Schools
Teaching – the great performing art Christopher Martin applauds the stars and spear-carriers in the classroom Society as a whole lays an almost impossible task on the shoulders of teachers. They are required to perform a miracle every day in their classrooms, demonstrating hour by hour a level of leadership unequalled in any other profession. By the sheer force of their personality, they either win consent or they don’t. A new prep school teacher once noticed an uncharacteristic hush in the chaotic row that was normal in the next door classroom. In it a plaintiff voice could be heard proclaiming “The next boy who talks, I’ll kill!” The pandemonium resumed. Nothing elsewhere prepares children to accept this example. Not on the streets, nor in many homes, nor in the media will they encounter any comparable situation where a single adult has to try to persuade them that their own interests are served best by working with others to achieve ends which initially often seem beyond them or opaque or both. Perhaps more than any other profession, teachers are easily caricatured. Kenneth Tynan set out his views with characteristic pugnacity: In the theatre, there are three kinds of schoolmaster; the breezy young sportsman, the thin lipped sadist and the genial bumbler. Swots are always known as Crump or Pilkington. Such esoteric figures occurred more frequently in the past than is the case today, when greatly improved professionalism characterises teachers as a species. The pick of the TES’s ‘No Comment’ column in 1982 gives a flavour of the then prevailing educational ethos. For instance, here’s the chairman of the Durham education committee: Personally, I agree with the use of the cane, but I don’t like to refer to it as corporal punishment. That makes it sound brutal. Or a London comprehensive Head, quoted in The Times on the use of the cane: We use it mainly for trivial offences such as swearing, petty extortion, smoking, deliberate disobedience, bullying and vandalism. This does sound over the top, rather like ironing your shirt with a steamroller. And who could blame pupils for indulging in all these vices simultaneously when they were patronised by an examination system which could come up with a
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Christopher Martin question such as this in a CSE biology paper: ‘State three things that a living rabbit can do that a toy rabbit cannot do.’ Backed by military discipline, of course, things become easier. Company Sergeant Major Blood of the Coldstream Guards used to say to officer cadets, “When you’ve inspected the men’s feet, you’ve learnt something about leadership.” The subtle relationship between him and his charges was nevertheless significantly less subtle than that between a teacher and a class, being of the “I call you Sir, and you call me Sir. The difference is, you mean it” kind. He reduced this relationship to its raw ingredients when confronting one poor cadet at full volume at a distance of about two inches. “You are the worst example of a ’uman being in the history of the ’uman race – Sir.” Something that all schools purport to provide for their charges is cultural awareness, though a preoccupation with sports results, being comfortingly enveloped in statistics, can obscure this objective. Most school assemblies are aware that not all is going well on the games field when the Head spends an unusual amount of time praising the U14 C team’s plucky draw. If there’s not even that consolation, they may be treated to a discursus on the life lessons they can learn by engaging whole-heartedly in competition. The rules of the Eton Field Game state that a player is offside unless in ‘hot pursuit of the ball’ and the Harrow School song resounds to the energising cry ‘Follow up!’ One thinks of the ‘earnest looking forward’ to be found in the hymn ‘Through the night of doubt and sorrow’, whilst the Eton Boating Song candidly admits that ‘Rugby may be more clever’. However, if one were searching for evidence of the true ethos of a school, one might not turn initially to a study of the school song, a genre seldom cherished for its musical or literary quality. Wykehamists sing mournfully of their longing for home, sweet home, whilst the first two lines of a reputable girls’ school song used to be – though probably no longer are – ‘When Mrs Digby first conceived A school was sorely needed…’ Indeed even the Army lays claim to involvement in the promotion of culture. The story is told of one battalion commander who summoned his Sergeant Major one day to tell him to fall the troops in for a cultural exposition on poetry, starting with Keats. This he did, with the instruction: Right you lot. Get fell in. Today you’re going to ’ave a
Spring 2016
*CCR Vol53 no1 Spring 2016.indd 44
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