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

CHAPTER FIVE     CONFESSION

 Wednesday. Two days after the shock assembly. I’m asked to fill in for an absent R.E. teacher during a free period. Kids left work to be getting on with. It’s the continuation of an Easter Project. Towards the end of the period I ask a throwaway question. “Who cooked the Last Supper?”

At first stunned silence in class then amusement. I say, “I bet you’ve never thought about that!” No reply. I continue, “well it must have been the women who did it but why weren’t they invited to attend the meal?” The kids ask, “how do you know they weren’t invited?” I reply that there’s no mention of any women being there in the Gospels and there should have been because in the Jewish tradition which Jesus upheld, women were always present at the Passover Ceremony.

The kids are curious. What’s the Passover Ceremony? I explain. Tell them that the Last Supper was in fact the Jewish Passover Ceremony to mark the Exodus of the Jews from Egypt which Jesus, being Jewish himself, would have taken part in and as a good Jew made sure the women who’d cooked the meal and were an integral part of the ceremony, participated. The kids listen fascinated. They are clearly interested but say nothing more. The R.E. period soon ends.

The following day. I’m summoned from the Staff Room to see the Deputy Head. Told by a Senior Master outside that he wanted “a quiet word” with me. Seated in his Study the Deputy Head tells me he has been informed about comments I made in an R.E. cover lesson. Some of the kids had mentioned them to their teacher during the next R.E. lesson who had in turn mentioned them to him. The Deputy Head tells me my remarks were unauthorised.

He just wants a ‘quiet word in my ear.’ The class already had work set. It was unnecessary for me to have said anything. Not good practice to involve myself in a separate sphere of learning. Regrettably my understanding of the ritual of The Last Supper was incorrect. It was important, particularly in matters of religious instruction not to talk about things for which I was not qualified. The Last Supper was something entirely different from the Jewish Passover.

I tell him that I do not concur. This was a subject about which I had substantial knowledge. That it is he who is in error. As an observant Jew, Jesus would have participated in the Passover Service held precisely by tradition at that time to which women would certainly have been invited. That the description of the Last Supper as told in the Gospels was wrong.

His reaction is of extreme irritation mixed with anger. I am firmly put down. My knowledge of the Scriptures was deficient as was my knowledge of religious matters in general. I lacked formal qualification and my views are held in ignorance. I am under no circumstances to make any further comments on religion to the children.

I feel badly upset. His comments in the Monday Assembly concur with his manner of the last few minutes. I respond firmly. If my knowledge of religious matters is deficient then so is his. Referring to the comments he made in the Monday assembly I point out that it was not the Jews who killed Jesus as he’d said but the Romans, and for him to imply to children who were young and impressionable that the Jews were murderers who hated Jesus was both irresponsible and anti-Semitic. It was an insult to all Jewish people as well as a lie. It was an insult to me personally. Besides, most of Jesus’ followers at the time were Jews and they didn’t hate him.

There’s a deadly silence over the table between us. I know that a line has been crossed. I’ve called him a liar without thinking of my very weak personal position.

“What do you mean, an insult to you personally?” he asked sharply. “Why personal to you?”

I try to sound flat. Unemotional. I know I don’t need to say or tell him anything.

“Well I’m a Jew myself,” I hear myself saying quietly. Looking straight at him.

There was a nervousness in his face. Almost a twitch. He said nothing. I can’t work out his expression. “You’re a Jew...” he said eventually, his voice entirely flat. I nodded. Said nothing. He nodded as well, more than once as though taking it in. Thinking. Turning the idea round in his head. He said nothing further then got up, looked directly at me then at the door as if to say, ‘discussion’s over, we both have work to be getting along with.’ I cut in on the silence, thanking him for seeing me without knowing why, as it was he who’d asked to see me! After leaving I immediately went to the library. My thoughts were racing. Full of a vague hope that that would be the end of it all but feeling extreme anxiety at the same time. No, wasn’t over. It could never be over, now that my ‘secret’ was out. A line had been crossed. There was  no going back.

