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

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE     TRIBUNAL:  A JEW TO BOOT

I worked out the remaining few weeks till the end of term. Some teaching but mainly invigilating exams. Honorary duty! The Headmaster gave me the option. I could leave immediately if I liked. Save any embarrassment or unpleasantness. I decided to stay. Besides, everyone knew. All the staff and the kids. Wherever I went and whatever I did I was greeted with affection. With bright admiration. The authorities left me alone. Their work was done. I could have rung the school bell any time of the day and they wouldn’t have minded. After all, they’d already tolled it for me. My time was running down fast and soon I’d be history. Just a speck on the surface of so many minds. 

I could tell that many of my colleagues were angry, what with my probation being extended. They knew the score. Understood what the authorities had done. Driven me to illness and desperation. There’d been protests. Some of them seeing the Head. There was nothing alas he could do! It was the decision of the Board of Governors… He’d proved the case himself by failing to attend the meeting was the story they heard.

On my last day I spent most of my time in the playground. Saying goodbye to countless numbers of kids. Those in the Upper School were angry. Some of them seriously. Even those I’d never taught. They said things to me that brightened my life. That made so much of the hell I’d been through worthwhile. So much appreciation for showing them how to think about things. How to see things in ways they’d never imagined before. So many telling me that I was a good man. Someone who really cared about them. Above all, someone they’d always take with them. Someone they’d never forget. The younger kids were tearful. Some gave me presents. Flowers and fruit. Crisps from their lunch boxes and chocolate.

When the end of term assembly came they were told by the Head I was leaving. Mister… leaving us today after serving at the school for three years. We all wish him well…

It was then that it happened. The older kids started clapping. It ran on, soon joined by the ranks of the juniors like a crescendo sweeping through the Hall. The Headmaster held up his hand but it just kept on running, joined in now by most of the staff. Someone at the back shouted three cheers for Mister ... and they all cheered me. Then it suddenly stopped. A deadly cold silence for the last prayer and the Head’s final message.

I left the Hall with the rest of the staff. Said my goodbyes in the Staff Room to all the people I’d worked with and liked. The Head of R.E. was tearful. All the rest were round me shaking my hand. No, I didn’t want any sherry. When my adversaries came through the back door to make their little end of term speeches I finished shaking hands and said loudly, “goodbye everyone,  thank you for everything, thank you for being good friends…”  then turned my back and walked out the front, not seeing anything anymore. Straight to my car, turned on the engine and drove out through the gates.

Kids having fun on the pavement and larking about at the bus stop. A few solitary stragglers far down the road and my eyes full of tears. It was goodbye to them and all that.

Home midday I phoned the Union Head Office and spoke to my contact. The Union would support me if I went for unfair dismissal at an Industrial Tribunal. As things stood I had a very fair chance. I picked up on his use of the word fair rather than good. Fair or good? I instantly questioned. The Union’s experience was mixed, he replied. Things often depended on who was hearing the case. That made me feel great! Not that I was expecting much anyway. All the same, I still had my hopes. At a Tribunal I’d make sure they heard everything. It would be my big chance to tell my side of the story. Make sure that everything came out.

That weekend we went to Bath and I partly forgot. Sunday night we drove home and Monday morning I remembered in detail. Louise off to work, our daughter at the child minder and me finishing writing a paper and thinking of immediate things. We needed money and I needed to work. That was because other big things were happening in our lives. Louise was returning to university in October. She’d have a grant but no more regular wage. The two of us not earning a penny. When my salary ran out then we’d be for it.

The summer was one long slog of lousy temporary jobs in offices full of Office type people. You know offices don’t you! Weekends we had good times together whenever we could, always trying to get out of Essex. Early October I heard from the Union rep. They’d applied for a hearing. An Industrial Tribunal would consider my case in a couple of months. We had to get together to talk, ourselves and the Union solicitor. Decide how best to handle things.

Central London the following week. Meeting held in his office. It soon became apparent that there was a fundamental disagreement between us. The solicitor was very concerned about how the Headmaster and Board of Governors would present their case and how best we should counter it. The Head, he argued, would claim that my conduct had been unreasonable throughout. We had to counter that by showing it was anything but. We had to stress the harassment. That the continual pressure made me ill. Unable to function at my best. The key points were that my relationship with my staff colleagues was excellent, the same as it had been with the kids. Here the petition could be used in support. At the same time he’d received a letter from one of my sixth form pupils whose father was a vicar.

This was news to me. As I read it tears came to my eyes over the things he’d said about me and the fact that he was willing to attend an Industrial Tribunal to speak on my behalf.  

The Union man acknowledged. My relationship with both staff and pupils was very important and could be set against the attitude and manner of the school authorities. In a similar fashion their negative judgement of me as a teacher was contradicted by the Department of Education which saw fit to extend my probation in direct opposition to the views of the Headmaster.

