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.