Happy Birthday Tinks!

A very happy birthday to the one and only Tinkerbell Mushroom!!!

BHT

"You're blogging!"

Says ESOS.

"I'm going to write one." I say.

" About how I'm feeling." I add.

"What, about being depressed?" He says. "Then you'll be like every other blogger."

The vote of confidence is inspiring. It does however have a good effect, in that suddenly I see humour in what I am about to do.

"Say "hi" from me to all your bloggy friends." He adds. "Make sure you do." I smile again, and as I start to write, I remember BHT. Similar to BLT in its effect but quite different in form: Blogging Humour Therapy.

It is the first day back at my Stage School. We hurry all the children out of the door, as usual. We all leave at the same time as usual. And we all arrive, as usual.

It has of course been a very busy few weeks. Two parts and several performances in two shows. Easter. Some teaching. A surprise party from the stage school teachers for me. Masses of presents and thanks from wonderfully grateful parents. A positive whirlwind of events.

And now it is a usual Saturday again.

And there the "usuals" end. For in fact, I personally was never there usually when the others were getting ready. And, on a "usual" Saturday I was always already at my stage school when the rest of the family arrived.

But not today.

For it's finished. I am no longer Principal of my stage school. Instead I am a parent of attending children. The whys and wherefores are extraordinarily complex and far too emotionally draining to explain in detail at this point. They will of course be written about in full when I write my autobiographical novel. That will in turn require a modicum of fame and a little more money to allow such a luxury. Neither of such seem to be imminently around the corner - so you'll have to wait......

As I wait today. Sitting outside the stage school as Hubby follows the offspring inside.

Nine years of my life.

Nine years ago I had started. Teaching the 4-6 year olds. Seven years ago I had taken over as the School's principal. Hundreds of children have passed through the school, some briefly, some for quite a while, and some for the whole period that I was there... and now beyond.

ED goes in. She, as well as being part of the most senior set is now also teaching ........... ironically, the 4 to 6 year olds. She teaches brilliantly and fully deserves the job. I am proud. Very proud.

We return at the end of the day to collect. Some of the parents come up and hug me. Some of the children run up to me gleefully. One of the teachers Looks at me doefully and puts her arms around me. She barely speaks, but we both know what is being said.

"She's nice" says another teacher about the new Principal. "It's odd without you though." He adds, almost as an afterthought.

I think back to a few weeks ago, to a very emotional leaving party with everyone declaring undying allegiance to me.

Well........ of course........ they can't really, can they? They all need their jobs. The school still needs to run. The children need to adjust. The new Principal needs to do her job.......... and life must go on.

As the weeks pass they will all miss me less and be involved with the new routine far more.

As they should of course. That is how it should be.

I cry inside. I irritate the family by crying openly.

And then I decide to write a blog.

BHT.

And I start to feel a little better.......

The Supply Teacher's Walk.....

The agency called me.

Would I be interested in a full time long term sick leave?

"It's quite a challenging school though Sally." They warned.

Full time is a relative word of course, as, at this particular school they finished the day at 2.40 p.m. But, when you consider what you have to deal with on a daily basis this was perhaps fortunate... And of course I haven't actually worked full time, out of the house, for many years. So that was a bit of a shock in itself. Well actually. Big shock...

I had thought that the last school that the agency had sent me to was "challenging". It's ok I thought. I can do "challenging". How wrong could I be? By comparison the first school was, Heaven. The Head was on the boys case (it being a boys school) all the time. And when - and it was always when in that school, rather than if - they misbehaved, the senior staff dealt with the matter very quickly and efficiently and supported the teaching staff. On the whole they stayed in their lessons, did some of their work, and sometimes allowed you to get on with yours. The school had a very well designed central behaviour management policy - and it worked....