I wasn’t sure about this line of argument. The authorities would no doubt stress my unreasonableness. This could only be countered by a chapter and verse account of their own unreasonableness and its causes. There’d been the whole issue of religious prejudice and anti-Semitism right from the start. In my opinion this should be stressed as the cause of the harassment I’d experienced from the time I told them I was a Jew. From then on it was continually suggested to me that I should leave, first by the old Head and his Deputy and then by the man who took over. Having refused to resign there’d been the hateful trumped up suspension when I’d been marched out of the school. After that, on my reinstatement, it had been one thing after another. I’d rarely been left in peace. There’d been endless criticism of my teaching that had been bigoted and ignorant, then the manipulated failure of my Probation between the Headmaster and the Local Authority Inspectors. 

What should also be mentioned I said was the new Headmaster’s thoroughly hostile manner towards me after I wrote a letter to a local newspaper attacking the National Front and their leafleting campaign outside local schools. After summoning me to his Study he’d spoken to me in a thoroughly demeaning manner calling me “boy” and “laddie”. Telling me he wouldn’t have any member of his staff calling them thugs. The harassment had just kept on running. It was simply more than I could bear. I’d become ill. Began attending hospital with a heart murmur. I had a medical record to prove it if proof was required. I’d been hounded and victimized by the school authorities because I was a Jew. Of course, I’d use all the rest in support. It would add to my case, the basis of which was their religious prejudice.

The Union rep was against the whole thing. Religious prejudice and discrimination, as he’d told me before, were hard to prove under employment law. If I wanted to win my case, pursuing that line would not be in my best interest. I needed to stick to the facts, not over-personalize the situation on religious grounds, all of which would be denied and strongly disputed. Besides, I lacked concrete evidence. There’d been nothing in writing. Nothing recorded. The lay judges hearing the case would not be sympathetic at all.

I listened amazed. So how would a panel of judges look at it, I asked rhetorically? They’d want to know what reason both Headmasters had for my allegations of ongoing harassment. Why they’d done all this to me and no-one else? I looked at him hard. How was I to explain their conduct and its causes if I didn’t base it on anti-Semitism? The current Head could just turn round and say he had no reason for doing all the things I’d claimed, same as his predecessor. That none of it was true. The whole thing was clear as far as I was concerned. Take away anti-Semitism and you took away the motive… Then it simply came down to personal relationships. The Head able to claim there’d been a breakdown between us because we simply didn’t get on. Something that was no fault of his. He’d done everything he could etc. Called a meeting of Governors for me to attend so that the differences between us could be discussed and I’d refused. There, that on its own was evidence enough of the problem.

Once again I came back to causes. I’d asked for the meeting to be put back because of the Sabbath, stating my willingness to attend but they’d refused.

The Union man didn’t like it. He had to remind me I’d been a Jew teaching at a Church School. That I’d agreed to attend church services and religious assemblies when I’d been interviewed for the job. Therefore using the Sabbath as an excuse for not attending the meeting on religious grounds would cut little ice as far as an Industrial Tribunal was concerned.  

I responded angrily. Told him I noted his change of tune on the matter. The differences between us meant that the strategy of laying my case at a Tribunal was unresolved. His attitude hardened. The Union would be conducting the case on my behalf. The line of procedure is their call and would be determined by the advice he received from their Legal Department. I refuse to accept this. They are going to a Tribunal on my behalf not theirs. Presumably it was the wishes of the member that came first. He agrees but counters that the Legal Department would be disinclined to advise expenditure on behalf of a member if they thought a particular line of procedure was not the best one to follow. He asks me to think the matter over, again pointing to the consequences of having failed to attend the Governors meeting. I tell him that I find his view unacceptable. The meeting ends with no decision made about the presentation of my case. He suggests that I contact him next week for a chat.

By the time the hearing came round in December we’d worked out a compromise. We’d play it his way initially. Counter their reasons for dismissal with unreasonable behavior and harassment backed up by the petition, the extension of my probation and the evidence of the sixth form pupil as witness. Then, in my own testimony, I could say at the end why I thought this was so. Give my reasons as it were.

I wasn’t happy about it at all but the Legal Department was running the show. It was their expertise, their money I was told and they weren’t throwing it away on a line of appeal that would be lost from the start. In the end I went along with their strategy to hide it all under the carpet and not make a stink. It was the right thing to do! Oh yes, I’d have my say at the end but first follow the standard approach. 

Woburn Place. Central London. A cold, grey rainy morning. I met up with the Union Rep and the solicitor outside the Industrial Tribunal offices. And there waiting for me was my former sociology pupil who’d come to speak on my behalf. We didn’t see anyone else till we went down into the Court, and that’s exactly what it was like. A brown room with brown panels and benches and a platform for the panel of judges. I already knew the procedure. What was going to happen. The kind of people who’d be hearing my case. A panel of three. The Chairman at the center would be someone experienced in law, a barrister or solicitor who’d been in practice at least seven years. Probably a QC. Of the other two, one would come from an employees’ organization, almost certainly a Union man. The other from an employers’ organization, a personnel or resources officer, whatever that meant. The Defendants, i.e. the Board of Governors would present their case first, giving the reasons why I’d been dismissed. The Head would undoubtedly be their chief witness. Maybe they’d have other witnesses too! His Deputy… Inspectors from the local authority… Maybe even some of the teachers though that was unlikely as most had signed the petition.