My feelings were badly mixed for the rest of day. I knew it would soon be out all over the Staff Room. I have powerful regrets. Spend the lunch break marking homework in Library. Don’t go into the Staff Room all day. Leave school later, collect Larissa from nursery then return to our accommodation and wait for Louise. Acquaint her with the development at school when she arrives. Her manner is negative. Despondent. I shouldn’t have said anything. It will lead to big trouble. “You know what they’re like. It’s your first proper job. The start of your teaching career. We’ve just bought a house for god’s sake.”

I explain what occurred. What was said. “After last Monday it just came out.”

Her rejoinder is that it was inevitable. I should never have taken the job if I couldn’t keep quiet. She concurs with my judgement. A line has definitely been crossed. Maybe I’d forgotten I was a probationer. Someone on trial. And now I’d told them I was a Jew. A Jew on trial at a Church School. Didn’t I know anything?

“It just happened,” I keep saying. “It wasn’t my fault.” “Who else was it then,” she said harshly? “You shouldn’t have said anything. They didn’t need to know. It wasn’t their business.”

I didn’t know what I expected from her. She was sympathetic of course but what I was actually getting was a hard dose of reality. That evening there was a sense of despondency around us. I felt dejected. Knowing I’d let something bad out of a bottle that couldn’t go back. Part of me didn’t give a shit. The rest worried so bad that it hurt.

It was the end of the week. I walked into the Staff Room before morning assembly. Looked guardedly around to see if anyone was looking at me but there wasn’t. No stares, just jerky moments of silence. The Assembly itself dry as dust. I joined in, mouthing a few hymns. The immortal invisible stuff straight out of a sci-fi novella. My eye caught sight of some fourth year girls half way up the hall. They see me, smile and look away in a hurry. Back in the Staff Room a message awaits, brought to me loudly by the Senior Master. “The Head wants to see you in his Study. Cover’s been arranged for your lesson.”

It meant he wanted to see me right now! That it was too important to wait. I know that everyone else there knows it. I’ve been ‘summoned’. There are many eyes on me now that didn’t want to meet mine before. Turning to someone, anyone, I don’t know who because I’m not really looking, I say in a loud jovial voice, “what’s all this about I wonder?” and with the sunniest smile I can muster get up and follow him to the Head’s Study, kind of chaperoned all the way. Outside the door he knocks then disappears. I hear a voice saying ‘enter’. I do so. The Headmaster looks relaxed. Almost casual. Invites me to sit down. Immediately lights a cigarette. I pretend to be at ease. At least I know what’s coming. He’d like to get rid of me for being a Jew but he can’t. It wouldn’t look good. He knows there’d be too much of a fuss. That it would all be too smelly. I’ll get my wrists smacked. Get some kind of warning.

For some reason I didn’t feel quite so bad any more. I had another year there at least. Time enough to find a new job.

My confidence is badly misplaced. There’s nothing direct. Nothing along the lines that I thought. He begins with the fourth year R.E. lesson I’d covered. Deeply disturbed by my interpretation of the Scriptures. By the things I’d been saying. I’d known when I’d applied for the job that it was a Church School, with a strong adherence, he remembered telling me at my interview, to church teaching and traditional worship. However from the comments I’d made, both to the class and the Deputy Head, my views were clearly at variance with Christian teaching. With the Bible story, with the Gospels etc.

Here I wanted to cut in but he trumped me instead. His deep concern had nothing to do with the fact that I was Jewish. He wanted to assure me of that. In fact, he personally didn’t concur at all with the Deputy Head’s view about the Jews being responsible for the crucifixion! No, it wasn’t my religion that concerned him. More than anything else he thought I wasn’t in tune with the Christian teaching at the school where religious education was deemed by the parents to be of the essence. That’s why they sent their children there rather than other schools in the area. For a firm grounding in religious education. That’s what they wanted for their children and I, in that respect, was not suited to that particular tradition of the school. It wasn’t at all because of the fact that I was a Jew that he was suggesting that I should leave. First and foremost, it would be in my best interest as someone at the start of his career to find a post that was best suited for me. In that regard, a State Maintained Church of England school clearly wasn’t the right place.

He absolutely assured me. It had nothing whatsoever to do with my being Jewish or my argument with the Deputy Head. He wanted me to think about the situation very carefully. If I resigned he’d write me an excellent reference. One that would help me get a post elsewhere. There’d be no blemish on my record whatsoever so I shouldn’t even think that there might.

