Shakespeare

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Willm Shackper

That's one of the ways he signed his name.

Rash statements are my speciality. Consistency in the rashness is less obvious. One exception: I have always said that I would do a deal with the Devil in order to spend just one day with Shakespeare when he was alive and writing. I would gladly trade all the rest of my days for just one in his company. Just give me a week to get my things in order and then I'm definitely up for it.

Why? He was just the most incredible of writing geniuses. I would like to know how he did it. I would like to try to understand how anyone could so consistently produce genius, seemingly at the drop of a hat. It still awes and amazes me every time I consider it.

It was not always so. At the age of 15 my introduction to the Bard was both late and uninspiring. In the 60's studying Shakespeare was based on the text; and, as I am very keen to point out to modern students, not very satisfying, imaginative or interesting.

Studying like that was, and is, boring and almost guaranteed to put you off for life. What “saved” me was the play chosen for study - Julius Caesar.

I have always been interested in Rome and Roman history, so Caesar was a natural for me. I like history (in the 8th grade I won five dollars in the Daughters of the American Revolution history contest – I got 49 out of 50 questions correct I missed the one about Teddy Roosevelt, I knew that FDR was a Democrat so I guessed that Teddy was one as well – no – he was a Republican and a Progressive – damn Ol Teddy he cost me another 5 bucks and the first place glory).

Caesar in the dark ages – i.e. before video tape, cd's, dvd's – was a challenge for pupils and teachers alike. Why?

Simple. I told pupils why for more than 30 years. Skakespeare wrote plays, not books. Plays are meant to be acted on a stage (or as a movie). They are not meant to be read, either out loud or silently to yourself. To make sense of what is going on you have to see it!

Witness (and slip in a real good moan at the same time) the BBC – a venerable and mercenary broadcaster. Between 1978 and 1985 the Beeb commisioned and screened all 37 plays. They are quite truly wonderful, as they featured some of the most expert and famous actors of the day.

Then in a feat of the most uninspiring and possibly criminal opportunism and shameless exploitation of the long-suffering license-payer the BBC steadfastly has refused to air them again – as soon, and if you think this is co-incidental you need professional help, as video recorders became generally available. You can of course see these marvellous productions provided you buy the video from the BBC – and they are not cheap.

So much for inspiring a new generation of Bard fans. Thanks Auntie.

I do have a collection of plays that were aired co-incidental with modern technology and I used them extensively during the 90's and noughties.

Thus Shakespeare became a joy to teach. The language came alive and pupils suddenly “got it”. Fantastic.

After Caesar I moved on to Richard III. I say moved on but it was more like struggled on really.

Firstly, a rather attractive girl I knew invited me to spend the weekend at her Granny's farm. Could I say no? Not likely. As luck would have it, my weekend was promised to reading Richard III as well. Now truly it was a “winter of discontent” even though it was May.

My amorous adventures turned out to be non-existent, but I made little progress with Richard either. Why? This may be Shakespeare's most difficult play, though it was, apparently, very popular in his time. Why so?

Simple. It's a soap opera. And just like Eastenders if you don't know who the characters are and how they are related to each other you have little chance of making sense of it.

When I taught it for A level, I always spent a week (figuratively that is) in the 1480's. Unless you understand how society worked then you have little chance of understanding Richard III.

I need another blog to move the story on. I promise to do it soon.

Western Electric Again

Chapter Six

Wherein I return to civilian life, return to work at Western Electric, continue my glittering academic career, lose some teeth and become disenchanted with the rat race and the attendant quest for material gain

We landed in KC at the old airport called, I believe, Kansas City Municipal Airport. (Still there - just used nowadays for light aircraft.)

My Dad, sister Lynne and brother Jim were there to meet us.

At that time the OM was living at 4324 S. Saville in Independence. After a few days of happy reunion time I went back to Western Electric to get my job back. Uncle Sam looks after his vets.

I did a week on days as a floor hand and then I was back on nights in the packing department. Of course, all the products made at WE had to packed up for shipment to the desired locations. So, we packed them.

Hours of work were 1600 – midnight, 5 days a week. What I remember most about the packing department was being left-handed. When I arrived for the evening shift I had to move everything around so that I could pack things the way which seemed most logical and most expeditious for a left-handed person. My colleagues could never figure out what I was doing, but it worked for me.