While we sat in the Court waiting, in walked the Head with someone I’d never seen before. I kept looking round expecting others. The minutes ran away then the panel entered and sat themselves down. I was astonished. There wasn’t anyone else. The Head was there on his own. Him against me and my witness, my petition, the extension of my probation etc. No-one from the Governors or the local authority! I began to think I had chances. Now came the formal introductions. The Chairman, a smart grey crusty in his sixties began outlining procedure. I noted how it panned out. The Board of Governors to put their case first followed by that of the plaintiff.       

The unknown man was a solicitor. From the firm used by the Church of England to represent their schools in legal matters, the Union man whispered. Oh, so that’s who he was I thought. He was young and came over sharp and succinct. Putting the case for the Board clear and hard. There’d been a breakdown in the relationship between the plaintiff and the school authorities right from the start. Having given the previous Headmaster an assurance that he would attend school assemblies and church services, he had subsequently refused. His relationship with his pupils was also fraught with complications and difficulty. He had been warned about this by both the Head and his Deputy on numerous occasions but their advice had been ignored. After a serious letter of complaint from a parent, a child had been removed from his class. The plaintiff had then seen fit to cross question his former pupil alone in a corridor leaving the Head no choice but to suspend him from duty because of his unprofessional conduct.

I was aghast and turned to the Union solicitor. All this was supposed to have been expunged from my Record. I’d only returned to the school after having been guaranteed this by the Head and the Union itself. The solicitor rose to object. The Union and his client had been given a guarantee by the previous Head that this entire incident and complaint would not form part of my record as its circumstances had been a matter of serious dispute. The suspension had been withdrawn and Mr. ... had only agreed to return to the school once that guarantee had been given. The Church solicitor returned to his feet. On behalf of the school he didn’t concur with that view. The initial complaint had been upheld by the Head and his subsequent suspension still formed part of his Record.

The Union man’s face flushed and I uttered loudly so that the panel could hear, “absolutely disgraceful, I’d never have gone back there under those circumstances after what they did to me.”

The Chairman of the panel gave me a harsh look and the Church solicitor swept on.

I wasn’t having it. I got to my feet and complained loudly. The evidence supplied by the School Governors was inadmissible. I’d received a firm undertaking from the Headmaster that it would be expunged from my Record.

The Tribunal Chairman addressed my solicitor. “Your client will get the chance to put his case in due course. In the meantime I must insist that he does not interrupt these proceedings again.”

I sat down enraged. If this was a taste of what the Governors and their solicitor would get up to then I was cooked.

The man was now on the subject of my letter to the paper. He had attached the name of the school without having sought permission to do so. The plaintiff’s response to the Headmaster’s questions during a meeting between them had been surly and aggressive when he had only sought to give guidance and advice on the matter. He was, after all, a person of considerable experience, having formerly been in charge of a Sixth Form College and had only wanted to foster constructive dialogue between them. The attitude of the probationer, however, had been entirely unreasonable. The Head had formed a positive opinion of his abilities as a teacher and member of his staff but revised this during the course of the year. He had been utterly dismayed when the plaintiff had personally organized a petition on his own behalf among the staff, trawling it round the Staff Room asking teachers to sign. Many had done so, he would testify in his evidence, but only under pressure. His hand had finally been forced when Mr. ... had publicly declared his refusal to meet with him to discuss school business. After that it was clear that a breakdown in their relationship had occurred. The Headmaster’s response had been to request a meeting of Governors be called to discuss the situation to which the plaintiff would be invited. The plaintiff’s refusal to attend this meeting left the Governors no choice but to terminate his employment at the school. He now wished to call the Headmaster to give evidence.

The man and his suit got up and confirmed his reasonableness all the way through. It was a convincing and polished performance that couldn’t have been more persuasive if he’d been Iago spinning a tissue of lies on Othello. Entirely convincing, unless you’d been on the receiving end of his diabolical malice and knew the truth. Nothing openly critical. Just oodles of fair play and kindly concern on a probationer’s behalf, with all the unspoken assumption of me being endlessly difficult and unreasonable left to fester in the minds of the panel. Why, he’d never have got to be the Head of this school or any other if he’d been anything but fair minded and decent. I had to hand it to him. It was beautifully done.     

I sat there and listened. If it hadn’t been me, having known and experienced everything he’d done I might have been persuaded myself, only it was me and I knew how I’d suffered. A year or more of his dirty tricks and being demeaned and two years of it by his predecessor.

His detailed cross examination by the Union solicitor seemed altogether too smooth. There were a number of key points. He’d failed Mr. ... in his Probation Report. Well if that was the case, why had the Department of Education not accepted his judgement? Why instead had they chosen to extend his probation for another year? Such cases were almost unheard of.

