Also, I wanted to make it clear that I firmly believe my performance and ability as a teacher was well up to professional standards. They ask me if I’d consider a transfer. I tell them I would but prefer to stay at the school till I complete my Probation. That done I could look elsewhere if I chose. In fact it might be a good idea. They ask no more questions. The meeting ends. I leave the Study, they remain. The Head returns, presumably to talk to them. I can’t help wondering what story they’re getting.

Early December. I’m notified by the Head loudly in the Staff Room during morning coffee that the Chief Inspector of Schools for the local authority has arrived to inspect my teaching. It’s to be the first period after the break. Great, just ten minutes’ notice! It’s Middle School History and I’m well prepared for the lesson. The man comes in and sits at the back. The usual routine. The lesson goes well. I introduce the topic after which questions and discussion followed by my summarizing the main points on the blackboard. After this more questioning of the pupils and suggestions for further reading about the Industrial Revolution. The Inspector also attends the following class, Lower Sixth Sociology, after making a request. That also goes well. Lively debate and good contributions.

After the lessons we meet to talk in the lunch break in the Deputy Head’s office. A place I know well. He immediately notes a marked improvement in my teaching from a previous inspection. Both lessons, he says, were well prepared and delivered. I’d achieved a good rapport with the kids. It seems things are going surprisingly well then out of the blue he asked me how much I enjoy teaching my subjects at Secondary School level. “You have a first class honours degree in Sociology and a Masters degree in Humanities from Oxford,” he points out. “Do you find the work sufficiently challenging on a personal level being as highly qualified as you are?” I’m not immediately sure what he’s getting at. Was he suggesting I was too highly qualified? I reply that I found my history and sociology classes challenging and enjoyable work. His response is immediate. “That’s not what I’m asking,” he says quietly. “Do you find the work at this level intellectually challenging?” Suddenly I see where it’s leading. A clever tactic indeed… My suitability to teach at Secondary School level.

My surmise proves correct. When I tell him I find the work intellectually challenging he has a ready reply. “I don’t see how that can be.” It was a matter of suitability he suggests. The fundamental problem being that that I don’t appear to “fit in” to the secondary school teaching environment, i.e. that I’m just not suited. I ask whether in his experience all graduates and postgraduates do not appear to fit in to a secondary school teaching environment, pointing out that many teachers at the school were graduates. One of my colleagues even had a doctorate! He says that some do and some don’t! “But you are saying I don’t,” I retort. “Perhaps you could tell me why?”

It was easy for him. He pointed to “all the many difficulties,” I’d had at the school since I’d been there.

My response also came easily. They were not of my making. I go on to outline what I’d told the Government Inspectors. How could I be expected to fit in at the school where I’d spent my first year being hounded by the Head and his Deputy both of whom were anti-Semitic and had made my life there one long bloody hell? He is visibly shocked by my anger but says nothing. The meeting ends with him thanking me for talking and I leave knowing how the Headmaster and the Local Education Authority plan to remove me from my job.

Two days later he inspects my teaching again. The lesson went well I felt but there is no discussion between us afterwards. In truth why should there be? These inspections have nothing to do with my professional competence any more. I can still hear his words. Just not suited… Do not appear to fit in… At the end of the second year of my Probation period I won’t have any support from the local education authority when push comes to shove. My failure will be down to my lack of suitability. Simple as that! They’ll manipulate me out of the job much as anything. The question is what to do now?

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN     A JEW?  DON’T MENTION IT!

The Christmas holiday came and went. We spent most of the time together in Bath. Louise with one idea in her head, me with another. She was determined to get back to University and I wanted to get something out of my time at the school. Three months left till my two year probation period ended and success now out of the question. No probation and I couldn’t teach at any school, anywhere! My mind was made up. I couldn’t let them fail me then give me the push. I had to do something. Find some compensation for all the hell and the harassment. That’s all I could think of. I had no hope of help from the local authority, the school governors or even the Union. Right now there didn’t seem to be any way back. That being the case what difference would it make if I screamed?

A Jew screaming, I thought. Some joke! It had been the same for thousands of years. When Jews screamed no-one wanted to know. Why, it was plain human nature let alone the crucifixion. The Jewish people had always been weak. Always at the mercy of others in the lands of their exile. The grim history of a people whose voices had too often been silenced. Put out in the night without a sound. Each often alone and afraid. I’d soon be out on my arse anyway so what was the harm in making a fuss? After all, it had happened to me! The age old accusation of murdering Jews and the Jews who’d killed Jesus, only this time Yours Truly was having to pay. For fuck’s sake no more. Enough was enough. Two years of hell and one more victim shown out the door.

Round and round in my head. I’d never been much of a Jew myself but now I was feeling like one more than ever. Louise didn’t like the idea. She’d been through it all and was tired. What was the point? Who would I write to? I was mistaken if I thought anyone cared. That anyone would listen.

No, there’s got to be someone I thought. It just wasn’t possible in today’s Britain, in our fine education system, for me to have gone through this kind of experience for no-one to care. For no-one to listen. There had to be people, organizations out there who’d find it all shocking. Who’d do something to help. After all, why have phrases like racism and. discrimination in the workplace if they meant nothing?

Louise shrugged her shoulders. If I wanted to write to people then I should write. As long as I didn’t expect anything. Even though I’d suffered a long and bloody injustice it would be wiser, less painful, to put it behind me. Move on and do something else. Look for a job in Higher Education. I had two good degrees after all and an increasing number of publications under my belt. I was destined for much better things than a lousy Church School in Essex. It might take time but start looking now and I’d eventually find something.

Sound words of advice. Don’t confront obstacles head on. Always go round them! Less costly, less bloody. I knew in my heart she was right. Even so, I still couldn’t let go. Have the bastards shit all over me for two years then get kicked out for nothing. No thanks. Before the time came I’d open my mouth. 

Back teaching in January I began making phone calls and writing long letters. First I contacted the Board of Deputies of British Jews. Heart and hub of the Jewish Establishment. The lady on the switchboard wasn’t too sure. Teacher at a Church of England school? Was I Jewish? Yes, I was Jewish! I wanted to speak to someone about my experiences at the school. About harassment and anti-Semitism. At this point something clicked in my head. Hadn’t I been here before?

Anti-Semitism! The way she said it made it sound like something dirty, but not in the way I’d expected. More like me even saying the word was an embarrassment! Well, they had various people. She’d talk to someone to find out who she should put me through to. I waited and waited. Wondering about the someone she was asking. Okay, now she had it. She was putting me through. It was a rabbi someone or other. I heard a hello then the line went dead. Hello, hello! I was beginning to feel like someone in a Beatles number then I dialled all over again. There was the lady and an immediate accusation. Why had I put the phone down? I didn’t want any arguments. Please could she put me back to the rabbi. Which rabbi? They had lots of them there. The rabbi you connected me to before, I said quietly, slowly running the edge of a serrated knife across the top of my thumb. Moments later he was back. More hellos before I introduced myself. I was a Jewish teacher at a Church School…

He cut in sounding all pleased. A Jewish teacher at a Church School! Was I teaching Jewish History or the Torah? No, I said quietly. I was a Jew teaching at a Church of England school, then quickly began to detail my experiences. Five minutes that represented two years of hell after which I stopped. I had the strangest feeling that I’d been talking into a vacuum. Never mind, I was ready for anything. Anything except,

 

“so tell me, what’s a nice Jewish boy like you doing teaching at a Church of England School?”