At this time I was also slowly resuming my academic career. I had finally decided to be a teacher. Why? Well, I had always followed the line of least resistance and since I was good at English and Biology they had become by default, my major and minor. But what to do with them? The career path seemed very limited. Whilst there are jobs called Biologist there are no jobs called Englishist. You might par-lay an English degree into a spot in journalism or some other related activity, but the line of least resistance is teaching.

“Those who can do – those who can't teach.”

Therefore I was accepted onto the teacher education programme at CMSU.

A routine developed. Up about 7. In the car by 7:30. Drive to CMSU at Warrensbugh for 9. Back in the car by 3. Drive to WE in Lee's Summit for 4. Work til midnight. Home by 12:30. Bed – get up and do it all over again the next day.

We did get weekends off and some vacation time. One weekend we went to the lake with Stoner and I tried water-skiing. I was doing great but eventually, of course, fell off. I landed awkwardly on my head and dislodged my upper denture. I made a grab for it, but my life vest stopped me from reaching it. Costly and embarrassing!

I finally got out of the packing department. I went back to being a floor-hand in Transistors. In Transistors I was paired with another floor-hand, Danny Ray Grimm. What a character!

Danny Ray had a large FuManchu tash and long hair. He had a brilliant plan to account for the fact that we were not allowed to smoke in the WE factory. Nobody said we couldn't chew tobacco.

(My first experience of chewing tobacco was at Ft Hood. At the end of the month – just before pay-day – when there was not a spare nickel to be had in the entire battalion we would scrounge up enough cash for a pack of Winstons and some chewing tobacco. Sharing both we would get a good chaw going and then light up. Get you about as high as you can – legally.)

So at WE, just to piss off the supervisors, we would wander about the department sweeping and chewing, oh yes, and spitting in all the bins (fortunately they had plastic liners and it was one of our jobs to empty them).

I have a abiding memory of Danny Rae leaning on his broom, listening intently to what the super was telling him with an un-nerving brown bit of tobacco juice leaking from the corner of his mouth. Priceless!

Come lunch time we would go out for lunch. Lunch breaks were staggered, so Danny had a plan. We signed out at the gate for first lunch break, he got one of the girls to punch us back in at the appropriate time and we stayed out for 3x lunch breaks – so we could sit in the car and drink Thunderbird before staggering back. He even managed to sneak a bottle of Southern Comfort into the department one Xmas. We drank it. I was violently sick. Even today just the smell of Southern Comfort is enough to make me gag.

Summing up Danny Rae – once the cops stopped him in his pick-up truck. He was surrounded by and knee deep in beer cans (empty). Somehow he managed to get them to let him go and drive on. What a character!

Like all good things Western Electric had to end. I was in my last year at CMSU and deep into teacher training. I had to do my practice teaching (I lucked out there – I got a placement at Truman HS – about a quarter of a mile from my house.) I figured I could not do both, so I had to quit.

Practice teaching at Truman High was interesting. For one thing, I had my dopey brother Mark in Homeroom. (Oddly none of the kids ever put two and two together and made us family – they were not the brightest tools in the shed) My supervising teacher was Mrs Meredith and I suspect she secretly despaired at my career choice. What I most remember about the teaching of English at Truman High School in 1974 was that it was mind-bogglingly boring (sorry Mrs Meredith, but it was).

I passed and got my degree and a life-time certificate to teach in the public schools of Missouri. Much to the state's profound disappointment, I decided to move to England. So we did.

Richard III

made glorious summer by this Son of York

Continuing where I left off explaining my love affair with Shakespeare: Richard III is probably the most difficult of Shakespeare's well-know plays for the modern audience to understand fully.

I account for my expertise with Richard purely by chance. I don't remember studying another play between Caesar and Richard. So, I was still quite inexperienced when I first tried to make sense of it. Now, it is a firm favourite.

It is often produced on stage and in film - with the Laurence Olivier film version probably the best known to the general public. The complexity of the play arises chiefly because without an intimate knowledge of The War of the Roses (which, of course, Shakespeare's audience almost certainly had) the action and the relationships between the characters is not very easy to follow.

