a selfish moment

Allow me a spot of self indulgence if you would. Excuse the unapologetically selfish tone of this entry – and pardon me if I offend. But I am royally annoyed today.

I teach a lot of pupils. Hundreds of the little blighters. And every one of them is unique – for better or for worse. In an average class of about thirty children I will have about thirty personalities, about thirty different ability levels, about thirty different learning styles. And I do my best for each and every one of them. But sometimes you have favourites. The ones who will brighten your day by popping a piece of work in front of you that will make the day a good one. I may have to look a bit harder to find them this year.

I’m happy for them – really I am. It’s in their best educational interests I’m sure – they will benefit greatly. It’s just I can’t help feeling a bit…

Today I learned that my year 10 class will be four pupils smaller than it was last year. Actually that’s not true – I have lost four pupils but they will be replaced by others so it won’t be any smaller – it just feels like it will.
My four best students have been headhunted.

Last year I really struggled with that class. They were hard work, there were times I was pulling out my hair in handfuls and I nearly always had to have a sit down to recover after the lesson – but we got there. Better than that we actually did pretty well. Four girls in particular did extremely well.
Over the summer another school contacted their parents and offered them places there. A grammar school. Of course the parents jumped at the opportunity – I would probably have done the same.

But the underhandedness of the whole thing makes me feel a bit uneasy. Usually where this happens it’s because the existing school recommended the move and arranged it with the other school. In this instance the new school found they were slightly undersubscribed for year 10 - obtained the pupils’ grades, contacted and arranged the move before we knew anything about it. In footballing terms it’s called ‘tapping up’ and it leads to things like Chelsea being banned from the next three transfer windows.

I don’t blame the parents or the pupils. In their situation I would find it hard to do any different. There is an argument that they have clearly thrived in our school so there is a risk that the change might not be completely advantageous, that their progress may actually not be as good in a different setup – but honestly I think these particular pupils have the ability to do extremely well in the grammar school.
I am, however, far from happy with the other school. It’s not even in the same town as us. Could they not have carried out their little cream skimming exercise closer to their own backyard?

I’ll miss them dreadfully. In a class of thirty pupils they stood out. They enjoyed English class and I loved reading what they would come up with

I know I should be happy for my ex pupils; be proud even that I played a part in their advancement. But right now I feel a little dejected. Yes they will go on to do well. And all the credit for their success will go to their new English teacher and all that hard work I put in won’t be given a thought. Instead I get to struggle with the rest of the class without the benefit of those occasional moments of inspired writing.
Hey, even teachers are allowed to be self absorbed and selfish sometimes.

a quiet as a church mouse

School with no pupils. It’s a strange, wonderful place. The corridors are empty, there are no PE bags hanging in the cloakrooms. Everything is eerily quiet.

In Church we have it drummed into us that a Church is not a building – that it is a collective of people meeting in God’s name.

Well a school is not a building either – and it’s not a work place (although it certainly feels that way usually) – it’s a group of people meeting to learn. The building, and the teachers, are just there to facilitate that learning.
Across the country teachers are returning to their classrooms a week before their pupils. They are preparing for the year ahead, doing a spot of classroom decoration, discussing action and development plans, deciding focuses for PRSD, welcoming new members of staff, enduring INSET…

This is a strange strange place when it’s quiet. It feels somehow wrong. Something’s missing. Without the pupils it has a dormant feel – an empty, hollow, shell of a building. A church without people is just a building – but it can be one impressive building; architecturally, aesthetically. An old empty church building has to be the single most emotive space possible . A school without pupils is just a collection of empty rooms and corridors – and I love it.

as fast as a speeding bullet

Doesn't life move quickly these days? Sometimes it feels like we are so obsessed with getting things done that we have forgotten how to enjoy doing them. Sometimes, I think our modern living blinkers are masking the glorious technicolour world around us.

I'm on a train at the moment - doing a train journey I haven't done since I was a very young child. The route takes us through some beautiful countryside, beside the mouth of the mighty Bann, along the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, under Mussenden Temple and past Downhill beach to the point where the shores of Lough Foyle become the banks of the River Foyle. It is a particularly beautiful journey. Not that anyone seems to notice.

I'm surrounded by people on laptops studying spreadsheets and filling out reports; all around me people are on the phone to their office, to their husbands, to their friend Pat who moved away ten years ago to marry an english man and so doesn't know the tragic events in Stranocum this week or the trouble anticipated at the band parade in Rasharkin tonight.

I don't blame them. The pace of life orders that we see journeys, not as events, but as wasted time. Time that technology can harness and make useful. It makes me yearn for the time when people used to dress up for a flight in a plane, a time when whole families would get on the train and head for the sea. Days when the journey was part of the experience - not an inconvenient means to the end.

So, as we pass through God's beautiful creation, I smile wryly at all those around me who seem oblivious to it... And I spend the journey typing a blog about it on my Blackberry.

fill yer boots

Only in Ballymoney could you come upon a pair of boots filled with rubbish sitting on the pavement and only be surprised at the utter lack of interest from everyone who passed by them.

I've just been to Derry where I saw a drunk woman lying flat on her back swearing at unseen companions receive similar apathy. I've walked the streets of Dublin and London and Toronto and a few places where I've seen amazing sculptures receive similar interest from passers by...

But only in Ballymoney would you see this.

shoplifters amnesty

Now I should probably preface this entry by saying that I am not a shoplifter. I can’t say I have never ever shoplifted, but as far as I know the last thing I tried to slip off a shop shelf and into my pocket was a four colour bic pen from Mini’s when I was twelve – I got caught and ended up paying anyway. I am not a shop lifter because it’s illegal, it offends my middle class sensibilities, it goes against my moral upbringing and because I’m not very good at it.

That being said I want to tell you about a new collection I’m starting. Above you will see the first two parts of it. Two security tags from the same national supermarket chain. One came on a pair of trousers (and before you raise eyebrows I promise they were fair trade) bought in the Ballymoney branch and the second came inside the box of a cheap computer keyboard (the very one I’m using right now) from their Ballymena branch.

Much as I dislike the idea that I have inadvertently taken them there’s something marvellously ironic about stealing a security tag. It’s bad enough that the checkout staff forget to remove the tags when scanning them through – but its another thing altogether that the tags clearly didn’t actually do their job. Now I could tell you that I used magnetic cloaking devices, a black jump suit, infra red goggles, laser revealing smoke canisters, ropes, pullies and acrobatic skill to evade the alarms at the door – but actually I, um, walked out through them. It doesn’t fill you with confidence, does it?

So If I can collect two of these in the space of a week from one chain I reckon I should be able to pick up a sizeable collection over time. Unless I can think of some way to return them without looking like a particularly brazen shoplifter.