Half the battle

 

 

This is a hand-out for a staff meeting I attended years ago. It was just before the computer age, but not before the type-writer age, and the headteacher wrote it with the best intentions.

I saved it because it made me laugh so much at the time, and still does. It makes me feel oddly happy. It seems wonderfully funny to me. Not in a cruel way at all. The man behind the pen was an absolute inspiration to me, and a great mentor. He was someone who cared passionately about providing the best education possible for all children, regardless of need.

One day when he was a young teacher he got up early to make his way to school in impossibly thick snow. The roads were not clear, and no buses were running. He walked the ten miles to school, only to be reprimanded for being late, and was sent home as soon as he arrived.

He was tireless, and put huge energy and time into out-of-school activities for kids. I would have walked off a cliff for him, and he gave me opportunities that changed my career.

One of his talents (clearly not presentation !) was gathering together a staff who were diverse, smart, awkward, achieving, passionate, hard-to-handle, and united in wanting to do their unceasing best for children. He fostered talent wherever and whatever it was, both in teachers and in children. There was a vast range of teaching styles in the school, and children were carefully routed through so that they experienced a good mix of them.

The standards the children achieved were eye-wateringly high, and parental support was similarly stratospheric.

At his funeral, the great barn of a crematorium had nowhere to sit, not even on the floor. Every available space was taken. Friends, colleagues, ex-pupils, and family crammed the aisles. Those who could not squeeze in remained outside, silently striving to hear the service. It was love, and not mere respect.

I realise now that the wonky staff meeting notes make me feel happy as they remind me so warmly of a man who inspired love in so many.