Greetings Noble Sir

Nigel Flaxton

Description

Nigel Flaxton enjoyed a satisfying career in education covering the second half of the 20th century, This is an account of some of his experiences from old-fashioned monastic seclusion in training college just after the Second World War to three headships of new schools, the last being an upper school of over 900 students. Written with gentle humour, often at his own expense, he also comments on the very considerable changes in education in a broad sense during that period. He includes nearly two years in the RAF, to which he was frustratingly called up shortly after he qualified and his unprecedented promotion to Sergeant after one year. .Following what he expected was retirement he continued with government initiatives encouraging greater use of modern technology in schools, then further part-time support to schools using timetable software. This is not just a book for professionals. It will be of interest to anyone who enjoys reading other people's personal memoirs, especially someone with an obvious sense of humour.

Sujets

• Education

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 11 mai 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783334704
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
GREETINGS, NOBLE SIR
by
Nigel Flaxton



Publisher Information
Greetings, Noble Sir
First published in 2013
This edition published in 2015 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Nigel Flaxton to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2013, 2015 Nigel Flaxton
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.



Foreword
I was fortunate to be born rather late in the twenties and so missed call-up for the Second World War by just one year. When I did register I found that if I wanted to train for teaching I had to apply for deferment, which I did. Call up followed after the two year course, delaying my entry into a permanent post by almost another two years. I finally gave up work in 2006 so I was involved with education in various roles for the entire second half of the twentieth century.
This is an account of some of my experiences with comments upon the considerable changes I saw in teaching and learning over that period. I hope, also, that it conveys something of the enjoyment I experienced during a very satisfying career. To avoid embarrassment, usually my own, I have changed all relevant names. I apologise unreservedly if, in so doing, I have inadvertently selected the name of someone else who was not part of my experience.
NF