He smiled benignly at me and I smiled back. Now he seemed even more relaxed. His smile broadened. It was almost infectious. I couldn’t help responding pleasantly but underneath feel a serious resolve. He wanted me out. His excuses were hogwash and his reference a kiss off.

I thanked him for what he said. Appreciated his comments. Understood his concern that I might be better placed elsewhere. However, despite all of this, I was much enjoying my work at the school and was happy here. I could think of no good reason why I should want to swap my job here for somewhere else. I would indeed attend all the church services as well as the morning assemblies. Participate in them just the same as any other teacher. I didn’t need time to think about the situation. I had no intention of resigning from the school.

I said it looking at him full square over the desk. He stared straight back with iron in his eyes and nodded. He still wanted me to think things over. He’d talk with me again in a month.

I got up. Thanked him for seeing me. Letting him see from my face that I wasn’t going. That he wasn’t getting rid of me without a serious fight. His face soured. His thin lips stretched cold. Moments later I was outside the door shaking. Two months into my first permanent teaching job and I was already close to being kicked out. A real stroke of genius if ever there was one, changing my name!

That afternoon, driving back to our accommodation I felt sick to my stomach. What about the house I’d signed up to buy? What about my job? My career as a teacher? The nursery our daughter was in? What about Louise? What about all those things and a hundred things more?

Half six, with Larissa playing on some carpet we’d put down on the floor, Louise arrived from the Station. Wonderful news! She’d had a call at her job from the house agents. The place was fully vacated at last. They had the keys. We could move in tomorrow.

We hugged each other then I drew in a deep breath, telling her of the day’s developments at the school. She shrugged her shoulders. Tomorrow we were moving. Somehow we’d have to make do.

That afternoon she brought home a good wage. My second month’s salary cheque had also arrived in the bank. Our debts were mostly paid off. From tomorrow we’d be living in our own fine new house. She was right. One thing, one day at a time. Whatever we had hanging over us we’d cope. I’d tough it out. Whatever they threw at me I was firmly resolved. I was staying put at the school.

Our mood was entirely unexpected. We weren’t going to be the least bit downcast! The future certainly didn’t look good but whatever came my way we’d face it together. That night, after two hateful months, we knew we were leaving the hole we’d been staying in. Tomorrow we were moving to our very own place. Right now we felt on top of the world.

 

CHAPTER SIX     DEPUTIES FROM HELL

Early Saturday morning we locked up, left our temporary accommodation and drove to our house. The back garden was a tip. Left cluttered and filthy by the former owner. We began clearing it immediately. The following day the man turned up with a trailer and removed the rest of his rubbish. That afternoon we felt we could rest and went strawberry picking in nearby fields. In the evening we talked. Made plans for decorating and buying furniture. Turning the greenhouse attachment at the rear of the house into a conservatory.

Back at the school on Monday after a week of turmoil I found all my free periods were taken from me by the Deputy Head to cover for various duties. On Wednesday I was given new playground tasks by the Senior Mistress till the end of the term. My coffee breaks had gone along with most of my lunchtimes. Effectively it meant I’d lost all my precious free time for marking homework. The duties I was told were important for probationers. A useful way of acquiring responsibility. The other probationer, I noted, who’d started at the school exactly the same time as me, hadn’t been honored in such a manner!

That day after school we bought a superb second hand cooker for our kitchen. Now we make food in relative comfort. I also began work tiling the conservatory floor and cleaning the filth off its roof. The previous owner had been a real slouch.

Early the following week I was given extensive exam invigilation duties apart from my teaching. I brought some homework marking into the hall having seen other teachers do the same. My intention was immediately spotted by the Deputy Head. Sorry, it wasn’t allowed. I couldn’t divide my concentration and had to get up and walk round besides. Fair enough. I thanked him for his advice and kept my mouth shut. The upshot was that I was forced to take home a heavy schedule of marking making me lose part of my evenings.

