OPINION:A retired Irish-born teacher whose career was in England suggests teachers here protest a little too much . . ., writes Pat Courtney
NESTLING IN the foothills of the Blackstairs Mountains, I recently settled to retire from many years as a science teacher in England. It is a far cry from leafy Surrey, yet it has its own haunting beauty.
I have taught in many different schools, but the last one at the chalkface is always the most memorable. I lived in Epsom Downs, home of the Derby racecourse.
My last school had 1,700 pupils, boys and girls. Class sizes varied but it was not unusual to have 33 or more pupils in a class. Staff were on duty during morning break, lunch and after school. Staff meetings were held after school. There were at least seven parent evenings during the academic year, normally from 6.30 to 9.30pm. There was no "late start" on the day after these parent evenings. Absent staff were covered mostly by colleagues. There were very few "free periods".
I have been listening of late to the complaints of teachers here in Ireland. Let me describe what a typical teaching day was like for me in England. I left home for work around 6.45am. My lateness or otherwise depended on the M25 traffic. I needed to be in school by 7.30am. Not surprisingly, the staff car park was almost full when I got there.
I made my way to the staffroom to enjoy that cup of coffee so loved by teachers. This was a mixed comprehensive and there were about 80 members of staff, with a substantial number of special needs teachers. It was a hive of activity in those precious moments before the day began.
The staffroom filled very quickly in anticipation of the "cover notice". Although some agency teaching staff were employed, most of the cover was done by permanent colleagues in the school. I might be listed to cover history for a Year 2 class: my free period before lunch gone. Never mind, the system was fair, and I knew that the following week I would have a free.
By this time, all teachers, support staff and technicians were in the staffroom. There was a staff briefing which was very democratic. Problems were raised, guidance was given and all were prepared for the day ahead. The head wished us well and off we went to our respective posts.
Monday was the most difficult day of all. I had a truculent Year 4 class for science. There were no desks in this school. There were tables that could be changed around in an instant to enable group work.
I needed to have a bank of facts ready; Premier League results from the weekend, the X-factor, Top of the Pops and anything else that made the young tick. Many of my pupils came from troubled backgrounds, yet they had a wonderful sense of humour.
They so wanted to know me as a person, as I wanted to know them as individuals with their ideas, their feelings, their anxieties and their pain. They knew I was Irish, and so many were proud of their own Irish ancestry. "My auntie is from Galway," they might say, not sure where Galway was but knowing they now had a link with their teacher.
The curriculum could wait for a few minutes as they badgered me for my views on Madonna, Chelsea's late equaliser and how "Miss" treated them so badly in the last lesson. Eventually they settled down. They worked in groups, the strong helping the weak.
Interaction was mutual. There were no long passages to copy from the whiteboard. There were laughs, funny incidents, and yet an aura of work and enjoyment. I never stood behind a dais or desk. I mingled, listened and learned.
This school took on special needs in a serious way. Staffroom notices kept us informed of all special needs. In many of my classes, there were special needs pupils. I was never left alone. Liaison would take place between me and the special needs teacher before class. They did a marvellous job.
A hand went up.
"Sir, can I go to the toilet?"
From years of experience, I knew this was either genuine or an excuse to use their mobile phone.
My reply confused them. "I don't know."
The request was repeated over and over again. My reply was the same. In this moment of confusion, I realised that their gyrations or lack of were genuine or otherwise. It suddenly dawned on them that perhaps "May I go to the toilet?" may have been a better request.
This school had regular staff and departmental meetings. These always took place from 4pm to 5.30pm. There were times when there was an on-the-spot meeting. They could last for two hours.
Over the academic year there were at least seven parent evenings. No one complained.
It was the time of year when teacher and parents could meet with the pupil to discuss their progress or otherwise. The pupil sat with the parent or guardian.
"Tracey" in Year 3 was often described in colourful language in the staffroom and now here she was in front of me with her parents.
"Tracey is underachieving," was the most common comment made in the hall that night. Yet Tracey had other home problems and special needs personnel followed up on those. This is how we worked. Each pupil was valued.
Lunch time was short and even shorter if you were called on by a knock at the staffroom door. There was no notice to say "stay away". There was never a time when staff and pupils were separated. So many club activities took place during lunchtime.
Staff were everywhere during this time, checking potential bullying, harassment and any form of misbehaviour. With the exception of sixth formers, pupils were not allowed to leave the premises during lunch hour.
The key to this school's success, albeit with many problems, was team spirit and a trust from administration. There was no dictatorship or oligarchy to say what should, or should not, be done.
We worked as a team, and so many of us worked beyond the required hours. We cared for all our pupils.
Salaries were less than those of our counterparts in Ireland. Our summer holidays began in the last week of July. Before one could chill out, the new term was upon us.
I look back on those halcyon days and wonder just how I did it. I guess I loved them all, warts and all. I taught them more than a syllabus. In turn, I listened and they taught me.
Staff at my school did not complain. We worked as a team and many of us worked beyond our allocated hours. Now, as I relax in the Blackstairs, I listen to what teachers here are saying as I read the papers.
Irish teachers have had it so good for years. Now that the pinch has come, will they put their pupils first or protect their own selfish interests?