I told him it was my first teaching job. That I was there because I needed the money. I could hear him shrug his shoulders. I sounded highly qualified. Why didn’t I try getting a job at a nice Jewish School? Suddenly I felt utterly deflated. The man didn’t seem to have heard anything so I reiterated. I was a Jew teaching at a Church School… Jews who murdered Jesus… harassment… anti-Semitism… National Front… The rabbi coughed. Yes, yes, he’d heard me. So what did I expect him to do? The Board didn’t deal with such matters. It wasn’t a Community issue.

“What? Anti-Semitism isn’t something the Board of Deputies deals with,” I exploded. Heavy silence. “Only if it is a Community Issue,” he said rather crossly. “Something affecting the Community.” He was sorry but he just couldn’t see any way he could help. He really had to go now. He had another call waiting.

He put the phone down leaving me stunned. The Board of Deputies of British Jews not the slightest bit interested. You could bet your life, I thought, that if I were an individual Muslim who’d had that kind of experience, some representative group or other would have been onto it like hot cakes. Right, I definitely knew who would listen. If anyone at all would be concerned it would be the Council for Christians and Jews. Anti-Semitism at a Church School and a Jew who’d suffered from it? Such a thing was right up their street. I spent the next three evenings typing out a very long letter detailing all my experiences chapter and verse. Just like I was reliving the whole hateful drama. What an effort! The envelope packed with pages of blood. Wait till they read it I thought. The Jews on the Council at least would go mad. And the clergy? Why, they wouldn’t be able to hold their heads up for shame!

One fine morning two weeks later I picked up the post. ‘Council for Christians and Jews’ the envelope proudly proclaimed. I joyfully tore it open, shouting to Louise. This was it! Those bastards at the school would really get what was coming to them. My heart didn’t sink as I pulled out a solitary page. It was only when I saw through the paper that it began thumping. There were three lines at most.

They’d read my letter with interest but the Council only dealt with Community Issues. They couldn’t comment on individual cases. Sorry, there was nothing they could do to help. Wishing you all the best in the future, Yours sincerely…

My heart hit the floor, disbelief quickly turning to rage. Louise gave the letter a glance and tossed it onto the table. “Well what did you expect?” she muttered. I just couldn’t believe it. After everything I wrote in my letter just a three line response. They only dealt with Community Issues… Well bloody hell, I shouted, wasn’t anti-Semitism a Community Issue? “Not according to them,” she said gravely.

The week ahead turned dark and depressing. I’d already talked to the Union. Racial discrimination was difficult, almost impossible to prove. The way they made it sound not even having a number tattooed on my arm would have sufficed. It was something I couldn’t bet my life on and meantime I had less than three months to go. I was almost out of options. It looked like I had nowhere to turn then suddenly it came to me. I knew what I’d do. I’d write to the Chief Rabbi. Tell him everything that happened to me and how the Council of Christians and Jews had refused to do anything. Another letter went off in the post and I waited and waited. No reply ever came.

In final desperation I decided to write to the Secretary of State for Education. A personal letter direct blowing the whole lid off the school. Something direct and straight to the top. Shirley Williams had all the right credentials. She’d always sounded like someone who cared about injustice, discrimination, that sort of thing. Louise again advised against it but I wasn’t listening. I’d tell it as it was. Racial discrimination at a Church School state funded by a Labour Government? Not the sort of thing that Labour would tolerate!

Taking my time I carefully reworked my letter to the Council for Christians and Jews, detailing every iota of nastiness, each and every experience till it all came alive on the pages. Nothing left out. Everything I’d been through, every rotten trick that they’d pulled. How I’d been spoken to and demeaned. That done I posted it off. There, that would light a rag under the whole filthy show.

After that I waited. One week went by then two. Three weeks gone and I was still waiting.

CONTINUATION - ANTI-SEMITISM IN MODERN BRITAIN: A TEACHER’S STORY

CHAPTER TWELVE     AN INSPECTOR CALLS

The month of May might be merry for some but that year it wasn’t merry for me. Before the second week ended I was called to the Head’s office soon after arriving at school. He was bearing glad tidings. A Government Inspector would be present in an official capacity during two of my morning lessons. Lower School History and Sociology. I thanked him and left. What a treat! I’d better make sure my preparation was well up to the mark. 

Before my first class I saw the man talking with the Head in the corridor then accompany him into his Study. They were nodding agreement about something but then who was I to feel suspicious?

The Inspector, of late middle age, walked into my history lesson after five minutes and sat at the back. Never mind the kid’s silent looks, his notebook and pen were at the ready. The lesson went well. It was lively, with plenty of interaction, good pupil response and recall. I managed to stimulate a fair amount of discussion and argument over a subject as mundane as the medieval wool trade then summarised it on the blackboard and got the kids to write it up. The man said nothing to me at the end of the period but I noticed he’d been busy scribbling.

The sociology lesson also went well I thought. I provoked a lively debate about the relationship between social status and class, after which there was a useful question and answer session, note taking and more reading recommended. When it ended we went to the Staff Room together and sat in a supposedly quiet corner during the free period created for me.

Well how did it go I asked optimistically? His face soured. He was critical of the organization and content of both lessons. In fact he had little to say that was positive. His most negative comments were reserved for my ‘standard of blackboard English’ which he described as “deplorable”. After that it all went downhill! I found his manner diffident, cold and entirely negative. He gave me no advice or encouragement and had nothing at all good to say.

His reactions made me think hard. Allowing that my lessons were always carefully prepared and that I was an honest and self-critical judge of my performance and technique, I felt I’d done considerably better than stated. That nothing good was said, set against my feel of the lessons and how I’d come across, made me strongly believe that his assessment was contrived. More than that, biased. I just couldn’t believe it was all bad and deep down I knew that it wasn’t. I listened to him carefully. Let him go on and said nothing. My look however was direct and cold. I was letting him know exactly what I thought. At the end we both got up, him offering me his hand to shake. I declined, telling him he was too friendly with the Headmaster for me to want to do that.

He left the Staff Room, with me sneaking out and following at distance. Just as I thought. Straight to the Headmaster’s Study!

Tuesday the following week I was summoned to the very same place. All keyed up and prepared for a bollocking. Not this time! Having gestured me to sit down he was pleased to make with the glad tidings. There’d been an improvement in my teaching and overall standard of late. I wasn’t sure what the last bit actually meant but I nodded and said nothing. If I felt suspicious I had good reason to be. The Inspector saying one thing and he another! It had to be a deliberate ploy to mask the inspection failure. What else could it be? I knew the man. He wouldn’t go out of his way to compliment my work for no reason, plain    out of the blue. His motives had to be altogether more devious.

Soon after, I filled out and posted yet another application for a teaching job in Bristol and was invited to attend an interview a week later. Eleven candidates for two posts. I was unsuccessful and told at the end of the day. Some criteria I didn’t fulfill? I just didn’t know. Later that week I attended a successful parents evening. At least that was untroubled. Things seemed to be getting easier all round. Ten days gone by without any summonses out of the Staff Room. There’d been no criticism of my work, no loss of free periods and no additional or impromptu duties sprung on me. What the hell was going on? I became increasingly concerned. I just couldn’t help thinking that something bad would happen any time now.

Mid June my Head of Department finally left. Gone to a better job at a state comprehensive up in the sky. Before he went I reminded him of his promise to give me an open testimonial I could use anywhere. His final day arrived and I went to collect only to find him renege on his word. Alas, he couldn’t commit himself openly. He’d only provide a reference in confidence when somebody asked. After all that the man of God was breaking his word! I told him to take his secret reference and stick it up his arse. He’d failed to give me any support throughout the year in the face of everything I’d suffered, siding with the authorities’ persecution of me on every occasion. All of it done just to get a good reference for himself when he wanted to leave. As far as I was concerned he was nothing less than a hypocrite.

