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.