Chapter 9 Burton Edge First School

“HELLO IS THAT JASON HUNT?” inquired the friendly woman’s voice on the end of the line. “I’m Barbara Cane, Headteacher at Burton Edge First School. I got your number from my daughter.”
“Your daughter?”
“Yes, Clare. Her boyfriend’s Kelvin McKenzie. A friend of yours I believe.”
And then it came back to me. I’d been in the pub with a few friends, one of whom had been Kelvin. We’d been discussing jobs. Kelvin had mentioned that his girlfriend’s mum was a Headteacher. When I’d jokingly asked him about any jobs going spare, he said he’d find out. But that had been months ago.
Over the phone, Mrs Cane explained that a temporary vacancy had just come up for a class of Year 3 children, aged seven and eight. “It’s a small class; only seventeen in total. Interested?”
Barbara Cane told me that Burton Edge was a one-form entry first school. The catchment area included a local council estate and two blocks of flats. The ethnic mix was about eighty percent white. The rest were third or fourth generation Pakistani children. “It’s not an easy school to work in,” warned Mrs Cane. “Fifty percent free school meals. The children are challenging.”
Fifty percent free meals was shockingly high. The national average was about fifteen percent. A high free school meal statistic meant only one thing – the area was deprived. “I’m used to tough schools,” I said. We arranged a date where I could visit the school.
Two days later I was standing in the school library. “Ah, Jason,” said a small, rotund lady stepping out of the office opposite. “I’m Barbara Cane. Nice to meet you at last.”
I stood up, shaking the Headteacher’s hand. She was in her mid-forties and had a pleasant face, rounded by a short crop of blond hair.
“We’re a split site,” explained Barbara, leading me along a corridor. “Key Stage One is in this bottom building. Key Stage Two in the top building across the road. I’ll you show that later.” We came to a standstill. “I’ll show you Reception first.” I followed her into a classroom.
Even though I’d been in a reception classrooms before I was still sufficiently amazed by the smallness of the children. They were not much bigger than babies. All were playing in sandpits, water troughs, or doing gigantic jigsaws that had been placed all over the room. Sitting amid one group of nippers was a teacher.
Edith Swain got up to show us around her classroom. At one point, she broke off her tour to rush towards two boys. One was attempting to bash the other with a large block of wood. “Samuel!” snapped the teacher, removing the offending article from the boy’s hand. “That’s not nice!” Samuel seemed not to care. He wandered off to the sand pit. Mrs Swain began wiping tears from the other boy’s face, explaining that this was quite normal behaviour for Samuel. “He’s special needs,” she whispered to us knowingly. “Needs a lot of attention.”
In Year 1 and 2, the thing that struck me most were the skinhead haircuts of all the boys. It was the same in Key Stage Two. The only difference were the kids were bigger.
When we arrived outside the Year 3 classroom, instead of opening the door like she’d done everywhere else, Barbara Cane simply peered through the glass panel. I joined the Headteacher, looking inside. The children seemed more boisterous than normal. Kids were wandering about, not really doing any work at all. One was even under a table playing with a ruler. The teacher seemed to be ignoring most of them, bent down talking to a child at the back.
“This could be your classroom,” said Mrs Cane.
I felt my heart skip a beat. My own classroom! My very own class! It sounded so grown up. “But who’s that?” I asked, pointing at the woman inside.
“Miss Taylor. She’s leaving at Easter. She’s not really worked out. She finds it hard to maintain discipline. As you can see.” We headed off towards the staffroom.
Mrs Monica Denson, the Deputy, was waiting in the staffroom. About forty, with a large pleasant face and even friendlier smile, I felt relaxed in her company from the start. The three of us sat down and Mrs Cane started by asking if I’d visited any other schools. I told them I had.
“Any interviews yet?” asked Mrs Denson.
“No. But I’ve got one next week.”
Both women glanced at one another. “What would you say then,” said Mrs Cane, “if we offered you the Year 3 job?
It seemed an odd question to ask. They knew nothing about me. They’d not even asked about where I’d worked before. However, I needed a job and from what I’d seen, Burton Edge seemed okay. Hypothetically, I told both women, I’d probably say yes.
Mrs Denson looked serious for a moment. “Let’s get this straight. Even though you’ve got an interview next week, you’d take the job here?”
Wondering what she was getting at, I nodded. Surely, though, they couldn’t just give me a job like that could they? What about an interview and references?
“That’s sorted then,” said Mrs Cane, getting up. “You can start in three weeks. We’ll just need to see your background checks are up to date, and then you’ll be on a temporary contract until the summer. How does that sound?”
My mind was spinning. I simply nodded like a galoot.
On the train on the way home, I read some of the information I’d been given. My annual salary was going to be £10500. It didn’t seem much. Despite this, I was still over the moon. I was finally going to be a proper teacher. And it had been so easy.