The man was stung. He’d complain to the Head about my rude and coarse behavior. I told him to stick that up his posterior too. He’d used his status as Head of Department at the school against me throughout. As far as I was concerned he was typical of the rest. Nothing more than a nasty little anti-Semite. I turned my back on him and walked out of his study. The very sight of his big round Moony face made me sick.

Meantime we were facing financial meltdown. Our personal finances were at their worst than any time in our seven year marriage. We were running a serious bank loan, a whacking great overdraft and the bills kept pouring in like a flood. We couldn’t even afford to use our car. It was either using the coach or hitch-hiking to Bath every weekend. Soon it all came to a head. Mid June we got a letter from the bank telling us they were stopping our cheques. Crisis was upon us but help was at hand. End of June, Louise completed her first year exams and came to London with Larissa. The following week she began work as a temporary typist, her wage buying our food and keeping us afloat. On the one hand we drew back from the abyss, on the other she was edgy about her forthcoming results.

Early July the Inspector called again. Another round with one of Her Majesty’s finest. My heart sank. It was the same man, the same process. I was notified by the Headmaster, aware they were cozy together in his Study before he came to my classes. Once again he sat at the back, this time in two of my history lessons busily scribbling notes, the pupils very aware of his presence. It was so plain to see. The kids being extra well behaved. Too quiet perhaps. The lessons had been well prepared. How the Spanish Armada got stuffed and why! Both in my judgement went well. This time I was ultra-careful on the blackboard.

Again no comment after the first lesson. After the second back to that quiet corner in the Staff Room with everyone there knowing what was up. This time he had some good points to make but was critical of what he called ‘balance’ and ‘lack of structure’. Furthermore each lesson contained too much material. I needed to simplify. Sharpen things up. His stress on the word ‘some’ in some good points didn’t refer in any way to my progress. It just meant what it said. Some… A bit more than nothing and a lot less than much. His manner was entirely neutral. He was giving nothing away. Not even a friendly word of advice!

I felt pleased with my performance and told him, then asked whether my teaching was good enough on what he’d seen to help me pass the Probation. His reply was entirely bland. He’d communicate his views to the Headmaster who’d then pass them to me. I thanked him courteously then let him know what I thought. That the authorities at the school might be friends of his but they were no friends of mine.

A big surprise the following week. The Headmaster was leaving! Taking early retirement! How could I have not known? Early July I attended what turned out to be a quite disgusting party held for him at a local golf club which did not admit Jews, or so I was told by my departmental colleague who played there, the lady sociology expert. If I went it was mainly for the food! Still, one got a real insight into his character from his farewell speech in which he commented on the death of a sixteen year old pupil killed in a road accident a couple of days earlier. The trip supervised by the Head of my Dept.

“The child was never happy,” he said. “In some ways she was her own worst enemy.”

I listened and felt shocked. What a thing to say about a kid who’d just died. I was really glad the Staff had bought him a set of cheap crockery for a present rather than the music centre he’d wanted!

Monday the following week I phoned the Head of a school in Bristol where I’d applied for a job, not having heard anything. He’d asked for a reference from my school he told me and got one. I’d not been called for an interview he confessed. From that I could work out the kind of reference I’d received. There was more than malice in a simple bad reference. I walked into Headmaster’s Study with that thought in mind when I got a summons to see him two days before the term ended. Whatever it was I didn’t give a fuck anymore! Alas he had sad news to convey. He was sorry, so sorry but I’d failed my Probationary Year! My teaching, although much improved, was still well below standard so it was unlikely that I would get through a second year of the Probationary candidature to which I was entitled. The best thing I could do, the best thing for my future was to resign from the school. Hand in my resignation before end of term.

Inwardly I was jumping with joy. I still had another whole year to go! Something I hadn’t known about before. I gave him the sourest smile I could muster. Sorry, that was something I just couldn’t do. If he wanted me to leave the school he should have given me a decent reference for the teaching job in Bristol for which I’d applied. It was his fault I wasn’t leaving. He had no-one to blame but himself.

Suddenly he came over all emotional. We should shake hands before he left, he said. He was retiring after a long career of many years. I refused. During the first year of my career as a teacher he’d made my life at the school one long bloody hell. No, I wasn’t shaking his hand I told him. He’d always have his rotten behaviour to me on his conscience, if he had any that is. With that I got up and walked out.

Next day in the Staff Room I heard that the other teacher who’d joined the school same time as me had passed his Probation. And there he was, being publicly congratulated by the Deputy Head. I was aware that everyone in the room seemed to know that I’d failed. Inwardly I felt badly upset but as always I put on a face, went over and shook the hand of my colleague. Good for him!

Last day of Term. End of the Year. No lessons. After the Assembly, various duties for all the form teachers while I walked round the school talking to kids in the Sixth Form, many my friends. After that, sherry in the Staff Room engaging in conversation with some of my colleagues. Then I left. No goodbye to the Head of my Department who was wandering around shaking hands. I spent my last moments with the Head of R.E. who made a point of coming over to talk, openly sympathising with me over my failure to pass my probation so that everyone could hear. It was because of who I was that I’d been treated that way, he said loudly. We stood there shaking hands for a while. Yes, we’d see each other again next year.

I walked out the school gates feeling strange. Some kids waiting for buses on the other side of the road gave me a cheer. The day was warm and sunny but I felt alienated. Like somehow I wasn’t there. I returned home dejected and phoned a staff agency. Hoping for temporary work the following week but they had nothing. I felt strangely depressed. My degrees, publications and all the other things I’d done in my life meant nothing likewise. I seemed to have done so little. Then I remembered my family. That we were all living together again. Despite our desperate finances and the hell at my job, despite everything, what really counted was that we all had each other. Together in our love we were terribly strong.

And with that thought I walked down to the post office and mailed the typescript of my latest academic paper to the journal in the United States who were going to publish. It was the first of two that they wanted so things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Apart from that, I had another whole year at the school. Income guaranteed!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN     A NEW MAN TAKES OVER

Ahead stretched the summer vacation. Mounting debt meant we both had to work. With Larissa being looked after by a local child minder or away on holiday with my sister we soon found temporary employment in the City of London and the much needed money began coming in. We were able to put our car back on the road after necessary repairs and began eating better quality food. I continued writing and painting. This time a landscape of strawberry fields for my mother. Weekends we continued improving our garden and completed decorating the house and conservatory. Various demands came from Journals for papers and book reviews. Mostly from the United States but there was one from Israel that pleased me.

Mid August we faced a real crisis. Louise heard from Bristol that she’d failed her exams. She’d have to re-sit Maths and Chemistry. It was a real blow to her confidence and I did my best to restore it. Our lives became increasingly busy. Louise revising at home late evenings after working during the day and typing up my academic material during her lunch breaks. Me working all hours to pay off our overdraft. All we had free were Sundays when we walked the Essex countryside. Even so, the limited time we did have together was always good fun. 

Early September Louise re-sat her subjects in Bristol then went to Scotland on a Geology Mapping Trip believing she’d done well enough to get through. Why not? She was seriously bright. I was now dreading my return to the school. The time was imminent. Just three weeks away. What was in store for me? There’d be a new man taking over. Appointed by the Chairman of Governors. Hopefully he’d be nothing like the last.  