Midweek a friendly conversation with some fifth form girls in the playground leads to trouble. They tell me about their career intentions and hopes. My manner is affable and encouraging. The conversation is observed by a lackey of the Senior Mistress and reported to her. In consequence I’m summoned out of the Staff Room. Told by her that I’d been observed in conversation with the girls. Grilled about its content. I’m advised, warned, to be guarded about my remarks. I perceive the danger of these being manipulated and agree to do as requested but point out that I’m very careful about anything I say. My manner is bland. It’s clear to me that everything I do, anything I say, could be reported by teachers seeking to ingratiate themselves with those more senior in the hierarchy. Am told that girls of that age are “very impressionable”. Liable to take things “the wrong way.” Later I have a bad feeling about her comments. They are an insidious, potentially dangerous method of attack. I’m resolved to chat less. Be guarded at all times. I feel upset. Worried by all the implications but in the Staff Room I always put on a happy face.

At the end of June I make my second blunder in the Staff Room. Sitting with a group of junior teachers taking tea prior to assembly I remark, apropos a discussion re the backgrounds of pupils, that there are very few coloured/mixed race kids at the school despite significant ethnic numbers in the catchment area. There’s an immediate stunned silence. I can hear myself talking dangerous stuff. Immediately realise that I’ve said the wrong thing. The group is joined by the senior female in the Social Studies Department who comments about social strata/ethnicity in the area and asks for my opinion. I reply that I’m new to the area and can only comment on what I’ve observed. I’m now very heavily put down. It’s very important to have “lengthy experience”… “be objective before making comments and judgements in order to be a good social scientist. University degrees have little real value.” This is a major public put down to remind me of my junior status in the teaching hierarchy. I’m about to answer but she gets up. Looks behind me. I see other faces in the group doing the same and turn to see the Deputy Head hovering in the background. Am left trying to hide the purposeful humiliation.

Early July I’m shocked to hear anti-Semitic remarks made by younger pupils shouting at each other in the corridor. They see me and are instantly silent. Maybe they’re aware I’m a Jew. During the same week I participate in the School Sports Day supervising activities and seem to be very popular with the kids. I hear there’s to be a Staff Garden Party at the school on Friday and wait for an invitation for Louise and I to attend but don’t get one. Louise explains it as an incentive to leave.

A week later I’m summoned from the Staff Room to see the Deputy Head who for some reason is keen to acquaint me with his attitude to education. He believes in “thrashings... knocking rebelliousness out... planting virtues in...” Describes educational psychologists as “trick cyclists”. I’m reminded of an old style Dickensian type sadist. He asks me for my opinions. I reply that I prefer to listen to his, wondering in my head what the point of it all is. The reason soon becomes clear. My ‘modern’ views do not fit in with the more traditional values instilled at the school. I say nothing, waiting for his suggestion that I should leave. This does not come. Instead I’m told what to say when writing up end of year reports for pupils in the subjects I teach. “The school does not want to convey any negative impression,” he mutters. This should have come from my Head of Department if anyone, not him. I nod. Accept the insult and say nothing. Leave when he makes it clear I can go.

Two days before term ends I’m called in to see the Head. Had I reconsidered his suggestion about leaving? I tell him that I’ve enjoyed my first term. Think that my progress is fair. That I’m determined to stay on and see out my Probation. Having just overheard in the Staff Room that my fellow probationer is to be given his own form next year I ask if I’m going to get one likewise? Am told that I’ve not been deemed to have made satisfactory progress. I make no response. Recognise it as part of a trend. Show no disappointment. He purposefully looks at the door. I get up, thank him and leave.

Final Day of Term. The Head of my Department takes me aside first thing. Asks me if I’ve decided to leave. I reply that I’m happy at the school. He questions “the wisdom of your decision.” Tells me he’ll write me an excellent reference. That the end of the term is a good time to leave. “You’ll have the whole summer to find a new post.” I thank him but decline. Congratulate him on his promotion to Senior Master.