Sitting down with just the text to guide you is poor fare indeed. Although Richard is very much the focus, characters come and go, or are mentioned, without any textual clues to their background, relationships, families or importance. The Dramatis Personae is not much help either:

King Edward the Fourth

Edward, Prince of Wales, [afterwards King Edward V], son to the King

Richard, Duke of York

George, Duke of Clarence, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, [afterwards King Richard III], brothers to the King

A young son of Clarence

Henry, Earl of Richmond, [afterwards King Henry VII]

Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury

Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop of York

John Morton, Archbishop of Ely

Duke of Buckingham

Duke of Norfolk

Earl of Surrey, his son

Earl Rivers, brother to Elizabeth

Marquis of Dorset and Lord Grey, sons to Elizabeth

Earl of Oxford

Lord Hastings

Lord Stanley, called also Earl of Derby

Lord Lovel

Sir Thomas Vaughan

Sir Richard Ratcliff

Sir William Catesby

Sir James Tyrrel

Sir James Blount

Sir Walter Herbert

Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of the Tower

Christopher Urswick, a priest

Second Priest

Tressel and Berkeley, gentlemen attending on the Lady Anne

Lord Mayor of London. Sheriff of Wiltshire

Elizabeth, Queen to King Edward IV

Margaret, widow of King Henry VI

Duchess of York, mother to King Edward IV

Lady Anne, widow of Edward Prince of Wales (son to King Henry VI) [afterwards married to Richard]

A young Daughter of Clarence

Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III, Lords and other Attendants; a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Soldiers, &c.

Clear?

I thought so. What's needed here is a genealogical table coupled with a synopsis of who likes/hates/loves who.

When you get to the “winter of discontent” opening speech you better have some idea of not only the above; but also of 15th century English social mores. Without it you are going to be lost after scene one – if not sooner. As Clarence, his brother, is carted off to the Tower, it's hard to see why Richard is so happy; until you realise that the thoroughly despicable Duke of Gloucester is cheerfully plotting the downfall of his brother the King and his brother Clarence is in the way, “I intend to prove a villain” is quite clear but the reasons are very enigmatic.

The scene where Richard woos Anne (who spends most of the scene spitting at him) seems incomprehensible to modern audiences until you realise Anne really has no choice in the matter. Richard's contention that “I will have her, but I will not keep her long” seems all the more evil Anne being so distraught because she knows she will have to marry him no matter what she thinks.

Another possibility which might have appealed to an Elizabethan audience may be the many pragmatic reasons why Anne would consent to this unwanted marriage - “a woman alone at court needs a protector - there is a sense in which she wants to believe in his passion, wants to think of herself as the salvation of a "bad" man who will be converted by the love of a good woman.” (Garber p. 142) No matter how convincingly we theorise, it is still very obtuse to a modern audience and no matter how I tried to explain it to today's teenagers it just didn't, and doesn't, really make any sense.

One good thing about my study of Richard was the wider reading I was exposed to, particularly The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey. Using the novel genre she examined the validity of the Tudor propaganda which destroyed Richard's reputation after his death. All very interesting, but it is wise to remember that even Shakespeare was a prisoner of his time and, in particular, was using contemporary sources for his inspiration.

His drama is not a history and even the Richard III Society would agree that Richard III is an excellent play if a poor history.

It's still one of my all-time favourites.

Addendum

The confirmation that the body found in a Leicester car park is indeed that of King Richard II give yet more fuel to the campaign to re-establish his reputation.

But, overcoming Shakespeare's characterization will continue to be difficult.

Retirement

49 Years, Some Days and a Wake Up

You may have read my Grandad's diary. I put it on-line some time ago. ( http://www.beltoncricket.co.uk/Downloads/fletch.html ). The most frustrating part of the transcription is the technical terms he uses which must be specific to the cloth trade. It's often difficult to make out what he's talking about. He didn't have the internet, but I do - so I'm determined not to make the same mistake.

We are popularly told that this present generation will have far less job security and will have to work until they drop because the pension system is so screwed up (many thanks Bankers!).

This may be so, and if it is, I'm truly sorry; but I've done my bit, and I retire in a very short time without any compunction.