The weeks went by fast and we paid off our overdraft. The vacation had ended. Before I knew it I was driving into the school. Monday 26th of September. Back to work of another kind. I wandered into the Staff Room wondering. There they all were. My colleagues all looking suitably refreshed and then there was me. Worn out by the wringer of commerce. My eye immediately caught sight of a new face. There he was, appearing prior to Morning Assembly flanked by the Deputy Head and Senior Mistress, the ugly one with the teeth. He introduced himself. Early forties I guessed. Formerly Head of a Sixth Form College and an old friend of the Chairman of Governors. So that’s how it was done! There seemed to be something smarmy about him but I’d give him the benefit. Always give a new man the benefit. That was my motto!

Morning Assembly he introduced himself to the school and then lead the Service. His ripe voice making every word of love and charity sound holy. Later at coffee in the Staff Room prior to duties I was given my new teaching timetable by the Deputy Head. He’d been appointed Acting Head of my Department he told me. The news came as a shock. The man was my greatest adversary at the school. A real Jew hating bastard. It could only mean serious trouble. I choked it down best as I could. No doubt he was already brown nosing his new boss.

Louise returned from Scotland early October very depressed. She telephoned from Bath. She’d failed her re-sits. Bristol had sent her a letter. She had no choice but to leave. I could hear her distress. She would return to London to join us. We drove down to Bath to collect her on the weekend and spent time walking high in the Quantocks. Blowing away cobwebs more than anything. Returning to London early on Monday I misjudged the time and arrived late at the school. It earned me a strong reprimand from the Deputy Head, my explanation and apologies failing to suffice. Other members of staff however were altogether more friendly, including the Head of the Upper School. I was seriously puzzled by this. The man had never once shown me a moment of kindness.    

At the end of the second week I was called in to see the new man. It was part of his plan to meet all his staff individually he said. I responded positively. It was a good idea, I replied, liking the sound of him. My early optimism was badly misplaced. Minutes later he let me know he was aware of my failed Probation Report, making it clear I had only one term left to remedy the situation. There’d be more inspections of my teaching. Both by himself and inspectors from the local authority. He’d visit my classes. Keep a close eye on my work.

There was something about his manner I didn’t like. My concerns increasing when he told me I was expected to attend all religious assemblies and church services. I replied saying I’d already given this undertaking during my initial job interview. I was willing to attend all religious services but had been informed by various bodies that I was not required to participate in them. The man’s face came over stern. As Head Teacher at the school he required all his staff, whatever their religious affiliation, to actively participate in School Assembly Services. Fine, I said, that was okay with me. I’d willingly join in the singing of hymns and psalms but would not join in prayer or participate in any aspect of a Service that attacked or demeaned members of any other religious faith.

His reply came sharp. I was addressed as ‘laddie’. On the contrary, I’d do whatever I was required to do at his school. If I didn’t like it then I should leave. It all happened in under three minutes. From optimism to utter contempt. His manner was far more combative than the man he’d replaced. Sharply hostile and deliberately demeaning. I made a point of looking him dead in the eye. Nonetheless, I would under no circumstances be party to any school Assembly or Service that attacked or denigrated Jews I said coldly. Anything of this nature would be noted by me and reported. His reaction was swift. If I wasn’t happy at the school the best thing I could do was leave. I shook my head slowly. No, I intended to see out my Probation.

I said nothing more. He however thought it had been a useful discussion. Of course it was useful. We each knew where the other stood. He was an enemy. Cold and calculatingly hostile under his little flashes of anger and I knew what to expect. I put on a cheery face and smiled before leaving. Just to show there was no hard feeling. No harm done between friends! Oh I knew him all right. At least I thought that I did.

Early the following week he appeared unannounced in one of my history classes and sat at the back, conspicuously taking notes, the kids very aware of his presence. This happened twice again during the week in other classes. No prior notification for his visits. Later the kids asked me what he was doing. Inspecting my teaching I told them. He wants to see if it’s good enough. They all tell me in the playground that it’s great. “We don’t want to lose you, sir…”

I felt confident about the professional standard of my work; material content, presentation, delivery, communication and control skills. Was quite sure that my performance in each class inspected was comfortably within the required standard. Being as objective as I could be I’m more than satisfied with   each of the lessons. In the days ahead I expect him to call me in to discuss his visits. It doesn’t happen. I’m puzzled. Don’t quite know what to make of it. Now, however, my attention is taken up with something  quite different. Members of the fascist National Front have begun distributing leaflets and selling their youth newspaper directly outside the school gates. I decide to keep a close eye on their activities.

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN     TOUCH OF THE NASTIES

The National Front was selling their newspaper outside the school and handing out leaflets during lunch breaks. It rang a bell. The local newspaper had recently highlighted fascist activity in the area, particularly their campaign of racism targeting local secondary schools. I telephoned the paper and spoke to the editor requesting information. I was a teacher at one of the schools. He was immediately interested. Would I like to write in about it. They’d publish my letter. My voice as a teacher would carry weight.

I wrote giving my name and school. The letter appeared shortly after.

The day after publication, during early coffee break in the Staff Room, I heard much talking about my letter among colleagues. Everyone seemed to know. It was a subject of general conversation. Quite a few of them compliment me on what I said. Tell me I’d done a good thing.

Towards end of the break the Deputy Head appeared. Summoned me out in a loud voice. The Head wants to see you now in his Study, the word now being heavily stressed. Cover had been arranged. All eyes are in my direction. I walk the walk then enter his Study. We are alone. I’m told to sit down. His manner is instantly hostile. He has read my letter. As a teacher at his school I require his permission to write any letter, political or otherwise, with the school’s name attached. I had not sought his permission. I apologised. Said I didn’t know that permission was required. However it was clear I was writing in my own name, as an individual who also happened to be a teacher, and presumed he would have gladly allowed this. Been only too happy to have the name of the school - as a church school - associated with my condemnation of racist views. Particularly those of the National Front and their campaign of targeting schoolchildren.

His response was extraordinary. He won’t have any members of his staff calling the National Front thugs. “I won’t have these people slandered,” he shouted, addressing me in turn as “laddie” and “boy”. When I pointed out that the National Front stood for racist policies and that his attitude to them seemed conciliatory his reply is immediate. My letter was a serious breach of professional standards and he will consider suspending me from duty. The matter would be discussed with the Chairman of Governors and a meeting probably called to consider my dismissal on the grounds of gross professional misconduct. I felt astonished then quietly expressed my concern about his conciliatory attitude to a fascist political party, telling him I’d heard anti-Semitic views expressed in the past by his Deputy Head.

His reply is instant and shocking. “If you don’t like it here why don’t you leave.”   

I tell him coldly that I’m not leaving and that I’ll actively work to prevent the distribution of racist material outside the school, as any good Christian might.

His manner turns nasty. “Not from these premises you won’t,” he shouts. Seconds later he got up and waved his hand at the door, gesturing that I should leave. Just before doing so I turned, asking him quietly, “Surely you don’t support the racist views of the National Front yourself, do you?” He makes no reply.

During lunch break I telephoned the Labour spokesman on Education on the local council, mentioning my letter to the paper condemning the National Front’s campaign targeting schools in the area and telling him of my meeting with the Head. I’d been threatened with imminent suspension and dismissal because of it. He is shocked. Informs me that he will immediately contact the local authority Director of Education.