The day ends with sherry in the Staff Room and for once the free mingling of staff. I observe contrived displays of democracy with interest. Some senior teachers talk to me for the first time. Ask me how things have gone. I convey standard acceptable replies. Have enjoyed the experience etc. I notice that few teachers if any are talking to an Asian teacher with a PhD in nuclear physics. The ‘word’ among juniors in the Staff Room is that he’s ‘under a cloud’. Personally I’ve never seen him smile. He’s not a probationer. Has been there three years. With his PhD I’d often thought he was crazy to be there at all and make a point of going over to talk to him as he’s standing on his own. My gesture is noted. Out of the blue he tells me he has a large family to feed. That he can’t get a job anywhere else. In the meantime he has to stay as a junior in his Department. To my surprise I learn he’s a Lebanese Christian. I ask him if he’s writing any academic papers. He shakes his head. What, as a schoolteacher? I tell him that I’m due to have a new paper published in the USA during the summer. He’s pleased for me. Shakes my hand. This is also noted. I wish him and his family a good vacation. Do the same with other teachers likewise then slip out of the room and drive home. Bonus time. Six weeks of paid holiday ahead. 

Almost immediately I begin scanning education journals for college lectureships. There’s nothing doing. In a way I already dread the prospect of returning but I’ll try to make the best of it if I have to. Our finances are again desperately low. Even with Louise working we have no choice but to take lodgers to help pay the mortgage. I’ll definitely have to find work during the vacation. The future’s neither solid nor bright. The school gives me the creeps but I’m determined to hold onto the job till something better turns up. Meantime I’m out of there for a while. Free from the Staff Room. Free from the Headmaster’s lackeys from hell.

 

CHAPTER SEVEN     DIRTY TRICKS INCORPORATED

Paying the mortgage and keeping our house. From the moment we took on Mustapha, a short, dapper Asian with a PhD in chemistry, we began getting visits from neighbours on our up-market lower middle class housing estate asking us to get rid of him. They don’t want the area “swamped by Pakis.” We refuse and are warned and threatened. Soon bricks come through our living room window. Mustapha works at a factory nearby and can’t find accommodation elsewhere. We refuse to back down and I stay up nights watching for trouble. The bricks and threats cease. Our second lodger, a bright young chap of Polish origin wants independence from his family in order to become his own man.

The income from both helps. They occupy two bedrooms, our daughter the third. We sleep downstairs in the living room on a sofa bed. During the summer we work at temporary employment in London. Our combined income helps clear our debts and pays the bills in running two homes. We also put money by for a rainy day.

During this time I apply for college lectureships using my excellent academic references, publications and university degrees in support. There is limited scope. Neither Greek and German philosophy nor Sociology are in high demand and my efforts meet with no success. Meanwhile over the six week break we use any free time we have in the evenings to tile the conservatory and kitchen. On weekends I begin painting again, working on landscapes of local woods and fields, also writing academic papers and planting flowers in the garden. Occasionally we go to Bath. Time runs by. Soon I’ll be returning to the school. I feel nervous about what may lie ahead.

Early September. My first day back. I walk into the Staff Room and wait my turn for coffee after the seniors. Am given my timetable for the term by my Head of Department and immediately notice that I am no longer teaching Sociology at advanced lever to the Upper Sixth. My work now centres on teaching History to difficult classes in the Junior and Middle school along with Sociology to the Lower Sixth. This is a real blow. I request reasons for the change. He tells me that I’m am better suited to these classes. That the work is more ‘challenging.’ I know the change has been effected between him and the Head. The clergyman who runs my Department could easily suggest that I leave if I complain so I say nothing and accept the new schedule.

To relieve my upset I begin working on a new painting project. A copy of a Gauguin as a gift for my sister. I also feel low because Louise will soon be leaving to begin her degree course in Bristol taking Larissa with her so I’ll no longer have their emotional support.

I attend morning assembly throughout the week feeling increasingly drenched by the blood of Christ. On Friday the Deputy Head walks unannounced into one of my History lessons, sits at the back of the class and makes notes. His presence is felt by my pupils who become silent and inhibited. He makes it very obvious that he is, in the words of the kids, “checking me out.” I discuss this with the Teachers Union rep the following week. This is a mistake. She’s a senior staff appointee. I contact the National Union of Teachers head office. Describe the incident and am told that the Deputy Head’s conduct is irregular. A teacher must always be notified prior to any such visits whether for inspection purposes or otherwise. I ask the Deputy Head whether his visit was for ‘inspection’. Told that it wasn’t. Ask him why he came into my class. He says he wanted to check on my progress That he is entitled to do so and that his visits will continue.

