I’m trying hard to keep my eyes open during a tedious Heads’ meeting. I blame the too weak coffee. The discussion about membership of the SLIG (or is SLAG?) Group doesn’t engage me. I can see why students start to become disruptive in class.
Now I understand why some say they don’t care when I challenge them. They’re telling me the truth. I’ve lost the will to live in half an hour. They have to cope with five hours a day. Do we give a C1 or go straight to a C3 for falling asleep in class?
The unexpected call from my PA is serious. She never rings unless it’s an emergency. I gather my papers and prepare to leave. ‘Got to go back,’ I call to the group as I rush through the door. ‘What’s the hurry? You look as if the school is on fire,’ jokes the Chair. ‘It is!’ I exclaim and run to the car.
We know there’s no smoke without fire, but the scene on my return is all smoke and no fire, thanks to the Fire Brigade’s swift action. However, there are twenty two classrooms out of use and over 600 students sitting in the Sports Hall whilst minutes of precious learning time tick away. It’s impressively orderly- no mere fire drill. This is for real and so everyone rises to the occasion, motivated by the drama of the event.
Senior staff are in total control and teachers are taking their roles seriously. Is this what they mean by distributed leadership? My deputy is making plans for re-rooming but it will involve class sizes of over 400.
The Fire Officer reports that the damage is confined to one female toilet now blackened with soot and the smoke given off by melting plastic fittings. It was deliberate. But the good news is that we can return immediately to the evacuated classrooms.
By the time my mobile rings an hour later, we’re almost back to normal and I’m able to tell the first of three newspapers who want a story how well the Fire Service and the staff and students have responded. The damage is confined and CCTV footage has already identified our suspect. Of course we’ll take appropriate action and, yes, arson is a particularly culpable crime. I can sense the disappointment in the reporter’s voice. Bad news sells more papers and maybe we actually have a good story to tell.
By the time paper number three contacts me at the end of the day, I risk taunting her with the information that the other papers are four hours ahead with their stories. Her false laughter is followed by a request to send a photographer. Not possible I reply, desperately wondering what reason to give. Then I remember that the toilet has been sealed off for the police.
Twenty four hours later with insurance claims lodged and renewal work contracted, we’re beginning the aftermath period when the stories are told and the dramas re-lived. No, I tell worried Year 7s, there were no children trapped in the toilet. Everyone was safe.
As I catch up by phone on the meeting I missed, I hear myself endorsing the Chair’s decision about membership of the Student Learning Assessment Group (so it was SLAG). ‘Great idea,’ I enthuse, whilst really pondering the colour of the new toilet fittings. But as I survey the wreckage and think of all the work that will go into the repair, I decide that there is only one word to describe the daily grind and surprises of life in school. Forget SLAG and SLIG. It’s got to be: SLOG.
Friday, 19 September 2008
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