Meanwhile my best friend at the school, the Head of R.E. who has read the letter asks me what transpired at the meeting. I tell him that I’m under threat of immediate suspension and dismissal. The news travels round the Staff Room like wildfire. Many teachers come to me to express their support.

CONTINUATION: ANTI-SEMITISM IN MODERN BRITAIN: A TEACHER’S STORY

CHAPTER EIGHT     SHARPENING THE KNIFE

Three weeks Christmas vacation. Leaving lodgers in the house, Larissa and I took the coach down to Bath. A joyous reunion and back to Louise’s home cooking. Her birthday and our wedding anniversary celebrated in style with presents exchanged despite the desperate state of our finances. We are determined to enjoy our time together. We arrange a loan for a year with our bank. It gets rid of our overdraft and gives us some cash in hand.

Hanging over everything is my return to the school early January and anxiety over what lies ahead. I decide on a proactive approach. Feel a strong need to find out what they have planned rather than just sit back and wait for bad things to happen. Louise agrees but urges caution. While I can’t go on walking a tightrope I shouldn’t give them any excuse. However we both know they don’t need good reasons for whatever they do.

Early New Year. First day back. I make an appointment to see the Head. No problem. He’s glad to see me! His first question is whether I’ve reconsidered my intention to stay at the school? He thinks this is what I’ve come to see him about! I quietly tell him that I want to have clarified the false information contained in my Probationer Report that was provided last term by the Deputy Head. I request sight of the Report. His manner is instantly abrupt. The Report is entirely confidential. I am not allowed to see it. I respond telling him that I’ll discuss it with the Union. He says I can discuss it with the school union rep if I wish. I decline the offer.

On the following day my intention to contact the Union is forestalled. I’m called in early to see the Head. The Staff Room is buzzing. It buzzes every time I get the summons. Am gravely told to sit down. He has received “a strong letter of complaint” from a parent. He waves an envelope at me. An allegation has been made that I’ve been unjustifiably critical of their daughter, one of my Sociology students in the Lower Sixth. I have been unnecessarily harsh towards her. I know the girl. She says almost nothing in class. There’s been negligible dialogue between us. She is embarrassed when I ask her questions. Her homework is poor at best. I ask to see the letter. He refuses. I request that my views be communicated to the parent. Am assured by him that they’ll be contained in his reply. I tell him that the parent’s letter is unjustified and give my reasons.

At the end of the week I see the Head on request. Ask if he has sent letter to parent in reply. He tells me he has. I ask to see it. He refuses. I again request that I see the parent’s letter. I tell him I’ve spoken to the Union about it. He says that it’s been mislaid. He doesn’t know where it is.

The following Monday I again see Head on my request. Having discussed situation on phone with Union Head Office I know my rights. I now formally ask him for copies of both letters. Having understood he’d be replying on my behalf I’m entitled to see what he has said as a matter of professional courtesy. To my amazement he tells me that the whole file has “mysteriously disappeared,” and cannot be found. I ask him how this has happened. He says he doesn’t know. I can get nothing more from him. As a final point I express the hope that he has at least put my point of view. He says nothing. The meeting ends on this.

Louise is fully cognizant of the situation throughout. She thinks it spells trouble. That weekend we all go to Bath. This is another watershed for us as a family. Larissa will now stay with her Mum and go to school there. I’ll be on my own in London. It makes our separation as a family all the worse. I now feel really bad about things. I’ve started my teaching career in an entirely unsuitable job and at terrible personal cost. Wouldn’t it be just better to resign and give up the house? We decide against it. We are already too heavily in debt.

I feel very depressed after this first week of trouble. Am convinced there’ll be no end to it. With my spirits at a low ebb I hitch-hiked back to London late Sunday evening after saying goodbye to my main source of love and happiness and without knowing what lay ahead.

Three days later I hear from my Departmental Head that the Headmaster has upheld the complaint of the parent. The girl is to be removed from my class. The ‘incident’ will be placed on my Probation Report. I again request a meeting. Demand to see original letter from parent. Head replies that this is not possible. Sadly the file has been lost.

For some reason pupils throughout the Lower Sixth, not just in my Sociology class, know of the situation. A boy comes to see me. Says that the girl confided in a mate of hers, also in the Lower Sixth. She was upset by the low mark I’d given for one of her essays. She’d gone and complained to the Senior Mistress. There was no letter sent by her parents. I’m astonished by this. Feel very angry. Discuss matter with the Head of my Department at the school refusing to name names when asked.

I’m called in to see Headmaster at the end of week. Informed that the matter is over. Under no circumstances am I to discuss it with any of the pupils, particularly the girl. This would be a serious breach of professional conduct with grave consequences for myself. I look at him in disgust and walk out. 

 

CHAPTER NINE     SUSPENSION

Talk to the girl and I was looking at serious professional misconduct!

I carried on working with the threat like a knife at my throat. Any other probationer would have taken a reprimand on the chin and backed off. Got on with their work best as they could and laid low. For me it was different. What went behind it kept making me think, and though mindful of the desperate state of our finances I wasn’t the type to be cowed. I remembered my hard won achievements. Leaving school early and working ten years in crummy office jobs before obtaining qualifications through night school studies that got me into university. Two first rate degrees and publications coming thick and fast in reputable academic journals. Hard won achievements that no-one could take from me. I still had my self-respect. I still had my pride.

Six months into my teaching career and my name and work record were already smeared with something kept hidden. And an anti-Semite of a Deputy Head who’d already stuck it to me in the back. Yeah, I was a Probationer. At the mercy of people who thought the Jews murdered Jesus and still needing every good word I could get. It was like a sick joke. There was no way it was going to happen. They wanted me out. Out with my name and my work record dirtied. Well I wasn’t a sacrificial lamb. Going meekly into their fucking good night.

Sure, it’s easy for all you good folk out there to say that I should have let it all pass. Let it go over my head. Be a good Jew and take the kicking. After all, it’s pretty traditional for you people.

I don’t mind if you think that way. I know where you’re coming from. It’s okay. Only thing is, it’s not where I’m coming from. The Jews are at their best as a fighting people. We’ve been kicked around long enough. Well I took it on the chin and came back off the ropes. The truth was out there and the man in me wanted to know. Besides, the Headmaster had a habit of calling me ‘boy’ and I didn’t like that.

Before I got to thinking about what I should do events intervened. I’d met the Union Regional Rep and talked over my problems at the school. He’d do something about the letter he told me. I should leave it to him.

I wasn’t left feeling confident. I needed someone in my corner and he wanted to play referee. Well he must have said something to someone. Two days later I was summoned from the Staff Room to see the Deputy Head. This was something new! He had it in black and white now. I was doing it all over again would you believe? Falsifying history! Teaching my History Classes things about the Tudors that simply weren’t true. This man, who I’d nicknamed Tiger Shark because of his striped waistcoat and cold dead eyes thought he was a world expert on the subject, only as far as I was concerned he knew jack. The prescribed textbook was full of Merry England. Henry 8^th and his wives; good Queen Bess and all that. Heroic English buccaneers stuffing the Spanish Armada and of course Shakespeare. Well to me there was a whole lot more to the Tudors than that. Religious dissent and the harshness of the lives of the people. The penalties they faced for just being poor. The man took me severely to task. I didn’t have a history degree. Hadn’t written any school text books. He knew far more than I did. Tudor England was Merry and that was all the kids needed to know. My recitation of Henry 8^th’s brutal penal code along with the Elizabethan Poor Law made no difference. I was ignorant he said. Ignorant and arrogant. Arrogant in thinking I knew more than him and the book. I had to teach unblemished Merry England. Nothing more.

