Closing time

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

My last day in a primary school, having been utterly convinced 6 1/2 years ago it was the career for me, and quietly petrified for the last 4 that it wasn't.

I didn't once cry today, but tonight I am see-sawing between two emotions: utter joy at the release of tension (it's no exaggeration to say I feel like I can breathe out for the first time in four years), and bleak sadness at the loss of the relationships that made it worthwhile despite the stress. I have taught kids I'd take a bullet for, and I have made some truly wonderful friends among my colleagues.

When I was training, we had some drama coaching off an old boy close to retirement, and he said "I don't really care how much they know. I care whether I'm turning out decent people." The fact that I remember this 6 years on says it all. For me, the children's acquisition of knowledge has always come a poor second to their confidence, their happiness, their willingness to have a go and sometimes make a total tit of yourself in the process. Unfortunately, these are not victories measured by the blinkered automatons who run OFSTED, nor a series of short-sighted and reactionary Secretaries of State for Education*.

Here's to you, kids. In all your noisy, untidy, clumsy, affectionate, hilarious, loveliness.




* I physically can't look at Michael Gove without wanting to throw something at him.

There is nothing more contented than a heap of piglets!

I am cynical about lots of things, but never about pigs.

Just to make it 3 for 3

Friend came round at teatime saying she'd had a nice time at her son's: husband and I simultaneously realised we forgot to feed her cats this morning.

The number of rodent corpses on her carpet indicated they had taken matters into their own hands paws.

Absent-minded (2)

Sitting down for the start of assembly, the Assistant Head says "There's a lot of empty space - are your class in, Mrs Southwold?"

"Oh god! I've left them lined up on the playground!" I cry as I leap up to get them.

Absent-minded

As I waited to turn right onto the A6 this morning, I was struck by the horrible realisation that yesterday I had filled my car with £47 worth of diesel and driven off without paying. Luckily Sainsburys were most understanding when I phoned them from a layby, quiveringly pleading not to be sent to jail.

(Even more luckily, I had parents evening tonight so my husband went and settled up on my behalf.)

From pomegranate seed to cantaloupe

My sister had her 12 week scan at which the baby (which apparently got hiccups during the scan: this whole process is amazing to me) was described as "the size of a small lemon". Why this is deemed easier to visualise than 7cm is beyond me.  I suspect these fruit-based size analogies will continue throughout the pregnancy.

Rather her than me when it gets to squeezing something the size of a melon through an aperture more suited to a conference pear...

Could Do Better

Teachers mourn the halcyon days when a child's school report consisted of little more than "He speaks in a low tone" (travel writer Bill Bryson) or "Tries hard despite his obvious limitations" (my husband, PE, 1983). Nowadays we're forced to produce two closely-typed sides of A4 on each of the little darlings, covering everything from their personal development to exactly how they felt about last Autumn's geography topic on Rocks & Soils. Cut and paste comes in handy here: worth remembering if your daughter Sasha is suddenly referred to as Thomas.

Teachers are only human: for every rosy-cheeked poppet whose memory leaves a smile on your face, a skip in your step and a song in your heart, there's one you're only too happy to wave goodbye as they go off to Big School. Nonetheless, teachers are bound by societal expectations to be relentlessly positive, even about kids who have the intellectual capabilities of kindling, the charisma of Tupperware or the personal hygiene of a stoat (or in one memorable case, all three).

Having carried out extensive research (i.e. gossiping in the staff room) I hereby present the definitive list of school report euphemisms.

“Sara gets on with her work without fuss” - which one is she again?

"Gideon is popular among his peers" - lucky; the adults can't stand him.

"Timmy is a thoughtful, sensitive child" - shame he cries every time someone looks at him.

"Rachel needs frequent reminders to stay on task" -doesn't do a stroke of work unless someone's standing over her, glaring.

"Ryan can struggle to assimilate new concepts" - happy to sit there licking Pritt-stick.

"Rhys initially took time to settle in” - made life an utter misery until Christmas.

"Rosie can be distracted and distracting of others" - pain in the neck, never shuts up.

Reports are a necessary evil, but don't get too het up about them. After all, “A constant trouble... Always in some scrape or another” read the missive to two (presumably despairing) parents in 1884.

Their son's name? Winston Churchill.