This one was a different kettle of fish.......A few days in to the job, already realising that I was not on a winning streak here, I was "teaching" a group of Year 10's. A student - a girl - started being abusive. I called the senior management and asked for her to be removed from the class. The deputy head arrived. She kicked and screamed, and eventually after a long verbal struggle, conceded. Thinking that the problem was solved I got on with the lesson. The next thing that I knew was that the girl in question was back in my class, giving me more abuse. Supposedly on her way home, she had called by my classroom. I suggested that she leave once more, and so she did, closing the door on her way out. She had though deposited (I realised later) part of a pencil into the door mechanism, thereby jamming the door. I was locked into a classroom, with a bunch of year 10s. I called for help via my mobile phone. "You're not allowed to use mobiles in class Miss". "It doesn't stop you", I felt like retorting. Help came and the door was kicked open by a member of staff.

The next lesson was with some year 8's. Drama. But the drama room wasn't available, so it was to be held in my classroom. Having heard what had gone on from their peers, one of the delightful team, a girl with a mission to destroy anyone in the teaching profession: "Evil Child", thought that it would be a good game to close my door again. "No, don't touch that" I started to say. Too late. She had already closed it, and (from reports that I later heard) had also videoed the moment of glory on her phone. The year 8's, being year 8's in a drama lesson, dived under chairs and tables in panic mode, as yet another member of staff kicked the door in, again. A fellow teacher offered us another classroom to resume the lesson..... Evil Child returned into the classroom, with an innocent look on her face. She had denied all knowledge of knowing anything about who had locked the door and nobody was able to take any action....She then continued to seriously disrupt the lesson, and it was at this point that I noticed a report card in her hand. "Should I have that EC?" I asked. She handed it over, as she knew that unless I signed it, she would be in bigger trouble. She then talked, ran around the classroom, threw paper across the room and generally caused chaos. I gave her an after school detention. At this point, she went to grab the report card back. I swiftly put it into my handbag. "I want it back". She protested. "You won't have it back until it has been via your form tutor.” I said. You can't do that Miss". She went towards my handbag. "You dare touch my handbag EC and you will be in front of the Head more quickly than you can say report card". Even EC realised that it was probably a bad idea to touch my handbag. So she stole another report card on the desk and ran out of the class. Realising that she could go nowhere, she returned two minutes later, demanded her report cared back and then continued to cause havoc in the classroom again, until, I had no choice other than to ask for her to be removed from my class. She was removed. I later wrote a report, telling all, but being unable to prove that she had also, quite significantly, locked me into the classroom....I went to find her form tutor at break time. Unfortunately, she did not have a current form tutor, because she too was off on long a long term absence.Therein lies a problem...

The following day, a child was kicking a football around my class.I asked him to stop. I tried to confiscate it. He refused. Eventually the ball got kicked into my direction and I swiftly grabbed it, ran down to the staffroom - thankfully just a few doors away from my room, and then ran back again, without the ball. I told him that he could have it back at the end of school. Later that day I went back into the staffroom, and saw that the ball had gone. Where is it? I enquired. "Oh, that belonged to the PE department," replied another member of staff. "The PE teacher took it back....... "

I removed the door mechanism myself, with a knife - no screwdriver being available. It was at then, with the help of a boy student who seemed to understand DIY that we found the bit of pencil jammed into the door.That in itself was not a deterrent to one child who grabbed the mechanism from my in tray on my desk and jammed it back into the door, causing a class and me, to be locked in, yet again.The door was kicked in for a third time, and this time I hid the mechanism in the staffroom..... I didn't see it again. Perhaps it's in the PE department. I wouldn't know.

The caretaker was called, for, by now, a new door, but no-one arrived, and so I taught in a classroom with the door virtually off its hinges.

I discussed it with Eldest Daughter. Together we decided that posters would brighten up the room. She went to the local theatre and asked for some for me, and I took them in one morning. I got there a few seconds too late however, and the desks were all over the floor (the wrong way up), with paper strewn everywhere.I straightened the room up. I put the posters up. I resolved to continue and to not let it get me down.

It was the Year 8 class again, with EC.....But it wasn't EC who got me in the end. It was a combination of a series of events that made me realise that some things in life are simply not doable....