Somehow I felt my senses were under attack. I’d read widely and seriously on Tudor History. I knew my stuff. I’d only wanted to give the kids a wider perspective and here was someone challenging my credibility. I told him I’d stick to the textbook and teach what he wanted, but that it was he who had it all wrong. This immediately led to a row. I was being impertinent! Calling HIM ignorant! How dare I, a Probationer, do that? He threatened me. He’d be reporting the incident and my conduct to the Headmaster. I already had a reprimand on my record.

I got up and looked at him coldly. “You were the one calling me ignorant,” I said matter of fact. “And that’s more than rich, coming from an ignoramus who tells children that the Jews murdered Jesus.” I must have hit a raw nerve. He was so angry that he started to shake. Losing it in front of my eyes. He’d have struck me given the chance. I turned and walked out thinking fuck him and his Tudors. Anyway, in all honesty, what the hell did he know?    

His threat of a reprimand hung heavy. I’d had my name dirtied for nothing and it hurt. It was hurting that afternoon when I saw the girl in a corridor. It was the luckiest or unluckiest of chances. Suddenly I just had to talk. I felt strangely blind. Didn’t feel the knife at my throat any more. There were only the questions. The overwhelming need to find out the truth. Then just as suddenly they left me. I smiled instead. How were things in her new class? How was her work and studies going? Different questions... different questions. She talked easily, her manner relaxed. I recommended a sociology text book and should have left it at that. So the other class was okay I said quietly, and then, “Well was there really a letter? If there was then I never saw it.” She looked startled. I wasn’t going to get any answer I thought  then I realised the look wasn’t for me. Turning round I saw the Senior Mistress and felt a terrific sensation of fear. Caught with the girl in a corridor! A definite hanging offence! I shrugged it off. Hang me for what? “Have a look at that sociology textbook,” I said, hearing my voice sounding stupid. Then I calmly walked on like nothing had happened.

There was still time enough. Pick up a phone or take a ten second walk and she’d be telling him all. Over the next hour I waited for bad things to happen. Summoned from this class or that. Threatened and warned. Feeling increasingly like death warmed up as time passed. The last lesson was over and still no call. I collected my briefcase and walked out the Main Entrance waiting to hear someone shout, hey, the old man wants to see you. Soon I was out on the road. I reached the stop then got on a bus. Maybe they wouldn’t do anything with it. Maybe it wasn’t important enough.

That evening I lost myself in my work. Tiling the conservatory, writing a new academic paper, working from the Gauguin print onto my canvas. Solid work helping me forget. Removing myself from all thoughts of the school.

The day after. Coffee in the Staff Room first thing. Unusually the Head himself came in and walked through. Looked around. Many good mornings and greetings. And me sitting there feeling sure he’d call me out to his office. He didn’t. I went in to Assembly. Actually joined in singing a hymn. Filed out with the others. Soon I began teaching my first two history classes then after the break started my third, Lower Sixth Sociology. Quarter to eleven and my thoughts running well. Then a courteous knock on the door. It’s the Head of the Upper School. The Headmaster wanted to see me in his Study. I shouldn’t worry he tells me with a smile. Cover has been arranged. I look at the kid’s faces. There’s something about them.

“The Head’s Study,” I say. “Right this minute,” comes the reply. Behind me as I walk out I can hear chatter then silence as the Upper School Head tells them to shut up and get on with their work. Someone will be in shortly to take over. I accompany him to the Study. He knocks and opens the door. Stands behind me as I walk in. Sitting behind the desk is the Head, on one side his Deputy, on the other the Senior Mistress. He tells me to sit down. It looks like a Hanging Committee. He asks the Senior Mistress to repeat the story she’s heard. I now hear that I accosted the girl in the corridor – Immediately don’t like the sound of it – Sexual overtones and all the rest. Accosted her in the corridor. Began asking her questions. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t like being alone with me. Felt pressured and frightened.   

Here the Headmaster cut in. He’d tried to give me advice. Warned me of unprofessional conduct. Done his best to give me guidance. Despite everything he’d done I hadn’t listened. There’d been a flagrant breach of trust which he couldn’t ignore. It was an example of serious misconduct. Did I have anything to say?

I replied that I’d met the girl by chance in the corridor. Discussed her course work. Recommended some books.

Deputy Head: “Why, when she was no longer in your class?”

I replied that I saw no harm in it.

Headmaster: “She said you asked her about the letter.”

Replied: “That’s correct. I needed to know if someone was lying.”

Headmaster: “You deliberately accosted her for that purpose.” He’d heard enough. He had the reputation of the school to consider. “You are suspended from duty as of this moment and will leave the school premises. The Board of Governors will be informed.”

“So will the Union,” I shouted. “And the Board of Deputies of British Jews. Don’t think I’m going to let you get away with your filthy little witch hunt.”

His face turned white. He seemed visibly shaken. Got up. Spoke to his Deputy and the Head of the Upper School. They were to escort me from the premises immediately. 

The door opened. A hand gestured for me to leave. I did so, accompanied by both and walked down the corridor flanked either side. My mind was in turmoil. It had all happened so fast. Half way along I pulled myself together. I had some things in my last classroom I said, and one or two items in others. Personal stuff I wished to collect.

I was accompanied back to my Sociology Class. I entered followed by the Deputy Head. As I picked up my briefcase I heard him tell the cover teacher in a loud voice, “he’s been suspended from duty for professional misconduct. A particularly troublesome member of the Jewish race as it turns out.”

My ears burn with fury. I could hear a buzz all round the class. I looked at the face of the cover teacher. It was red with embarrassment. I walked out holding my briefcase with tears in my eyes. On my way to the junior class I stopped for a moment, wanting to say what I thought, but then just went on. The Deputy Head opened the door and walked in, talking to the teacher taking the class. I followed. Picking up my calculator and sunglasses left on a bookshelf. Then I heard it all over again. All loud in a deafening silence so that everyone would know. “He’s been suspended from duty for misconduct.” The Staff would be informed later “about the absence of one of our Jewish brethren.”

I could hear the buzz all over again. The man himself was now staring at me. I had to walk the walk. Go to the door first. Him following close behind. You could have mistaken it for a gesture of courtesy but I knew what it was. A kind of hateful contempt. Outside the class I was walked down the passage, again flanked by my guards. Again I felt tears. I felt badly, badly upset. Humiliated beyond words. Soon we reached the Main Entrance area. The door was opened and out I went. Escorted from the building. One on each side till we reached the Main Gate. This was opened but I didn’t immediately leave. I stopped for a moment. Looked at their faces. Both entirely without expression. Suddenly I felt a very strange calm. The moment passed. Holding tightly onto my briefcase I went through and out onto the main road. When I turned to look back they’d gone. I was out and they were in. That’s all I thought. Now I’d have to wait for the bus home and there weren’t many that time of the morning.      

 

CHAPTER TEN     THERE WAS A WICKED MESSENGER

Alone in the house that evening with the day’s events spinning round in my head I felt a quiet, steadily increasing desperation. Nothing it seemed could be worse. Suspended from duty on a trumped up charge of professional misconduct, our new home seemed like an incubus pressing down on my neck. Lose the job and bang went my teaching career. I’d never be able to keep paying the mortgage. There was no way I could go back to working full time in an office. I hadn’t spent six years at University for nothing! Besides I had plans of my own. Teaching was ideal, even at Secondary School level. With everything going okay it gave me plenty of time to do what I wanted. Write academic papers and establish my name. One day get the lectureship I felt I deserved.