The reply came almost pat. He saw no harm whatsoever in the probation being extended. In fact he was glad, hoping it might have given him the chance to improve his work and finally succeed. The Department wasn’t compelled to agree with the decisions of every Headmaster and in some cases it didn’t. He had no difficulty with such a decision.

Again it was beautifully done. Adding to the halo of reason already projected. What about the petition then the solicitor continued. Signed by virtually every one of his colleagues after you’d threatened to suspend him from duty for writing his letter after a long period of harassment? He’d claimed in his evidence that Mr. ... had organized this himself, on his own behalf, which Mr. ... categorically denied.  However, even if, for the sake of argument, he had indeed organized it himself, why would the vast majority of his colleagues have signed it if what it said was untrue, if he hadn’t been unfairly treated, threatened with suspension and harassed? Why would they do that?

The man looked distinctly uncomfortable. He’d been advised by the Deputy Head that Mr. ... had been putting pressure on staff to sign. He himself had known of the petition and had in no way acted to stop it. That’s all he could say. He’d never treated him unfairly. His only concern had been to protect the name and reputation of the school.

“So you criticize and condemn one of your teachers who writes a letter to the local paper attacking a fascist organization for handing out leaflets and recruiting outside your school,” the solicitor continued. The Head was ready with his answer. “In no way would I do that. As an individual he was entirely free to make whatever criticism he chose but as a member of my staff, writing on behalf of the school was an entirely different matter. Mr. ... added the name of the school under his own, making it seem as though he was writing on behalf of everyone without first having gained prior permission. It was this that I sought to point out. A difference which he refused to accept.”

Again, he sounded entirely reasonable. Entirely convincing. Only I knew the difference.

The solicitor turned elsewhere, to the harassment. Wasn’t it true that in the last year both he and the Deputy Head had between them summoned Mr. ... out of the Staff Room on countless occasions in a very public manner to criticize his teaching, warn him about minor or nonexistent infractions and repeatedly suggest that it would be in his best interest if he were to leave? These summonses and the pressure placed on Mr. ... had been of such frequency that they’d had the effect of causing him to become ill. He was aware, no doubt, that he’d begun attending hospital. The medical report which he now wished to offer in evidence showed his client to have experienced heart problems exactly from the time this harassment began. What did he have to say about this and the effect it had had on his health?

The Headmaster remained impassive. His face showing concern. He denied absolutely that he had put any pressure on me at any time to resign. He was aware I had been unwell but maintained categorically that meetings between us, or between me and the Deputy Head had always been part of normal school routine. Only to discuss issues pertaining to school business and my work. Both he and the Deputy Head had many such meetings with all staff of whatever level on a regular basis. There was nothing untoward about them.  On the contrary, they were part of the process of learning about the concerns of staff at the school. Keeping his finger on the pulse of things as it were. To this end such meetings and discussions were invaluable for all concerned.    

“But you made calling him out of the Staff Room a regular thing did you not?” the solicitor persisted. “At least three times a week if I understand rightly.”

The man seemed chagrined. Was it really that much? He hadn’t kept count but thought it unlikely. It had seemed to him and the Deputy Head, however, that Mr. ... was not entirely amenable to discussing issues arising out of his work, particularly with the latter who was currently the Acting Head of his Department. As he understood it, Mr. ... believed that his qualifications gave him superior knowledge of the subject and was therefore not inclined to listen to advice.

“That’s completely untrue,” I blurted out. Hardly able to contain myself over the lie. Another critical look from the Chairman. Both at me and the Union solicitor.

“If Mr. ... had opinions on the subject matter,” the solicitor pointed out, “then as you have said, you would have been keen to discuss them. This is not at issue. What is at issue is your suggestion that Mr. ... was intellectually arrogant and on behalf of my client, I have to say that I find such an aspersion offensive.”

The Headmaster acknowledged. This had never been his intention. Both he and his Deputy were concerned only with the interests of the pupils and fostering good working relations between them and the staff. He had always hoped that Mr. ... would appreciate this.

“So why do you think he took the decision of refusing to meet with you unless in the presence of the Union representative, knowing where his action might lead? By any interpretation this was a serious and desperate measure.”

The man looked perplexed. He just didn’t know. He’d tried to understand. Had wanted to talk to him about his refusal but had been unable to do so. In the end he’d been given no choice but to discuss the matter with the Chairman of Governors. A meeting had been arranged to which Mr. ... had been invited in the hope that the situation could be resolved. This he’d refused to attend.

“You discussed the meeting with the Union representative did you not?” the solicitor asked sharply. The Head nodded. That was so. “In the course of your discussion the representative informed you that Mr. ... would be glad to attend such a meeting but could not do so on the date in question because it was the Jewish Sabbath. Can you confirm this?” The Head again nodded. “Was it not the case that the representative asked that the date for the meeting be put back in order to allow him to attend?” Again the Head concurred. Such a request had been made and conveyed by him to the Chairman of Governors. “The date wasn’t put back, was it?” the solicitor said sharply. The reply came as though carefully rehearsed. “Given the urgency of the situation and the difficulty of assembling all the Governors together at any one time the Chairman took the decision that it was best to press ahead with the meeting. He had hoped that Mr. ... would set aside his objections on this one occasion in order to achieve an amicable resolution of the situation.”

