Part 12 (2/2)

”Crew.”

This went on for some time until the nouns became rather more esoteric.

”The collective noun for foxes?” cried Mr. Swan.

”Skulk,” shouted back the children.

”Cats?”

”Clouder.”

”Leopards?”

”Leap.”

”The collective noun for snipe?” shouted the teacher. There was no response. I had no idea either. ”Wisp,” he informed us, writing the word in large capital letters on the blackboard. ”Skylarks?” There was another silence. ”Exultation.” The word was added to the other. ”What about rhinoceros?” Still no response. ”Cras.h.!.+” he exclaimed. ”Not a lot of people know that.”

Well, I certainly didn't, I said to myself. ”Crash' would be a very appropriate collective noun to describe a group of bores, I thought. ”A crash of bores'. I imagined with horror a whole school full of Mr. Swans. When and how would these youngsters ever apply this knowledge? ”Oh, look, our mam, there's a wisp of snipe and an exultation of skylarks flying over that clouder of cats!”

When the pupils had settled down to tackle a very simple and deeply uninspiring comprehension exercise on gla.s.s production in St. Helens, I moved around the cla.s.s examining their books, listening to them read and testing them on their spellings and knowledge of grammar and punctuation. Mr. Swan observed me, stony-faced, from behind his desk. Standards were very low indeed.

Justin, the little late-comer I had met earlier that morning, sat in the corner away from the others, looking nervous and confused. I sat down next to him.

”May I look at your book?” I asked gently.

”Yes, sir,” he whispered, pus.h.i.+ng a dog-eared exercise book in my direction. He watched me with that frightened, wide-eyed look on his face. I read from the first page an account ent.i.tled ”Myself.

”Sir, we had to write that for Mr. Swan when we came up to this school,” he explained quietly. ”Sir, so he could get to know a bit about us, sir. It's not very good. I'm not much good at writing, sir.” I found the description of himself immensely sad.

I'm not much good at anything really I like art but am not much good. I am in the bottom set for evrything and I've not really got eny friends. I don't really like school, Id like a bike When I leave school, Id like to work in a bread fac try I like the smell of bread baking, you get free bread if you work in a bread fac try The man next door told me that.

The teacher's comment at the bottom read: ”Untidy work. Watch your spellings. Remember full stops.” The boy was given a grade of two out of ten.

”It's not bad at all this, Justin,” I said, staring into his large, wide eyes. ”You just need to do a bit of work on the spellings and put in your full stops.” He nodded slowly. I went through his work with him. ”Now, tonight when you get home, you copy out carefully your next draft of this account. Will you do that?” He nodded. ”You know, I worked in a bread factory once, when I was a student, and you're right about the smell of freshly baked bread. It is a wonderful smell. My job was to take the tins out of a huge oven with a long pole. I wasn't very good at it. And you are right, we did get free bread.”

He smiled. ”Sir, are you learning how to be a teacher?”

”No,” I replied. ”I've been a teacher though.”

”Can you come and teach in this school?” he asked.

”No, I can't do that,” I said. ”I'm a school inspector now.”

”I don't suppose you'd want to teach in a place like this, anyway,” he told me, gazing up with his wide-eyed look.

I gave Mr. Swan some rather blunt feedback at the end of the lesson when the pupils had departed for lunch. There was little evidence in the exercise books that his pupils had improved at all in terms of spelling, punctuation and presentation in their writing during the half a term he had been teaching them. There were a few short accounts, an essay, a couple of simple comprehension exercises and no poetry. Whilst there were plenty of critical comments in red biro at the end of the work, there were no suggestions about how the pupils might improve. I explained that I saw little value in teaching the boys about collective nouns when they did not have the first idea what a noun actually was, and many were incapable of spelling the very simplest of words or using the full stop correctly.

”Well, I don't agree,” he said, bristling at the criticism. ”I think that a knowledge of the different collective nouns is very important.”

”Why?”

”It's useful for them to know these things.”

”And when would the pupils be in a position to apply this extensive knowledge of the collective noun?” I was getting irritated by the man's manner.

”That's beside the point. It's part of our cultural heritage. Anyway, Mr. Phinn, these boys are very weak academically. I mean, what can you expect?”

”The moon?” I replied.

”I beg your pardon?”

”Sir Alex Clegg, former Chief Education Officer of the West Riding of Yorks.h.i.+re, once said that ”the good teacher expects the moon”.”

15.8.

Mr. Swan smiled cynically and there was a long, deep in-drawing of breath. ”Did he indeed?”

”And do you set homework?” I asked.

”Homework? No, I do not set homework. What is the point? These boys would never do homework.”

”Well, I would disagree!”

”Mr. Phinn, have you ever taught pupils like this?”

”Yes, I have.”

”Well, I've taught them for rather longer, I think. They're not your grammar school high-fliers, you know. These lads will end up in manual jobs, that's if they're lucky, and not become university professors and brain surgeons. You can't make silk purses out of sows' ears. It's all very weD school inspectors coming in telling teachers what they should and shouldn't do, they don't have to do it. Anyway, I'm only here to help the school out.”

”In what way?” I asked.

”I took early retirement a few years ago but was asked to come in to take the cla.s.ses of Mrs. Simkins who is on maternity leave. You just can't get teachers to come in to take this sort of pupil. I'm doing the school a favour, if you must know, and precious little thanks I appear to be getting for it.”

”Really.” Some favour I thought. ”And what is the development of this lesson?”

”How do you mean?” His face was white, his mouth tight with displeasure.

”Having got the pupils to learn the various collective nouns, what do you do next?”

”I teach them that the collective noun always takes the singular form of the verb.” He then launched into a diatribe. ”You hear so much misuse of the English language on the television and radio. People seem incapable of speaking correctly. Newspapers are full of spelling errors. Teachers come out of college these days with no training in grammar.

I blame all those trendy methods teachers have been forced to use. I never took any notice of the hare-brained ideas churned out by lecturers and inspectors.” I could see by his expression that he felt I was part and parcel of this trendy movement.

I sighed. ”But you are dealing with a group of boys, Mr. Swan, who have very limited language skills. They need to develop their command of basic reading and writing through clear, structured and appropriate work.”

He seemed undaunted by my comments. ”Well, that's what I've just been saying, isn't it? They are incapable. These boys are very weak academically. In fact, this cla.s.s are the weakest in the year.”

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