Right now though things weren’t going so well. I’d had terrible luck starting at this kind of place. True the work was easy enough and I’d really begun to enjoy it. Encouraging the kids to think outside their narrow suburban horizons. There was something really satisfying in that, only I was at the wrong bloody school endlessly shipping the downside. Somehow I had to get back, but it had to be on my terms not theirs. Name clean and reputation unsullied. That was a best case scenario. Worse was getting the boot. Job gone. Career lost forever. 

I badly wanted to phone Louise. Tell her the story but knew that I couldn’t. She already had enough on her plate with her demanding and difficult studies let alone having to look after Larissa. I didn’t want to add to her worries. Much as I needed to talk, tell her about my own private hell, I decided to keep it all from her. Handle things on my own best as I could. The Earth turned and the following day I felt a lot better. For some reason I wasn’t the least bit anxious or afraid. Somehow I sensed things would change. That everything would work out okay. It all seemed clear to me now. They’d badly wanted to give me a kicking and thought they’d found the excuse. Trouble was they’d acted hastily. Been over creative. They’d stepped over the line and when the heat of the moment had passed they’d get to think. Then the pendulum would start swinging back. Time was on my side and I knew it.

First thing I did was call up the Union. Appraised them of the situation. At Head Office the Regional Rep sounded alarmed. They’d contact the school. Get their side of the story. Now it was my turn to feel worried. I kept my head and said nothing, only that I was phoning the Board of Deputies of British Jews. The man sounded doubtful. Did I really think it was racial? Sure it was racial I told him, going over what happened in the classes before they’d frog marched me out of the school. No need for him to have felt anxious! When I phoned the Board and spoke to one of the senior officers, telling him who I was and going over the story about ‘murdering Jews’ and how I’d been suspended and marched off the premises, the man sounded shocked. Then I heard him take a deep breath. He was puzzled. He didn’t know what I expected of him? It was down to me to find somewhere better to earn a living. He was sorry but there was nothing alas he could do and anyway, he couldn’t talk any more. He had important business to deal with right now and had to rush. All the same he was glad that I’d called. The phone went down leaving me more angry than any time I’d been at the school. No need for anyone to feel afraid of the Jews! Never mind I thought, the Head and his gang didn’t know it. Let them think I had ten thousand rabbis behind me. All decked out in frock coats and marching on the school singing Onward Jewish Soldiers! I wouldn’t tell if they didn’t!    

In the two days before the weekend I worked on my academic paper and made powerful progress. During breaks I continued refining the Gauguin. I’d decided to give it to my sister and brother in law as a gift. Both activities were pleasurable, helping take my mind off things. Friday was a good day in other respects. I’d had really great news. A letter from a prestigious American College telling me they’d published one of my papers three months ago but forgotten to send me some copies. These were now on their way. I felt over the Moon and as if that wasn’t enough I managed to fix myself up with temporary work in London for the following week. Along with new lodgers about to arrive it would help pay the bills piling up. 

Down to Bath on the weekend to spend time with the girls. My already good mood bettered by their companionship. We bought Larissa a school tunic among other things. The situation in London though was still kept from Louise which meant having to return there Sunday night just to keep up the pretense.

Early in the week, back at the house after working in London, I was phoned by the Union then the Local Education Authority. They’d clearly been talking. I sensed a lack of sympathy from both and no strong support from the Regional Rep. They wanted me to return to the school on humiliating terms. No removal of my suspension. The censure would stand along with the reprimand on my Work Record and Probation Report. There’d be no apology for the conduct of the Deputy Head. I refused. Stated my own conditions to the Union. The Education Authority told me they wanted to set up a meeting between the three of us. I said I’d think it over. Call them some time soon.

I decided to let the situation hang. I was working in London. Enjoying my evenings writing into the late hours. It all helped me relax. Kept my mind away from the bad stuff and helped prepare it for when I needed it to be sharp. A week later another call from the Union. They wanted me to attend a meeting they’d set up at the Education Authority offices with an ‘advisor’. I went along and got what they thought were glad tidings. They were arranging my return with the Headmaster. The same conditions applied as stated on the phone. The Union man was clearly concerned to extract the issue and details of my suspension from the context out of which it arose. After that came the really good news. When I returned I’d have to apologize for my behaviour! However the suspension and reprimand for my ‘misconduct’ would remain on my Probation Report!

I rejected the conditions outright. Told them that I was acting under ‘advisement’ from various concerned ‘bodies’. They asked me who they were but I kept it mysterious. Refusing to give any detail while appearing confident and strong. They could think what they liked. At the same time I made it clear I’d taken independent legal advice on the racial issue. I’d soon be contacting a national newspaper that was interested in my story. After that I gave them my own terms for going back to the school. I wanted a full and formal apology for the disgraceful manner in which I’d been suspended. The suspension and any reprimand had to be removed from my Probation Report and Work Record. Finally I insisted on seeing the letter sent to the Head by the parent. Just to make sure one had existed. They could easily communicate all this to the school.

Both regarded my position as entirely unreasonable. I got up, thanked them and left the meeting. Nothing had been resolved and no progress made. Except that now I knew whose side they were on.

After visiting Bath that weekend I returned to London to be inundated with phone calls from my former staff colleagues during the evenings. All offering ‘friendly advice’. Why not forget the whole thing and return? I even had visits from two of them, one fairly senior. Both conveying their wish, the ‘wish of the whole staff and school authorities’ no less that I ought to go back. I explained all the circumstances, intimating the interest of a national newspaper for the Headmaster’s consumption, just in case he didn’t already have it from others. No, I wasn’t going back under present conditions!

I knew that everything I said, told in confidence, would immediately get back to the Head. I also wanted him to know that I was very relaxed. Confident about the whole thing and didn’t give a hang one way or another.

I again worked in London the following week and then the next. No-one, just about no-one could get hold of me! On the Thursday I took a call from the Union Rep late evening. He was very concerned that he’d been unable to make contact. The Local Education Authority had been onto him. The Headmaster had “cancelled” my suspension. Everything was fine. I could go back. Return to the school and take up my duties. The incident was finally closed. I refused. Restating my conditions re my work record and their hateful conduct towards me. I’d never return without a written guarantee of the whole incident being removed. However I didn’t repeat my demand to see the parent’s letter or receive a personal apology. The letter had never existed. I already knew that. I couldn’t get blood out of a stone. As for making any of the bastards apologize, I could forget it. I left the matter there. Knowing the Regional Rep would convey it all to the bureaucrats in the Authority who’d in turn convey it all to the Head.

When I left for Bath that weekend I had a large bag of big clear beautiful marbles for Larissa. She’d just love them to pieces I thought and she did. Being with her was always uplifting. She was such a delight. “A very cheering and cheerable person,” I wrote in my Diary. On the Monday I had the great pleasure of taking her into school, having explained to Louise I was now on half term but all the same had to get back to London to work. Larissa showed me her books and her class ‘nature table’, telling other kids, “this is my daddy”. I felt so proud of her. So very uplifted. Joys such as these put everything else into perspective. All of it so trivial and small set against family.

I got back to London late evening. The following day I planned to find more casual work but things didn’t work out that way. Events took a turn for the dramatic. Early morning I got a call from the Union man. He’d put all my concerns to the Headmaster. Great news. The Head wanted to resolve matters in a spirit of compromise. This was also the position of the Education Authority. I was to return to the school tomorrow. It was guaranteed there’d be no record of my suspension or any reprimand placed on my Probation Report. That would be left entirely clean. NO UNPROFESSIONAL CONDUCT RECORDED... That was promised. Neither would I be required to give any form of apology!