The solicitor pressed on unruffled. “Was it so urgent that it couldn’t be put back just a few working days? Would that not have been reasonable given Mr. ...’s religious concerns and your own keenness to discuss the matter with him?”

The Head came back just as unruffled. “Arranging another date for the meeting, I was told, would not have been easy. Certainly longer that a few days given the need to get everyone together. Given the various commitments of the Governors it might have been weeks. Under the circumstances it was deemed impractical to make the change.”

My solicitor wouldn’t let go. “If this meeting was called simply to discuss your relationship with Mr. ... as you say, why the need to call a meeting of the Governors at which all would be present? Why not simply discuss the matter between yourselves in the presence of the Chairman of Governors and the Union representative?”

Here the Church solicitor intervened. It was his understanding that the matter was of sufficient seriousness to warrant a full meeting of the Governors. He had been assured of this by the Chairman himself.

Just at this point my eye caught sight of the man at the center of the panel, the Chairman of the Tribunal. Was it my imagination or had he nodded his head to agree?

The cross examination was over. Now it was our turn. My solicitor went through the harassment chapter and verse. Nothing about any suspension though. Then came the petition submitted in evidence. One for each member of the panel. The lady representing ‘employers’ read through it quickly. The ‘employees’ man, who looked like something off a Soviet Politbureau, only a little less so. As for the Chairman, he picked it up delicately between two fingers like it was something nasty, glanced at it over his half specs then placed it on top of a little pile of papers. Petition over!

Yes, the solicitor went on, the Head had addressed Mr. ... as ‘boy’ and ‘laddie’ and threatened to suspend him because he’d written to a local paper attacking an extremist organization that was disseminating racist literature outside the school.

The tribunal panel took it all in stony faced. I really didn’t think they were impressed by my ‘heroics’ at all. My case outlined in ten minutes I rose to give evidence, relating how the current Head had suggested to me that I resign my post at the school after the incident then mentioning the many similar requests I’d had from the previous Headmaster. These all began, I said, raising my voice, from a time early on when I’d complained about remarks made at a school assembly which I’d regarded as anti-Semitic. Remarks such as the Jews who’d murdered Jesus and the Jews who’d killed Christ. I’d complained about these to the Head at the time who was surprised when I’d done so and been shocked when I’d told him I was Jewish. It was then that he’d suggested for the first time that I should leave the school.

An immediate intervention from the Chairman of the panel. “Had you informed the Headmaster of your religion when you attended your interview?” I replied that I hadn’t. The Headmaster never asked me what religion I was and I hadn’t thought it important. “Just another question if I may,” the Chairman continued. “Were there any other teachers at the school who wrote to the papers or joined with you in complaining about the leafleting at the school?” I said that there weren’t and he thanked me for clarifying the issue. My solicitor,  I noted, didn’t look happy. Those were questions that the Church solicitor might have asked!

Yes, I continued in full flow, I’d been asked to leave because I complained about the assembly, then suspended from duty in a disgraceful manner on a trumped up charge, never being allowed to see the letter of complaint from the parent which might never have existed in the first place, had my free periods and work breaks taken from me on a regular basis, found my subject knowledge endlessly challenged and criticized along with my teaching, had my Probation failed and been regularly belittled and demeaned in front of my colleagues. In the end it was all too much. Too hard to take. I’d become increasingly ill under the endless insults, criticism and pressure that became even more acute after the Department of Education had extended my probation period. I seemed to be everything these people wanted to get rid of – god knows, they’d said to me enough times that I should leave… “And I was a Jew to boot,” I went on.

It came like a murmur from directly in front. Again I saw the man’s face. “A Jew to boot,” I heard the Chairman mutter, his intonation heavy with sarcasm, his face twisted and sour. Then it struck me like thunder. I’D GIVEN THE PHRASE ONE MEANING. HE’D GIVEN IT QUITE ANOTHER.

I felt trapped in a moment of time. Everything slowed down and me standing there looking at him. And inside that moment I instinctively knew that I’d lost. Knew it as surely as I ever knew anything. From then on I continued with my submission like I was in a dream. Glad I had such a good working relationship with my colleagues… Happy that I had such a great relationship with most of the kids… How much I’d enjoyed the work… Pleased that the Department of Education, through the reports of the Government Inspectors, had extended my probation in the face of great opposition… I said it all without remembering too much. Same as I didn’t remember too much about the cross examination. There were hard and difficult questions, that much I know, and I defended myself coolly. I remember my concern to come across as a straightforward person who despite having been put under such pressure, had tried his best all the way through to do a good job at the school. Done his best for his pupils both with teaching and preparing them for their exams. Done his best to be a good colleague. Done his best to cope and move forward. That was the nub of it really. The Church solicitor making me sound unreasonable and me answering calmly and quietly and appearing the opposite.