As part of the process, I decided to note all the different jobs I have had and briefly describe the how, why and where.

This may be a salutatory message for the generation to come, or the last ravings of an overworked retiree and loon.

Here goes.

I started working on the old man's milk route when I was about 11. That would be in about 1957. I know this because by then I was old enough to be of some use and stupid enough to think it was a kind of treat to be able to help on the milk route. In a very short time, I was dissuaded from both innocent ideas.

A milk route is really quite hard work. You start early. In the early days, I only helped on Saturdays (it was a six day operation) and gradually this expanded to working also during the school vacations. It worked like this: you went to Myers Dairy on Dodgion (I have a photo which clearly shows the old loading dock) and after the Old Man messed about filing out paper work and getting the order organised you loaded up the truck with the day's dairy goods and set off. In a day you travelled at least 100 miles – stopping and starting and knocking on doors with milk in your hands. The OM was famous for quipping (after you had left the truck and taken a few steps) - “watch out for a dog up there”. I was bit once and nearly was more than a few times.

Early routes included Ruskin Heights in South KC where a tornado smashed through on 20 May 1957. OM and I were among the first to see the damage as we were allowed in to deliver milk supplies. I also distinctly remember seeing the swath of damage on South Noland Road (south of 40 Hi-Way) where the same tornado cut a passage through trees either side of the road. This bare swatch was visible for many years afterwards.

I'm sure I couldn't count this as paid work for Social Security purposes, but the old man would buy you a cup of coffee and a sweet roll and sometimes, particularly when I got older, give you 50 cents for helping. Getting older was a two pronged fork. You always got the 50 cents but you also had to do six days a week in the summer. It's not easy getting up at 4:30 when you are barely a teenager.

My next foray into work was doing my cousins paper round for two weeks whilst he was on vacation. I'm not really counting that.

The best way out of this (I figured) was to get a real job, so the day I turned 16 I both passed my driving test and went to work as a fry cook at 70 Hi Drive-In on 39^th and Noland Road, Independence, Missouri. We were living on 39^th street terrace at the time. I could walk to work. We worked a shift system - Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday evenings (maybe 5 till 11) one week and Tuesday, Thursday Saturday nights in the next week. Or, did we do lunchtimes at the weekend? I think maybe we did and the system was more complicated that I have described. Sorry, it was a long time ago.

Sam Lerner was the owner and I was paid the princely sum of 75 cents an hour. After training in the gentle art of cooking hamburgers I got 90 cents an hour. The first week I worked I made $18.75. I remember that because I had to use the money to buy some new trousers for school. We really were quite poor. Over the years most of the people I knew as close friends ended up working for Sam. Larry Stoner was my bun boy for a while. I taught Bosco Cox how to cook hamburgers.

Sam was an old man then and now must be long dead, but he was a first class boss and a first class human being. He gave us “kids” real responsibility and thought nothing of going away for the weekend ( his passion was horse racing – for which you had to go to Omaha, Nebraska to indulge in )and leaving me more or less in charge when I was barely 17. He taught me a lot about the world of work. He taught me a lot about growing up.

We moved to 28 Berry Lane and Bobby Lawless lived a short walk away. The OM was in his racing stage and so I was in it too. Bobby was quite successful in ¼ midgets, and I won lots of trophies in my go-cart. Bobby and I hand-built a motorcycle and rode it around the neighbourhood. It was hairy. It had no throttle so he would sit front and steer and I would give it the gas with a cable direct to the carb whilst riding pillion. We didn't kill ourselves, but I don't know how.

Anyway, Bobby worked at the Kansas City Booth Manufacturing Co ( http://www.kcbooth.com/ ) - they are still in business! He got me a job there, but I can't remember the chronology? It was an education! It must have just been for the summer cause I wasn't there long. I think I'd have been about 17 or 18 and must have left 70 Hi (at least temporarily).

Anyway, the KC Booth Manufacturing Co was in North KC and was populated by a crew of Mexicans who did the real work. There is quite a large Latino population in KC and they must all have relatives who worked at KC Booth. I swept the floor and generally tidied up. They did all the skilled jobs. They made beautiful booths for posh restaurants and the quality was superb. They also taught me Spanish – of a sort. Mostly how to swear. It was an education.