Before leaving that afternoon I’m informed that the Head wants to see me first thing in the morning. I spend an anxious evening pondering the connection between this and his Deputy’s visit. Am summoned in to see him soon after I arrive. Told that a parent has complained that I taught ‘disbelief’ in one of my classes. He refuses to enlarge or tell me which class, or what I am supposed to have said. I deny the allegation. Say that I’ll respond further when I’m given more detail. Returning to the Staff Room I’m taken aside by three of the senior staff including Head of Upper School and warned about my ‘conduct.’ The Head of Upper School threatens me with instant dismissal. I reply loudly so that everyone can hear. I won’t be spoken to in such a manner. Here is one Jew they are not running a concentration camp for. The words cause shock effect in Staff Room. Huge embarrassment. I turn to face the other teachers – stare at them one to the other then walk out. Spend rest of day in fear of dismissal. Nobody speaks to me at all before I leave.

On the following day, a Saturday, a family visit from my mother, stepfather and grandmother. A really happy occasion. On Sunday I complete the charcoal sketch for the Gauguin and walk with my girls in the Essex countryside.

Returning to school Monday I discover that all my free periods for the week are taken due to projected cover duties along with my morning coffee breaks. I am given playground supervision again, actually a task I enjoy! I now go from class to class without a break except for lunch. This is presently free. However a ‘word in my ear’ from a ‘sympathetic’ senior staff member who advises me to sit in the Staff Room rather than mark homework. Unless I do so colleagues will think I’m ignoring them. I smile sardonically at his use of the word ‘colleagues’ but nonetheless sit in Staff Room, mainly on my own, working on a draft for a new academic paper. Am asked by various senior staff what I’m writing. After telling them it’s suggested that I should sit with my group of juniors instead.

At the end of the third week I attend another parent’s evening. Give standard assessment of children’s progress as I’ve been told knowing that any truthful negatives might be dangerous. In effect it’s all pretty meaningless.

I now spend weekends working in London to buy Larissa new clothes. Early evenings I am busy improving the state of our garden. It all helps me take my mind off the school. The busier I am the more able I am to forget.

Early October. We visit Bath on first weekend. Louise remains behind to begin her studies at Bristol. A sad farewell. This marks a watershed in our family life. For the next three years, holidays and weekends apart, we will be separated. A real emotional blow. My general state of health is not good. I feel run down. Debilitated. I suffer badly with boils. Continual anxiety. Feel a strong need to escape from the school environment during lunch breaks. Soon I discover some fine walking along a public footpath through fields across the road from the school. This proves invaluable and helps restore me.

Mid October my lessons are again sat in on by the Deputy Head and soon after by the Head himself. These visits are again without warning. They just walk in and sit at the back of my classes. After complaining to my Head of Department the matter is passed on and I’m called in to see the Headmaster. Told I have no justification for complaint. That my absence from the Staff Room and school at lunch time has been noted. Such behavior is ‘anti-social’. Not conducive to creating good feeling among staff. I reply that I’m entitled to leave the school premises during lunch breaks if I wish, as long as it does not interfere with my duties. That I’m not a prisoner at the school. The man informs me that my manner and conduct are unprofessional. Unbecoming a teacher at his school. I’m given a warning. Told that a formal reprimand will be placed on my record. I request that the reprimand be put to me in writing stating reasons. This is refused. I reply that I will contact National Union of Teachers Head Office requesting any reprimand be examined. He begins shouting at me. I sit there taking it all saying nothing. Leave when he asks me to do so.

The following day I’m put on lunchtime playground duty. With this and the continual loss of my free periods I’m becoming increasingly tired and dispirited. I do my best in class but find the process of teaching increasingly difficult. My only relief now is when I leave school to collect Larissa from nursery, return home and work on academic papers or house decorating early evenings, apart from being with her. The situation is made difficult because Louise now has the car so we can only go down there on weekends by coach. We do not see her regularly because of her field trips and when we do meet up our Sunday evening partings are extremely hard on us as a family. Larissa misses her Mum.

I also have to cope with our steadily worsening finances. Louise’s grant, my wage and the rent from our lodgers is not sufficient to pay all our bills and buy food. It’s therefore all the more important that despite the provocation I experience at the school I hang on to my job until I find another. At least until Louise’s studies are over.