And what was it all for, I remember thinking, when I’d already lost?

What I recall more distinctly than anything were the comments made by my former pupil. My only witness. He’d passed all his exams and left the school during the summer. It was more of a testimonial really. Him standing there. Speaking on my behalf with the Head sitting there listening. Not afraid to do what he did. He’d agreed to attend the hearing to put forward his views on Mr. ... during the time he was in his Sociology ‘A’ level class.

Knowledge of his subject extensive to say the least. He always showed to me and other members of the class great keenness to pass this knowledge on to us. He constantly offered his services at both lunchtime and after school for anyone interested wishing to discuss any aspect of our course work. Some of what he taught did require a critical look at long held ideas which some of us found discomforting but it had the effect of making us think. From a personal point of view I found his willingness to put himself out – particularly at exam time – for our benefit, invaluable in gaining my ‘A’ level in that subject. Outside the classroom he was often to be seen mixing with students in the Sixth Form Suite. Whenever I had contact with him which was quite frequent, I always found him most amiable. He treated pupils with respect and for the majority who had contact with him, to my knowledge, this respect was returned. I can only speak of Mr. ... from my own personal experience but as a teacher I found him to be of a very high standard both in his knowledge of the subject and in his methods of putting this across. Socially he seemed to mix well with my fellow students and was well liked by many of us.

I remember him saying these things because he read them from the letter he’d sent to the Union solicitor which I still have in my possession. At the Tribunal he spoke quietly, earnestly I felt, before sitting down. As for the rest it was all quickly over. No questions from the Church solicitor and only one from my own. Had he been surprised when he’d heard that Mr. ... had been dismissed from the school?

“Everyone I knew at the school that I’ve talked to told me they’re shocked,” came the simple reply.

That was it. A few remarks from the Chairman. None of the panel except he had asked me any questions. There was nothing that they’d wanted made clear. The Chairman thanked everybody and suddenly it was over. The Head and the Church solicitor in a huddle for a few moments then they just disappeared. He’d never looked at me once throughout but I’d looked at him. I’d have four to six weeks to wait my solicitor advised. I remember thanking my former pupil. Asking him what he was doing. He told me he was working on a building site to earn money to travel and I remember thinking what a great fellow he was, this vicar’s son. Then it all faded. We all went our separate ways.

Early January an envelope came through the door. Industrial Tribunal… See how quick those people could be! I knew before I opened it up. It wasn’t long. Just three or four lines. What was there to say really? My eyes took in the word ‘regret’. End of story. Your appeal for unfair dismissal not upheld.

That was it then. Dismissed. Out of the school. Out of teaching forever. I should have felt angry after all that they’d done but I didn’t. I could only think of the kids. Never mind all the harassment and hell. I knew that I’d miss them. All the exchanges of knowledge. All the discussion and argument, and in the end all the laughs. The teaching experience was humanizing. It was that that they’d taken away.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO     UNEMPLOYED MAN

My last salary cheque came in December. My dismissal upheld the following month. With Louise back at university all we had coming in was her grant and money from a couple of lodgers. That to pay the mortgage, the rent in Bath, the bills for both places and not least our food. We sat down and did some serious talking. Getting another teaching job in the area was out of the question. Having been sacked from my last I didn’t have a prayer with the Local Education Authority, no matter who had control of the council. However I tried. Met the Labour spokesman. We’d talked before so he knew what was what.

So their decision was upheld by the Employment Tribunal was it? Sorry, then he didn’t see how he could help. “It’s the officials you should be talking to. They make all the decisions not me,” was his cop out. He was only a councillor!

It gave us a laugh. I really shouldn’t have bothered. It was always the same with these people. Cheap talk then principles shoved in the dustbin. January and February I wrote applications for all kinds of teaching posts in London and Bristol. The question on the form always the problem. Please give your last job as a reference. There was no getting around it. Some never wrote back and with the rest it was always so sorry. Middle of March I went back to temping in commerce. Two weeks here, three weeks there. No sick pay or holidays. Often nothing guaranteed. One drudge job after another. I just switched off and did what I had to do. Writing my academic papers when I got home and painting my canvases weekends. The work at least put food in our mouths and helped pay some bills.

I never went back to the school. Never saw any of my old teaching colleagues and pupils again. Their phone calls dried up after a time. They had their jobs and I was out in the cold. Time went by but we hung on by the skin of our teeth. To our great joy Louise got through her first year exams and was working again during the summer. We were once again able to pay off our debts. Even save a little. Soon I’d published my tenth academic paper. I was an acknowledged expert in my field but still couldn’t find a job teaching at a college or university. My Masters degree wasn’t enough. Neither were the great academic references I had. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. At Oxford and Cambridge handing out jobs was all done through friends and unfortunately I’d never done the brown nosing required. That kind of thing wasn’t my style so I did menial clerical work over the next couple of years but was never really employed. Nothing I could ever say that I liked.