Another Year 8 child walked into my class (not part of my set) and refused to leave. When challenged, she said: I'm not listening to you you f*****g b***h". I looked at her, with an apparently scary look. "You touch me," she said "and you'll see what will happen to you." I called for senior management, and the Head came. He thought that I had simply wanted to tell the ones present off. I explained. He started to walk off again. I explained that I had been verbally abused and that we didn't know who the child was. At least - no one was grassing..... He eventually established who the offensive child was and he asked me to write a report on it......After he left, the year 8's then started to throw aeroplanes (paper of course) around the room. The day before they had thrown the contents of an entire box of pens around the room. Two other girls thought it funny to draw felt tip dots on everyone, and went into the next door classroom to continue their mission.Meanwhile, yet another child appeared, from yet another classroom.... I asked her to leave and she proceeded to walk out at 1/2 mile an hour. Can you walk more quickly please? I said."No. I’ve got a bad leg". She eventually left, only to return two minutes later. "So your leg's better then?" I said. Yes she said, and then continued to walk out at 1/2 mile an hour again.

I went next door to ask the teacher there if she knew who she was. No, she said, but EC2 and 3 have been in here drawing dots on everyone. We went back into my class together. I awarded EC2 and 3 with a detention, and EC1 who had previously kept a low profile in this lesson started giving both of us some verbal abuse. The other teacher awarded her with a detention.

I tried to resume the lesson. We were now 52 minutes into an hour long period. I had an Irish story to read to them, and a comprehension to do. I started reading.EC2 piped up."I'm going to report you to Shire Hall." (The local Education authority). She said."Oh?" I said. "Why is that?""Because we have learnt nothing from you since you've been here. Have we?" She asked the rest of the class.

And it was at that point that I made the decision.I had tried, really very hard. I had given it three weeks. I had battled and struggled and mentally given it everything I had. I had taken it on myself to stop a child being bullied - two in fact. I had tried to organise a school trip. I had asked if one of the texts for another group could be changed to something more relevant to their way of thinking, and against the odds had tried to be creative and clever in the classroom. I was preparing my lessons. Marking the work. Doing a job far beyond the call of a supply teacher.But I was on a losing wicket. I am not a quitter. I have been married for 21 years, have worked at my stage schools for nine years....I always try to work thorough difficulties.I was being paid a basic supply rate. The same rate that I would get in any school....... It is not a rate that would take you to the Caribbean on holiday each year......But I could not teach with the constant interruptions from other classes. I could not battle an entire school. As a supply teacher I would be unlikely to get any respect for a very long time.

"Do you know what EC2? You are right. I have got better things to do with my time."

And I walked.

Out of the class.

Out of the school.

Home.

Angel Delight

They nearly killed me again.

They didn't mean to of course. They just didn't expect my blood pressure to drop so low. And nor did I really. I was in for an arthroscopy on my knee. Piers had been in a good mood prior to the op, and had explained the process of what they were about to do in sufficient medical detail to satisfy my medical curiosity. It was only after the op, when I realised that he wasn't to be seen for love nor money that it dawned on me that his good mood might have been due to a jolly weekend looming.....

So there I was, coming round from a general anaesthetic, feeling isolated, and gutted that I wasn't able to have a full breakdown of everything that they had done to me, with uncontrollable tears streamed down my face. "Are you all right?" Asked the nurse. "Yes fine", I said. I don't know why I'm crying. "Anaesthetics sometimes affect people like that." She said.

And it was after that that it happened.

I started slipping slowly into a land of furry indefinite lines and bright lights beckoning - and no-one realised very quickly, because nobody had been given any reason to supsect that this might happen.

I must have been looking particularly grey however as my friendly student nurse passed my bed.

"I think we'll take your blood pressure again." She said.

It was sixty eight over thrity six, which apparently is a bit on the low side, even for someone like me who habitually has low blood pressure....

She called over her senior colleague.

"It's that machine." I heard her say. "You're not feeling particularly faint are you Sally?" I lay back on the bed, feeling so faint that I was unable to answer. They took the blood pressure again and then decided to call for a doctor....

