Cover of The Class (Entre Les Murs)

The class are nearly rioting. A girl, herself a troublemaker, yells at me.

Girl: “What’s wrong with you? I thought you were TRAINED to control this lot!”

For an instant I have to smile to myself as my mind flashes back…

We are on a coach, being shown the local college sights.

Guide: “Here are the best pubs in town. You’ll spend lots of time here. And in the student bar. Show you that later. Every now and then we go to the odd lecture too. Very rare that. It’s not like school here. Forget all that. Burn those book lists they’ve given you. Frank over there can sell you the library quiz answers. You can hand in your essays as late as you like: they won’t bother. Just enjoy yourselves.”

At a lecture! Now I see why we were told not to bother. It’s on Infant Education. A gnarled old lady is telling everyone about her lessons.

Lecturer (Sings Loudly): “Cockadoodle Do!”

Heads shake in disbelief. True memories these. Too true.

Another lecturer is talking with some of us in a small seminar. He is not much older than us, and clearly sees himself as a very cool Sociology professor.

Lecture: “Well I think you need to get these kids out of the classroom. What I’d do is, I’d ask them what they wanted to do. I’d negotiate with them. Strike up a deal… Then we’d go out on a field trip…”

I’m on my second teaching practice. Bernie, an enthusiastic probationer teacher, gives me some advice.

Bernie: “You gotta get their attention. One day I walked into class and sprayed scent all over my desk. That got ‘em talking!

Remember, they are the hunters and you are the prey. You have to be fearless and just go for it!”

Am back in the sixth form. We are having “Subsidiary French”, with the first teacher I can recall who “could not control us”. All sorts of mayhem is going on. He sees it but declines to say anything. Surely you can see That, Man! He can. Yet he chooses to ignore. In later years I will find out why…

Am visiting my old Grammar School. Telling my favourite English teacher “Jessie” Owen that I’m following in his footsteps by entering teaching myself.

Mr. Owen: “Yes, it’s been harder since we went Comprehensive, but with their cooperation we get along fine.”

Back at our student lodgings, George and Tim, both a year older than me, decide to give me some advice.

Tim: “Tighten up on discipline as you go? You mean be soft at first? Paul, forget what the lecturers told you. You have to be a complete B****** right from the start! There’s nothing harder than pulling it back once you let it slip. You Must start Hard! As the old saying goes, don’t smile before Easter.”

George nods his approval. True, the lecturers never said this. They just waxed lyrical about creativity, social injustice, freedom of expression, and so forth. The only useful thing I can remember is when a drama tutor taught us how to project and exercise our voices. At college the main thing I learnt was how to be a decent table tennis and table football player.

I’m back! “Training” indeed. Into that class!

“Quiet All Of You!” I yell…

Paul Butters