I was 18 and at Central Missouri State Residence Center in Independence – right behind the Harry Truman Library. I had no money. I had to borrow some from my Grandad and Aunt Jane to get started. Borrowing money from my Grandad is one of the supreme accomplishments of my life. I temporarily had no job.

My sister, Ruthanne was waitressing at an Italian Restaurant on 71 Bypass just south of 39^th, or it could have been further north? She got me a job as the dishwasher. I joined the Honorable Company of Pearl Divers. Washing dishes in the Italian Restaurant may be the worst job I ever had. What my sister didn't tell me was that there was no dishwasher at lunch-times. So, when I got there at (say) 5 p.m. all the dishes from lunch were waiting for me. It took two hours to catch up – just in time for the evening's dishes to arrive. Trying to remove caked-on Italian sauces from a large pot requires a hammer and chisel. I kid you not. At one stage I thought that Tootie did this to me on purpose, but that was being uncharitable.

I was there only for a few months when I made it up with Sam and returned to 70 Hi. I had only left because I wanted a raise to $1.25 an hour and he wouldn't agree. He let it be known that I could come back and have the raise. I took it. Gladly.

Eventually, I ran out of money good and proper – as in stony broke – as in no pot to pee in and no window to throw it out of. I'd exhausted all the available avenues and had to drop out of school and get a real job. By real, I mean 40-ish hours a week and wages that put you in the paying income tax bracket. I went to work for 7 Eleven. My first and last foray into the retail trade.

I knew soon I was not cut out for it, but I needed the money and it was steady work. Not withstanding getting robbed - (http://malkauffman.blogspot.com/2011/06/raytown-bulls.html ) - it wasn't all that bad. Fortunately for us humans - as the years fade we forget lots of the bad things and only remember the good. It was boring and dealing with the public is a pain in the bum.

Whilst waiting to get drafted, my sister Ruthanne and her husband Alan managed to get me on at the Western Electric factory in Lee's Summit, Missouri ( http://www.thinkkc.com/sitelocation/realestate/section/summittechcampus.php ). I did the night shift ( 15:00 to 23:30) and like all factories it was boring but it paid reasonably well. I was back to sweeping up with a little light production work as well. I stayed there until I got drafted, St Valentine's Day 1968, and I returned there after I completed my time in the U.S. Army.

I suppose the United States Army qualifies as a job, but it sure didn't feel like one. A whole blog should be devoted to my time serving Uncle Sam. Mayhaps I will get back to this one day, but not now – it would simply take too long and take up too much space. I will say this – I did have some interesting experiences and met some very interesting people.

Returning to civilian life also meant a return to Western Electric. Even though the country was going through a mini-recession they had to take me back. It's part of how the government looks after its veterans. So, I spent a week on days more or less doing nothing and then they found a spot for me in the packing department. Obviously, if you make things they have to be packaged up and sent somewhere before they can be used. We packed. We packed everything that was made in the factory and sent it places. I was back on the night shift (good thing because I had resumed my glittering academic career at CMSU) and the packing department was no picnic. First thing at 3 o'clock I had to move all the packing stuff from one side of the bench to the other – to accommodate my left-handed outlook on work. Many times I was told that I could not do a particular job at Western Electric because of my left-handedness. I ignored them and after a few minutes studying the task, re-arranged the work space and got on with it. It was tedious work and my work mates were uninspiring. I can't think that I made anything like a friend among fellow workers in the packing department.

I wasn't there for long. I got moved to transistors and back to the designation “floor hand”. Glorified cleaner and odd-job person is what it was. We arrived. We got our floor sweepers. No brooms – too much dust would be whipped up. We wandered about for two or three hours sweeping and chatting to the ladies who did the actual work. We killed time. We did some production work on the “dirty room”. Some manufacturing processes produced dust and grime so an enclosed space within the department housed the “dirty” processes, even to the extent that the air pressure was lower inside so when the door opened the air came in – not out. I worked with Danny Ray Grimm, what a character. Danny Ray was once was arrested for drink driving whilst sitting amidst a pile of empty beer cans that completely obscured the floor of the car he was driving at the time! He, somehow, talked his way of that one! He was a character. He used to come by my house on South Lynn and we would ride motorcycles to work in the summer. He had a Honda 400 cc and my 350 cc Yamaha would really shift!