He hesitated. Waited with baited breath for my reply. No mention of the letter that triggered the whole filthy fit up… No talk of any apology for the Jew they’d marched out of their school… My inclination was to hold out. Even so, I knew they wouldn’t give me anything better. I accepted the terms. Accepted the guarantee of the Union’s Regional Rep, the Local Education Authority and the Headmaster.

Almost immediately I had second thoughts. It was all bloody verbal. There was nothing in writing.

Maybe I shouldn’t have done but I returned to school the following day. Entered the Staff Room. My colleagues looked at me briefly but none of them wanted to talk. Not even those who’d phoned and come to see me. It was just like I wasn’t there. So much for the big welcome back. Not even a word from colleagues in my own Department. I felt like getting up and shouting, “am I a leper or something?”

SECONDS LATER THAT’S WHAT I ACTUALLY DID! My voice ringing round the Staff Room. Everyone looking at me now and me looking at them.

Suddenly the Head of English, one of the Senior Masters got up and came over taking my hand. “Welcome back,” he said loudly. It was then that I heard others saying the same. Welcome back… Good to see you again… I sat down in tears and he got me a coffee. There was a quiet silence in the room now. Then somehow a friendly hum. I felt really chuffed to be back.

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN     A REGULAR SUMMONS

The day after I returned to the school I failed to attend the morning assembly service. It was billed as a post-Easter experience and led by the Deputy Head had all the potential for murdering Jews nastiness. No thanks, it wasn’t for me. After the event I was summoned out of the Staff Room during mid-morning coffee break by the man himself and threatened with dismissal if I failed to attend yet again. As if that wasn’t enough I was harassed for the rest of the day by the Head of my Department for behavior unbecoming a member of his team and by the Head of the Upper School for setting a bad example to younger staff and pupils alike. I kept on thinking, even for the money I was earning it just wasn’t worth it.

The following day I was ‘spoken to’ publicly in the Staff Room by the senior female in my Dept about my lack of knowledge of Sociology subject matter. I pointed out to her in a quiet voice that carried that I had a first class honours degree in the subject from a prestigious university, knowing as everyone else did that she had no qualification in the subject at all.

It was one more shove that I needed. That evening I again began writing job applications for teaching in Bristol. As before, without having much luck. In the weeks ahead, despite my best efforts to keep a low profile, I was summoned out of the Staff Room on a regular basis by the Deputy Head. My teaching and failure to associate with my colleagues were his ongoing points of attack. I was now getting a double dose of this crap, hearing it likewise from my Head of Dept. I let both gentlemen know I was listening simply by nodding my head. Taking it in and keeping my mouth shut. Through impromptu conversations I knew that my relationship with many members of staff was good and fast improving with others. They liked my willingness to help out on emergency cover without ever complaining. Such talk was mostly outside the earshot of the authorities so they knew just about nothing.

Particularly important in this respect was my friendship with the teacher who headed the Religious Education Department. He had, it was rumored, been under fire himself from the Headmaster for what was purported to be his sudden out of step view about Jesus being “a poor man’s Jewish preacher.” He’d also been summoned out of the Staff Room to see the Head on various occasions. The staff it seemed were becoming alarmed. If that kind of thing happened to someone of his status then it could happen to anyone. The man was very popular indeed, both with colleagues and pupils alike.           

On another occasion of my being called out of the Staff Room during a lunch break he voiced support for me and made sure everyone heard it. I thanked him openly and gratefully before leaving for my customary bollocking. Soon after, the Head of my Department unexpectedly went for an interview for a more senior teaching job elsewhere. It was at this time that I was told by some friendly kids in my Lower Sixth Sociology Class that the Head Boy had been asking them questions about my political views. Now this was a surprise. I’d never expressed any political views to the kids or anyone else. Such a thing was disturbing as he was the Headmaster’s nominee. One of these lads subsequently gave me a gift of a piece of artwork he’d made representing individuality. I was delighted to have it.

When he returned from his interview I went in to see the man and asked if he’d give me a decent testimonial if he got the job and left the school. He promised to do so but it wasn’t long before he showed his true colours. Meanwhile at home, alone in the house after school, I completed the academic paper I was writing together with the Gauguin. I was well pleased with both efforts. Hard work in that direction it seemed had brought its rewards. My sister was thrilled with the painting, then I received a letter from the prestigious American journal asking if I’d write an additional paper for them. I called them the following day to say that I would.

The next two weeks were half term and I spent the holiday in Bath looking after Larissa while Louise was away on a Field Trip. It gave me the pleasure of being a loving and indulgent dad.

My first day back was something of a milestone. It marked my first complete year at the school. Not that it made any difference. I was summoned out of the Staff Room by the Head of my Department during lunch break and told in the corridor that he’d not seen me participating in the Morning Assembly. I replied that I was there humming a psalm. He pressed home the point. He hadn’t seen me actively participate. My lack of participation was noted and I was threatened with a complaint to the Headmaster. I replied saying that his position as Head of Department over me was nothing more than a sick joke. Amusing at best. It made him pretty enraged for a vicar. A man of God and all that. With that it was goodbye to a reference!

There was still more to come. At the end of that week he summoned the Departmental staff to his office and in front of them blamed me for an exam paper leak. Somehow the Headmaster got wind of it and called us all in to see him. Wonder of wonders he castigated everyone there except me! For some reason which I never discovered he left me alone and gave it in the neck to the priest. It was payback time later. I shipped opprobrium from all the others even though the leak wasn’t my fault. They’d clearly expected me to take the fall only I hadn’t.

It was at this time that the ongoing separation from my family began seriously getting me down. Louise was my source of love and support and without her I felt emotionally diminished. Especially at the many times of crisis when I needed her most. Yet again, I tried losing myself evenings in writing but it just wasn’t enough. Weekends there was the regular visit to Bath though being back home with my darlings I was too often on edge. This, combined with Louise’s anxieties about her upcoming exams sometimes caused friction. Our little girl, however, was always a wonderful bridge and I needed her more than I knew.

On a Monday early in May I was again summoned out of the Staff Room. Told that the Headmaster wanted to see me by his acolyte the Head Boy! I looked around at my colleagues and many looked back. I just couldn’t resist making an extra low bow. Pulling myself up and smiling my face off. To my astonishment I heard a cheer from a group sitting at one of the tables among whom was the Head of R.E. I thanked them profusely. Reports of my death, I joked, were exaggerated! All the same, having failed again to attend morning assembly I knew what was coming. I’d tucked myself away in the Library marking homework for a precious half hour and now I’d be punished.

I’d felt unwell, I told him, and sat in one of the classrooms. I was warned that my absences were noted. Leaving his Study I suddenly realized that the very public summonses out of the Staff Room or dressing down in corridors by the authorities was actually becoming a ritual. Ritual humiliation on a regular basis. It must also be clear to them however that it wasn’t going to work. The worse it got, the more counter- productive was its effect. I was becoming inured and the practice had created a sympathy vote for me among staff. These were grown men and women and such behavior was seen for what it actually was. Bullying and cheesy with it. Cracks had already begun to appear between the mass of junior staff and the authorities. Now, the juniors were pulling along with them the more senior teachers, a development given impetus because the Head of R.E, one of the most popular and respected people at the school, was firmly on my side.

A two camp situation had begun to unfold and the Head and his Deputies were clearly losing the battle.