Of couse, it wasn't nearly as bad as the last time that the medical profession tried to kill me. Nearly seventeen years ago.. That time, in for a minor op, I had asked for an epidural so that I could return to my then nine month old not feeling too groggy from the anaesthetic....

This it seems was possibly a bad choice on my part.

The anaesthetist wanted to get home for his supper , and um... wasn't too keen shall we say, on doing an epidural...

As such, on completion of the op, he sort of forgot to tell the nurses in recovery to lay the bed flat again, instead of tilted up at the foot end, as it had been in theatre.

So... when the epidural started creeping slowly back up the spinal cord and caught my lungs, it did get a little tricky to breathe. That wouldn't hve been so bad, but for the fact that without the use of my lungs I wasn't able to speak either. This of course was a little bit of a problem in attacting the attention of those that could at that split second save my life.

I found that I could wave my arm, and fortunately, just before I slipped away forever I managed to attract the attention of someone medical, who tipped up the bed and gave me some oxygen.

Quite quickly.

Clever stuff this medical business...

Meanwhile... back to last Friday

There was a light on the horizon to my blood pressure incident.....

A doctor arrived.

An angel in disguise clearly.

She explained everything that had been done to me, showed me the piccies of my knee and made me feel completely happy again. The blood pressure righted itself thankfully, and I no longer felt neglected.

I had been saved by an angel.

Post Script.........
A sad irony in today's news.

The Title

And so we set off from home....

Confident that everything was in hand.

ED, left to her own devices for a night, would definitely be locking up the house. The train ticket, for her to join us the following day, had been bought. We had a "talking book" playing for the journey. There was no arguing.

It was.......... bliss.

ED was going to her own New Year's Eve party, but was then to be joining us the next day, on New Year's Day, when we would be paying a trip to see a lady with an umbrella in the West End by the name of Mary. It was our Christmas present from my parents to us all, and ED was happy to forfeit all sleep after her New Year jollies rather than risk missing out on Miss Poppins.

I was confident that nothing would or could go wrong.


Then the phone rang.

"Mum?"

"Yes?"

"You know the ticket that we bought for the train?"

"Yes?"

"We bought it on your card."

I thought back. Yes, it was true. We had bought it on my card, as ED's bank card wasn't suitable it seems for an online transaction. They needed a card that took money out of a bank, as opposed to a card that took money out of a bank.

"We did." I said, wondering why there seemed to be an urgency in her voice.....

"You've got the card."

"Well.... yes....."

I was beginning to wonder by now if I was going mad. I mean OF COURSE I had my own bank card. There may never be any money to spend, but I guard my bank cards like the crown jewels. After all, you never know who might want to spend your overdraft for you, and you wouldn't want them getting up to the limit before you do would you?

"The thing is Mum, I need your card to validate the ticket tomorrow morning, at the station."

Silence.

"Oh."

Think quickly Sally. Think very quickly.

"O.K." I said. This is what we'll do. We are twenty minutes from Swindon. We'll call in at Swindon station. I'll explain the problem, and I'll sort something out."

I tried to sound like the confident maternal type.

I was bluffing....of course.....

I had no absolutely no reason to believe that I would be able to come out of this sensibly, without turning round the car, driving back home, taking ED to Gloucester station, validating the ticket, and then setting off once more.

Still, in the light of what could or might happen, what was a forty minute detour to go via Swindon and buy some time?

We got to the station, and within seconds of explaining the problem, the woman behind the desk triumphantly printed off the tickets for ED.

Silence...........Again.

"No" I said. Quite quietly.

"That's no good. My daughter is in the Forest of Dean. I am in Swindon. We are on our way to Kent for a New Year's Eve party in a few hours, and my daughter is an hour a way from me in the wrong direction..... I have the tickets. I can't get to her. She can't now collect these tickets. I came in to ask your advice as to who we could deal with this "problem." "

"Oh" said the cashier. "Well I'm very sorry, but there's nothing I can do."

"But this isn't my fault." I said. "What are we going to do?"

"Well I have apologised Madam."