I worked at Western Electric all the time I was at Warrensburgh finishing my degree. So, I got up early, drove 50 odd miles to Warrensburgh, went to class, drove 50 odd miles to Lees Summit, worked until midnight and drove 10 miles home. Easy when you are in your 20's. Wouldn't want to try it today. I used to “hide” in the dirty room and do my required reading.

Summer of 1974 we moved to England. Even though I was on a visitor's visa at the time, I went to the labour exchange and got a job at Klingers Gasket Factory in Foots Cray. Their headquarters are now in Bradford, and the Foots Cray site seems not to be in existence any more. This was quite an introduction to the world of work in England.

First of all this was pre-Maggie Thatcher; therefore, everyone had a job. Well, everyone went into a place of work, even if they didn't do much of a job when they got there. That was definitely the system at Klingers. We had breakfast in the subsidised staff canteen. We did a bit (actually it was quite like the Western Electric packing department – we had a trolley and we went and found the gasket material for the order then we packed it up for shipment).

We had a long lunch. We did next to nothing after lunch. Jimmy and Taffy, my work-mates were big into horse-racing so they had fixed up a rest area, made out of old packing crates, complete with tea pot and radio. My job, being young and fit, was to take the bets to the bookies.

Good thing was the number 52 bus ran almost to the factory door from Welling and it was convenient to get to work. It was certainly an eye-opener! Meanwhile I was trying to get my first job in teaching.

I had already figured out that the best weather in England is in East Anglia. It's the warmest and driest part of the country – statistically speaking.

So, when I saw an advert for a job near Gt. Yarmouth, I applied, and I got it. I started my teaching career at Duncan Hall and was there for 12 years. I learned was humility among many other things.

There was a little lad named Toby – only about six. One day as they lined up for afternoon lessons he looked up at me and said, “I like you Mr Kauffman.” I was about to say something appreciative when he continued, “Mind you, a lot of people don't.” A real definition of deflation.

One of my ex-pupils works at Roys of Wroxham and I see him often. Occasionally, I hear news of one or other “Old Boys” and it never fails to make it all seem worthwhile.

While I was there as a struggling, ill-paid teacher, I always had a job in the summer holidays. I scrubbed toilets and took care of the swimming pool at a Caister holiday camp. I delivered papers for Menzies, the wholesale newsagents. I refuelled helicopters and checked bags at North Denes airfield.

In order to make ends meet, I cycled from Winterton to Yarmouth every morning at about four to do the papers. I drove the van and Jimmy worked in the back sorting out the bundles. Jimmy had been a prisoner of the Japanese during the war and really hated them. Even in the 1970's if he saw an oriental-looking person he would go mental.

I'm glad I was young when I had to cycle miles to work for about £10 a week. I'd hate to try it now! I was delivering papers when they tracked me down to attend the birth of son number two.

Duncan Hall closed in 1986 and I was temporarily unemployed. I did some supply teaching at Feltwell. Uncle Sam had a High School there for children of Air Force personnel at Lakenheath and Mildenhall. I needed a steady income and a return to teaching, but I found myself, instead, working as a security guard for Dardan Security at the gas terminal near Bacton, Norfolk. It was local, and it was steady work - if uninspiring. Night shifts were interminable. I was only there a few months when an opportunity came up at Finborough School near Stowmarket. I knew many of the teachers there from my time at Duncan Hall and was appointed third in the English Department with a little Science teaching thrown in for fun.

I was at Finborough from 1987 until I took early retirement in 2004. I did my best work at Finborough. There developed over the years an excellent staff, and I made some friends who will stay with me until we are all too old to care!

After some lazing about I got a job on the “bank staff” register at the Norfolk County Council. My first appointment was to edit the gibberish produced by a Social Worker who insisted she was severely dyslexic. She couldn't write for toffee and that's a fact. So, I would take her notes and bits of paper and produce statements for the courts. Some of them were just sad, as when grandparents (who just happened to be heroin addicts) wanted access to their grand children. Others were hair-raising, involving some shocking cases of child abuse here in tranquil Norfolk. It was an education. I did some work for the careers service in Yarmouth, mostly creating a database of service users and amenable local companies who might employ them to improve their chances of getting a real job. All in all it was very part-time and not very lucrative.