The months before Christmas are relatively trouble free. While the round of dirty tricks still continues with additional cover duties loaded onto me on a regular basis there is a suspension of the verbal dressings down I’ve been getting in private. More important perhaps is my increasing popularity among the kids. I enjoy a Guy Fawkes night at the school to which I take Larissa and find myself befriended by kids from all the classes I teach along with those from the Upper School. Much affability is shown towards us. It seems I’ve become known for always being in trouble with the authorities and standing up for myself. Soon after I’m ‘adopted’ by the school chess club as their patron after they learn I’d been a past champion at the game. This popularity makes my teaching easier and more pleasurable. The rapport I have with my pupils becomes a real compensation for everything else.

End November various kids tell me they are being asked by the Deputy Head and Senior Mistress about what I’m saying in class. Whether I mention subjects of religion or politics, or whether in my Lower Sixth Sociology class I ever mention Marxism. Many of the kids seem to be aware of my position at the school and are strangely supportive. At this time I’m given a minor privilege. Am allowed to accompany a History Group to the Science Museum with the Head of my Department who, I discover, is only a year older than me and resents my University background. He is thirty-six, a Senior Master and ordained minister who believes that education has to do with storing facts and using them if, when and where. My view is that education should help kids to think critically about things. Help them think for themselves. I repeatedly tell my pupils that if they really want to learn then they have to think. Think about everything. I find that kids at all levels are excited by this notion. They talk with their parents about it they tell me. I am naively unaware of the consequences. It emerges that parents feel challenged by this. My views are communicated back into the school through various teachers to the authorities i.e. that one of the new teachers is giving the children radical ideas. Result – more informal inspection and listening in on my classes early December.

Towards end of term am told by the Deputy Head that unfavorable reports have been made regarding my teaching and conduct at the school. That I get my facts wrong and misinform the pupils. I reply that all my lessons are taken from the given text books and their content is transferred by pupils into their exercise books. He says that my work contains too much “interpretation,” that it diverges too much from the texts. I am not supposed to do this. Also, I have failed to integrate within the staff framework. The Report will form part of my Teaching Record. I ask to see the various Reports but this is refused.

In the week before term end I’m summoned from Staff Room by Deputy Head. Taken to Headmaster’s Study. The Head of my Department is present along with the Headmaster and Head of Upper School. I am instantly attacked and criticized by them in turn. All my so called “past failings, errors, lapses, omissions” are elevated to the status of professional misconduct and an anti-social demeanor. This done I’m strongly urged to leave. Told I’ve got no chance of passing Probation or qualifying as a teacher. It is strongly suggested that it would be best for me if I resigned before end of term. I refuse. Strongly rebut criticisms as manufactured and false. State that I am much enjoying my time at the school. That under current legislation I am already deemed qualified to teach at a Secondary School. That my relationship with my pupils is good as it is with not a few of the staff. My defence infuriates the Deputy Head and Head of the Upper School, particularly when I say that I’ve been told by various teachers - who have sat in on my classes on my request to observe my teaching - that my professional standard is good. This causes a furor. They demand that I reveal names. I refuse. I will do so only to the Department of Education and Science if necessary. The Headmaster calls end to meeting. I am asked to leave his office. The others remain.

That evening I form the realistic view that I have until the end of Spring Term next year at best at the school. They’ll call in the local authority inspector, organize a negative report on my teaching and so fail my probation. My main concern is whether they can use this to get rid of me lawfully and when? Precisely how much time have I got left? I note the sheer hostility of those at the meeting. Their response when I defended myself bordered on rage and their demeanor was openly threatening when I refused to resign. This day my worst so far. 

The following day was my 35th birthday. Mercifully it was trouble free. I’m kept busy marking exam papers. I received many cards from the kids. A really pleasant surprise. Am happy with my popularity. It means so much to me. Some of the kids seem to know that I’m Jewish. “Is it true sir?” they ask. I reply that it is. Receive no negative comments.

Last day: Receive many Christmas cards from kids and some from staff. Both very pleasing. Term ends. I’ve survived the last ten weeks of false reports, losing nearly all my free time, having my life made hell on a regular basis by criticism, provocation and dirty tricks on the part of the managerial hierarchy at the school. How on earth did I do it with no Louise for regular comfort?