Two lean years. So many moments in so many offices that I was often quite overcome by sadness at times. It was always when I thought of the school and how I’d been treated. How I’d been so easily spat out by the system. I still had the letter from the Department of Education. Despite the decision of the Industrial Tribunal, they still considered me fit for employment as a teacher and told me I was free to seek a teaching post. The decision by the Secretary of State, the letter said,

“had been taken on evidence concerning your practical teaching ability and the potential of your succeeding in a different atmosphere from that obtaining at the school.”

It had been copied to the Local Education Authority but it meant nothing to them. Four months later Louise finished her degree. We were free! We could at last move forward together. Change the course of our lives. Do something big.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE     GETTING A LIFE

It’s too often the case that stories like this end with Jews going down to defeat. Taking their licks and walking away with their hurts. Dead at heart and feeling like nothing. Well not this time. The pain had to stop, just like it has to stop for the whole of our people. I was coming back up. 

My wife graduated in July but there was no chance of her finding suitable work. It was the Summer of ‘81 and the country was lurching into economic depression. The mining houses were all cutting back and companies laying off people all over the place. The best we could hope was a continuation of temporary work to keep us afloat. For two highly qualified people it was no way to live. We used to meet during lunch breaks. Walk up the Strand to Trafalgar Square and stroll down the Mall to the big house right at the end. Then came the day we never made it. Someone in the Strand stopped to ask us directions and we fell to talking. He was from Rhodesia and told us the country had just become independent Zimbabwe. The whites were all leaving and there was a desperate shortage of teachers. Furthermore the mining industry out there was big.

We looked at one another in a daze. Rhodesia? Zimbabwe? It was somewhere in South Central Africa and  along the Strand was the High Commission no less. We called there the following day out of plain curiosity. Africa was Africa and we were paying off a mortgage in Essex.

Six weeks later we were flying out of Heathrow at night, destination Harare! From there on to Bulawayo. The name sounded magic. You know what I mean. Spears, shields and elephants roaming wild in the bush. Having duly noted our degrees, my teaching experience and our academic references, the Councilor for Education had put it like this. “We need qualified teachers like you. On what you’ll be earning together you’ll be living like kings,” he said beaming. We could even send back a large part of our earnings. Enough to pay off our mortgage and still live in style.

We made an instant decision. It sounded like one hell of an adventure. No need to ask any questions. We’d be put up in a hotel till we found accommodation. That said we were definitely in!

We left the house with our lodgers still resident. A trusted friend would look after it for us. Collect the rent and pay the bills for both places on the money we’d be sending back. The flat in Bath was locked up. My mother had the keys and would visit monthly to check it all out.

Our last afternoon in Essex came and went. Cheese, wine and trepidation. Only our daughter was madly excited. We were going on one big adventure. Twelve hours later the plane touched down in the African  sun and we began a new life.

A month later we were renting a fine house. Large garden at the front full of tropical fruit trees and half an acre at the rear with a clear blue water swimming pool and a patio big enough to barbecue an ox. And with it came two servants. Two quid a week each and our white neighbours already complaining. We were setting a bad example, over-paying them like that!

Within a year I’d been promoted to Senior Master and my wife recruited to manage the Geology Department of a large mine on double her former salary. We were indeed living like kings and sending home money. Best rump steak at twenty pence a pound, vegetables and fruit next to nothing and long holidays together after we’d bought a car. The magnificent Victoria Falls along with game parks full of lion, buffalo, zebra and elephant for starters. It was only the beginning. Her company had a large private school that needed a new Headmaster. Might I be interested?

It took me time to make a decision. I couldn’t leave Government service for another six months. That was the contract I’d signed. Senior company people saw no problem. They’d buy it out. No, I didn’t want it that way. I was enjoying the work where I was. However, if they held the job open for another six months I might reconsider. They held it open and eighteen months after arriving I was Headmaster of a large private school. Free house and servants, long holidays and serious money, far away from Industrial Tribunals and endless harassment at a lousy Church school in Essex. A job for as long as I wanted without worry, anxiety or fear.

It wasn’t only the money. I wasn’t a dog any more. We were enjoying wonderful adventures. Holidays in wilderness areas and mountain jungles, meeting many interesting people and buying things for our homes back in England. Over the next three years we travelled all over South Africa. Magical names and magical places. Johannesburg and Bloemfontein, Ladysmith, Port Elizabeth and Cape Town. From Table Mountain to Kimberley, Mafeking and Pretoria. Famous Boer War battle sites and sieges. We climbed Spion Kop, the great hill from where the Kop end at Liverpool FC stadium gets its name, and stood at Rorke’s Drift waiting for the coming of the Zulus!

Our new lives were only just starting. In time we moved south. I had a senior post at one of the universities while my wife was running a minerals exploration base just a few hours away. A flat in Pretoria and free farmhouse accommodation in countryside full of forests and lakes. Great walking with high shining skies that seemed to run on forever. Meanwhile we had a new friend. Max the Cat who I’d rescued from a fire when he was a kitten. Max was really more than a friend. He was loved. I’d never liked cats but now it was different. We’d kind of raised him. Were the only real family he knew.