Chapter 1
‘GREETINGS, NOBLE SIR!’
The improbable salutation didn’t sound particularly pompous because it was chanted in chorus by forty-six lively ten year olds. What made it so unlikely and added so much to my confusion was that it was directed at me, only seven years their senior. To make matters worse they leapt to their feet to bestow it and embellished it with a kind of salute.
This was the first time I had looked at a class from the front of the room since becoming a student teacher all of three weeks previously. But as I well knew I should certainly not have been at the front; I should have been seated with the other students and a tutor at the back, in safe anonymity.
The class teacher was annoyed, and glared. He was taking a demonstration lesson for our group and was nicely into his stride when my late intrusion disrupted his flow. The tutor turned in my direction from his seat and I flashed what I hoped was an apologetic glance, then nearly collapsed on the spot. He was no ordinary tutor - he was St Andrew’s Training College’s Vice-Principal. I had really put my foot in it!
As I looked round desperately for a seat an unnerving silence settled upon the class and I felt the steam of embarrassment envelop me. Dimly, through hot clouds of confusion, I could see the children’s faces wearing that expectant look characteristic of a group watching from comfortable safety the squirms of an individual in trouble.
I had been stupid enough to be late leaving the college. I knew the school we were to visit was not far and, when I lost sight of other students ahead, thought I knew the way. I took a wrong turning and walked too far. When I back-tracked to St Barnabas Roman Catholic Junior School I was greeted by an empty playground and silent buildings. My heart sank sickeningly.
I hurried through the large green iron gates flanked at the pavement’s edge by the safety crush barrier. As I crossed the playground the metal tips on the heels of my shoes drummed the message of my tardiness loudly and insistently. But the large windows in the red brick walls, divided into many small panes, were set high and mercifully no faces of the inmates could be turned towards me. Thankfully I spotted a pair of solid wooden doors, also painted green. I pushed open one of these, did the same with the heavy brown swing doors immediately inside, which closed with a noisy thump behind me, and found myself at the end of a long empty corridor.
Classrooms were ranged on either side but the doors were firmly closed. I tried peering through the panes of glass in one or two but the view was obscured by notices or pictures strategically placed to discourage unwanted Peeping Toms like me. Once or twice I did gain a glimpse of a class but the children were hard at work and I couldn’t bring myself to disturb the peace by entering and confessing my foolishness to complete strangers. Finally I turned a corner at the end of the corridor and in the distance saw a very tall man walking stealthily with head bent forward. He didn’t see me immediately and I watched him pause by a classroom door. He seemed to be listening and it suddenly dawned on me that he was the headmaster and was checking for evidence of unruly noise. I considered that singularly unnecessary for, as I knew very well, the place was as quiet as a tomb. He looked up as I walked hesitatingly towards him.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ I began, then noticing his clerical collar, fumbled for the correct address. I had absolutely no experience of Catholic churches or schools... ‘er, Reverend Father...’ That came from whence I knew not, but it sounded right.
‘Oh, good afternoon, young man. I had no idea you were there,’ he replied in a pleasant but firm voice with a hint of Irish. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’m looking for a group of students,’ I ventured nervously. ‘That is, I should be with a group that were due here this afternoon.’
‘Oh dear,’ he said, rather heavily, ‘you are late, aren’t you? They came some time ago. They’re with your tutor in Mr McCormick’s classroom. Come on, I’ll take you there.’
‘Oh, thank you so much,’ I gasped, relieved the situation was being retrieved at last. I dropped into step with him as he strode down the corridor and across the hall. As we walked I explained why I was late.
‘I don’t like having lessons interrupted,’ he answered, ‘and normally you would have to wait until the end. However, as this is your first visit, I’ll let you go in.’
My heart sank again. Obviously being late here was a particularly odious crime. I knew already the college’s view of such matters because in his first lecture the Vice-Principal had impressed the fact upon us in no uncertain terms.
‘Students must maintain the very good name of the college by being punctual, courteous and industrious at all times when visiting or working in schools.’
As he addressed us in the old lecture room, resplendent in both cap and gown as a deliberately impressive introduction, we decided it would never do to cross this imposing authoritarian figure. Little did I realise that I was about to be ushered into his presence, in front of a class with its teacher and a group of students, extremely late - and by the school’s headmaster of all people! It was to be a singularly inauspicious beginning to my teaching career.
But I wasn’t actually ushered in. No doubt knowing what was about to happen and feeling it would teach me an appropriate lesson, the head stopped short of the door.
‘That’s the room. I’ll leave you to go in and make your apologies. But do try to be on time next week now you know how to find us.’
‘Thank you very much, Reverend Father, I certainly will,’ I said, laying it on slightly but no less fervently, then moved to open the door.
The eruption of the class turned the beginning from merely inauspicious to positively ghastly. In the event, Greetings, Noble, and Sir were utterly inappropriate in their attribution to me.
Of course, it was simply the school’s method of extending courtesy to a visitor. However, it was accorded to each and every person who went into any classroom - all men were Noble Sirs and all women Gracious Ladies whether they were teachers, caretakers, cleaners, or - very rarely -- parents. The exceptions were the headmaster and the headmistress of the attached infants’ school. These were accorded ‘Greetings and blessings Reverend Father/Mother’. The children were blessed en bloc in reply, but no doubt an individual then hauled out of the room to account or atone for a misdemeanour felt decidedly unblessed.
The classes were large and full of lively personalities bred in the old industrial area surrounding the school. Obviously they enjoyed the chance of enlivening a lesson occasionally by leaping to their feet and chanting their mandatory greeting. No wonder the head let me enter the room on my own. Later, in a more reflective frame of mind, I realised the custom enshrined not only courtesy but also an effective deterrent to classroom interruptions.
The other students were taken aback as well. However, ensconced as they were on chairs around the sides and rear of the room they soon recovered their composure and with forty-five members of the class enjoyed the completion of my discomfiture when I realised there was no chair waiting for me. But there were two vacant places in the rows of double desks containing the children. One was right at the front and consequently unthinkable but the other, mercifully, was near the back well away from where Major Darnley, the Vice-Principal, was sitting.
Quickly, before anyone could be sent on the errand of fetching a chair from another room, I stammered an apology to Mr McCormick at the blackboard and bolted for the back. The forty-sixth member of the class was the girl sitting in the other half of the desk I had spotted, who became highly embarrassed as I attempted the difficult task of fitting my lanky frame into it. I slid on to the wooden sea