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.