I saw an advert in the Eastern Daily Press. It looked interesting, so I logged on to the NHS web site and applied for the job of Housekeeper at the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital. Next thing you know I got an interview and – sure enough – I got the job. I was just over two years from retirement.

Working in a hospital is really interesting. Especially on the Acute Medical Unit. People die at a steady rate, pretty much one or two a week – sometimes a day! I gained a new and enthusiastic appreciation for the work of the nurses. The doctors are good, but generally they live in a world of their own and often seem either lost or just about to be lost. The ancillary staff without a doubt are excellent.

At the N&N there are some superb people who will look after me when I am so aged that it becomes my final stop-over before the grave. There are a lot of worse places to end your days.

Unfortunately, that's where most oldies in Norfolk go to die. The scenario: GP is called out to oldies house and, despite knowing that they are coming to the end of their life, feels Hypocratically bound to call an ambulance and have them taken to AMU. They are put in a bed and kept comfortable but they will not leave the hospital except to go the the morgue. Far better to die at home. Unfortunately, in this litigious society the doctors don't have much choice. They should, perhaps, say to the relatives that Granny is dying so just let her die in peace at home. But, they daren't.

So that's it. Nearly 50 years of work. No wonder I'm tired sometimes.

Failing Schools or Failing Teachers

Which is it - schools or teachers?

Lots of stories in the media recently about failing schools and failing teachers – or is that the same thing?

Having been in teaching for over 30 years, I ought to have something to say. Something sensible. Something helpful. Something cogent.

It's tough.

Why is it so tough? It's because the truth about schools is rarely told and neither politicians or parents are really interested enough in the truth to listen to it.

Katherine Birbalsingh http://katharinebirbalsingh.com/ is the teacher who caused uproar at the Tory party conference when she “exposed the failings of state schools”. She is certainly an articulate lady and has some interesting and well thought out ideas about schools. She is not a radical. She has exposed part of the problem. She does have some interesting anecdotes to relate about inner London schools. She does not really tackle the real problems. She is, if you believe the rumours, about to take up a senior position at one of the new academy schools. I wish her well.

Why, then, is she not a radical? Because she sees the problem in terms of school organisation, teaching expectations, parental short-comings, teacher short-comings, administrators in denial and an inspection system that is really just a joke. These are all real problems. But, they are not the root cause.

What is?

The Education Act of 1944 has a lot to say about the organisation of schooling in England but precious little about how children are to be taught. Consequently, successive governments have seen this as carte blanche to mess with it as they see fit – often for political rather than educational reasons. In doing so they miss the essential point. Schools are not there primarily to educate children.

Before you switch off and assume that the old boy has finally lost his senses, just consider these points:

If schools were there to educate children, why would they organise the school year to ensure that pupils are not in school for about 100 days? (The reason is somewhat historical. The school year traditionally was set so pupils could help with the harvest. It carries on not to suit the schools or good educational practice, but so that parents can take a holiday in the warm summer months – we could save a fortune in heating bills alone if schools were open in the summer and closed in the winter!)

If schools were there to educate children, why would they continually cater for pupils who do not want to be there? (Pupils are forced to go to school. Many are there only because they have to be – not because they want to be.)

If schools were there to educate children, why would they teach subjects which have no relevance in the real world? (The fact is there are only a handful of geographers, artists or musicians who make a living at it – so why teach these subjects so enthusiastically at secondary level?)

Any sensible analysis must conclude that schools are not there to educate children.

Therefore, I have a real suggestion that would improve schools immediately. Only allow children who are willing to co-operate with the teachers into classrooms. Those who don't – remove them and only let them back when their parents bring them back and promise to make sure they sit down, shut up and do their best. Oh yes, and it's three strikes and you're out. And it goes all the way down to primary schools.

I confidently predict that such a plan would do wonders for the educational system. I also confidently predict that the chances of it being implemented are nil.

Why?

Because schools are primarily there to provide cheap, state-sponsored, child care. That's the fact.