It was one of those wonderfully superior moments, when you know that despite having started off completely in the wrong, by a trick of fate, all of a sudden you are completely in the right. In those rare moments in life you do of course rise to the occasion and take on a serene and calm approach to the problem.

As such I calmly asked to speak to the supervisor.....

"Surely there is something you can do?" I said. "A few minutes a go, these tickets were not printed off. They have been paid for. My daughter needs these tickets tomorrow morning in Gloucester......"

There were of course a number of things that they could have done.....

They could have for instance have stuck the tickets into an envelope and taken them via a guard and one of their "trains" to Gloucester..... by hand. Now there's novel. Direct human communication.......

No.... the answer was instead for them to suggest that the tickets were faxed over to Gloucester and that ED would be given a "permission to travel docket" there. She would then travel from Gloucester to Swindon with the docket, get off the train at Swindon, run down to the ticket office, collect her "proper" ticket, and then run back up to the train, and travel to London.

Now ED has many qualities. Many qualities.

She dances beautifully.

She is irritatingly clever.

She speaks excellent German and French - as well as English of course.

She can act.

She can sing.

She can cook.

There is however one thing that she doesn't do well.....

And that is "direction" as in "sense of".

If you asked her to get a train from Land's End* to London, and told her that she will need to change trains at John O'Groats**, she'd believe you. To put it into perspective, Hubby thought that my sense of direction was seriously bad, until ED grew into the fine young woman that she is today. Of course, Hubby didn't know me when I was ED's age..... It is a genetic problem that one learns to deal with a little better with age, and I do actually fully sympathise and understand why North, South, East and West merge into one. After all, a weathercock spins round happily enough.

I was, shall we say, "doubtful" as to whether or not getting on and off trains at a particular station and running back to the right platform, without time to think about where she would be going, was a good idea. Especially given that she would have had very little sleep to add to the problem....

"How long has she got at Swindon?" I asked.

They looked at the timetable.

"Not very long. She would have to be quick."

I was still calm.

I looked at the woman..... and in the words of another well known West End musical, I said.......

"I think we need to think this out again......."

Well... o.k. maybe not... but it was along those lines.

At that moment, I looked down at the printed tickets, and to my absolute horror realised just quite how embarrassing teenagers can be.

"Lady ED Lomax" it read.

"Lady??????"

"LADY??????"

Oh ED!!!!!!!

In her wisdom. In her teenagery prank mode. In her infinite stupidity.....

When asked for her "title" she had put in "Lady".....

She often drops hints about the fact that she would quite like to go to Finishing School, but sadly, the parents that she chose are short of a few bob, and a few titles for that one....

OH ED!!!!!!!!!!!

How could you do this to me? To your poor poor mother who's trying to sort out this little problemette, just for you???!!!

I smiled sweetly at the cashier, praying to God that she may not have noticed that my Eldest Daughter had been playing at "Lords and Ladies" when she booked the tickets, and still thinking frantically about how we could sort this all out.

"Hold on a moment, said the cashier. We'll talk to Gloucester and see what we can do."

A long time passed. Hubby came up to the kiosk to see how I was getting on.......

Then eventually, they came back, cashier and supervisor.

"What we'll do" she said "is this. "

I waited, with baited breath.

"At Gloucester, they'll give her a permission to travel docket for the whole journey from Gloucester to London."

"So, she doesn't have to get off the train at Swindon?"

"No"

And she can use the docket for the whole journey?

Yes.

It was amazing. They were going to give her, what we would have called in the "olden days" a ticket. Not a computerised one. But a paper one.

A ticket.

Technology is a wonderful thing.

"She will have to get off the train at Reading though. Said the cashier. "It's a New Year's Day Service, so there will be a bus from Reading to London. it will take an extra hour all together."

And so I rang "Lady" Lomax, and told her the good and the bad news.......

And errmm, despite the "royal" service eventually given.....she'll probably put "Miss" next time.....



*Farthest South Western point of England.
**Most Northerly part of Scotland.
(London is in the South East of England...)