Eight wonderful years in Africa and two long holidays back home in between. The last one, six weeks at Christmas, turned out to be tough. Three weeks in Bath and the same at our house close to London. Seeing family, going to museums and art galleries. Doing London things. Suddenly it was over and we were saying goodbye. Back to the sunshine and all the good living. Somehow getting on the plane at Heathrow seemed hard. Far harder than it should have been. We all felt depressed and that night high in the sky we suddenly knew. Despite the jobs and the money, the wonderful life style and respect that went with it, it wasn’t enough. We’d had our fill of all that and needed a change. Crazy as it seemed on that plane we were homesick for England, the place where we’d been treated like shit. We wouldn’t have jobs if we returned and not much chance of finding them either but that wasn’t positive thinking. I’d been a Headmaster and university academic. I could almost write my own reference. It was then that I realized something else. Teaching was no longer for me! I’d had my fill of it. I had to move on and do something else.

During my travels in Africa I’d acquired many curios and ornaments. The latter mainly intended as gifts. Once off the plane and in the months ahead we began thinking. These items were inexpensive and typically African. Some of them very ‘New Age’. When we returned why not set up a business? Import them in quantity and sell them to shops? We began talking it over, buying a wide variety of samples.

Meantime my wife experienced a major change of job scene. Exploring for gold in the middle of nowhere hundreds of miles away. No chance of seeing us weeks on end. It helped us make up our minds. Another six months and we’d be on our way home. Right now though I was at a loose end. Alone in the flat with our daughter at boarding school, I began a new kind of career. Any spare time I had after lecturing I began writing. Science fiction short stories to start. The first batch I wrote I filled with Jewish characters and themes, portrayed with sympathy and affection. Jews had only too often been portrayed badly in literature and besides, no science fiction that I’d ever read had Jewish characters so mine would be different! Soon I’d sold three to the Jewish Times, South Africa’s leading Jewish newspaper for their Festival Supplements. They published them in colour and paid me well for my work. That made me an author!

My girls were delighted. I should think about writing a novel. After all, my teaching only took up three days a week. Their suggestion was good. Along with working out plans for a business I urgently got down to the task. Time ran by quickly. Soon we’d bought everything we needed and having both left our jobs took a final two week vacation seeing the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe for the last time, visiting game parks and saying goodbye to old friends. Back in South Africa, with our car and furniture sold, we all left in a cab for Johannesburg airport. As for Max the Cat, he’d be flying out later, British Airways first class.

As the plane took off we joined hands. We were together as always. Strong in heart and spirit and heading for a new life all over again. Twelve hours later we touched down in cold blinding rain. Back where we started but not quite. I hadn’t just been booted out of a Church School after taking a whipping and we weren’t down on our uppers. We had money and a world of experience. Healed by eight years in the sun and many adventures. We were going forward again. Onwards and up.

After a month settling back into small scale Great Britain we began visiting shops and stores. We had some initial success but not enough for our liking. Most department store buyers spoke only to Royalty or God and those that didn’t wanted holidays in the Caribbean or endless wining and dining. One thing was clear. Wherever we went people liked our stuff. Soon we were getting ideas. If we couldn’t sell it in quantity to stores without incurring the overheads then why not direct to the public? London street markets seemed like the thing. We’d become market traders. At least it was different!

We started small. Began importing from Africa after early trading looked promising. The first year was a learning experience but good all the same. The following two years were excellent. Soon we had six markets, were manufacturing jewellery through out-sourcing and became regulars at all the big festivals. It was a hard life. Involved much travelling and talking. All the difficulties of employing people to work on our stalls. Our commercial and business dealings were straight and above board. Only one fly in the ointment. We were running a trading business just to make money but weren’t business people at heart. We’d become market traders partly by accident, partly design, and though it all went stunningly well for the next seven years the money on its own wasn’t enough.

My wife went back to university, obtained her doctorate financed by savings, and soon got a great job working for a mining house. In time she set up her own consultancy business which became a success through her own hard work and ability. It’s something she really enjoys. As for me I began writing novels. Been told I write well but just need a break. I’ve certainly enjoyed the experience immensely and found writing an endless pleasure and thrill. 

That’s how it is, but that’s only for now. Who knows what we’ll be doing in a couple of years? The world’s a big place. Keeping on doing things, different things, that’s the real trick to it all! Not staying in the same place year after year doing the same stuff over and over. If I hadn’t changed my name who knows where I might have wound up. I might have spent my whole life as a teacher. There’d have been no mountain jungles, no days on end out on horseback, no cat pulled out of a fire who became a good friend. There aren’t any big wide skies over tight little Essex. With any luck I’d have made Deputy Headmaster by now!

No thanks. I wasn’t born to die such a mean death. Going round and round till I wound up with half of nothing. Writing these lines I’d like to think we’ve only just started living. There are so many more things to do and see. Twice now we’ve travelled round India and had an amazing escape in the Tsunami. Life’s not about where you end up. It’s about what you do on the journey.