Smells Like Winning to Me

or How I learned to Love Cherry Pies, Again

I'm enamoured with the great bit in Apocalypse Now when Robert Duvall, playing a seriously deranged unit commander named Kilgore, turns, stares at the sky and says,

“Smell that? You smell that?
Lance: What?
Kilgore: Napalm, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that.
[kneels]
Kilgore: I love the smell of napalm in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for 12 hours. When it was all over, I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' dink body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill. Smelled like -
[sniffing, pondering] Victory.

I had just the same experience the other day, simply by accident. I was reading A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking. Lots of really interesting stuff – if you are into esoterica.

I particularly liked the section where Hawking explains that the mathematical ideas involved in his speculations on Space/Time are so complex that only a very few specialists in the field could (or do) actually understand them. Great, sounds like the kind of maths I love!

To be more precise, it sounds like the kind of maths which got us into the present economic difficulties – for which the bankers are forever being blamed. They deserve it: that's true. But, perversely; the mathematicians, who provided the foundations for their folly, seemingly get off scot free.

Why? Because the bankers, if you care to believe them, protest that they were just following the mathematical models that they were given. The mathematicians, wisely, keep shtum. Good move!

But, I digress – back to Hawking. The idea that floored me is on page 149. Hawking is explaining some special numbers, called imaginary. Let him do it: “If we take any ordinary (or real) number and multiply it by itself, the result is a positive number. (For example, 2 times 2 is four, but so is -2 times -2) There are, however, special numbers (called imaginary) that give negative numbers when multiplied by themselves. (The one called i, when multiplied by itself, gives -1, 2i multiplied by itself gives -4 and so on.)”

Stephen, you are a genius. (This is not news – most folks accept this) You are now, in addition to all your other accolades the real founder of Cherry Pie Maths! (And I always thought it was me!!)

What he is saying, philosophically, is that if you require a particular system in order to produce a particular mathematical answer – go for it! So, if you can get a Hawking system to produce negative numbers when multiplied by itself – it's a short step to “imagining” numbers that produce positive sequences in the same scenario.

Thanks Stevie – I've been arguing this point for years! In my system, as you all know, when you multiply ½ times ½ you get one. If Steve says you can use imaginary numbers, then it's ok by me. Call it what you want.

I'm sticking to my system.

Just don't pull out some pseudo-math crapola – pick up the phone and call Steve.

Not my problem!

He's on my team!!

Butch and Sundance

Escaping Responsibility


Butch and Sundance, two little porkers, also known as the Tamworth Two, were the ones who escaped from their lorry on the way to the abattoir and were reprieved, not turned into pork pies and chipolatas. This was in 1998 – but they are, as I read not long ago, still alive and porking on the pounds at an animal sanctuary near Ashford in Kent. Good on ya, piggies!

Seriously, they captured the nation's pity, sympathy and admiration for their flight from certain death. Their reward? A long life (for a pig) of relative ease.

Not surprising, therefore, to find that the common herd are just as sentimental and nonsensical about animals today as they were 12 years ago.

How do I know? See The cyber-fascists slaughtering a decent teacher in the Sunday Times today, 14 February.

The Head Teacher at a small school in Kent (same county as the Tamworth Two) decided to do something practical to educate children about where food comes from. Seems a worthwhile thing to me.

From the Sunday Times( with Rod Liddle's by-line):

Marcus, as a rather yummy (and fashionable) salt-marsh Romney lamb, was hand-reared by the staff and children of Lydd primary school, on Romney Marsh to show the kids where our food comes from. There was a survey out recently which showed that 10% of schoolchildren think we get cheese from rats.

Surprised? I'm not. On 29 March 09 I blogged on this very subject. Look it up on Blogspot! The Head is exactly right. Children, and many, many adults in the UK have no idea where food comes from or how it actually gets into the shrink-wrapped packets at Tesco.

More from the Rod Liddle:

There were plenty of other things the kids didn’t know about food, and where it came from, quite apart from the rat-cheese misapprehension thing. There is a general view that children these days are a bit ignorant about what they eat, divorced from the process which brings KFC Zinger Burgers and micro-chips to their plates. Lydd primary school tried to address this problem, with the help of Marcus. Which is where it all went wrong.

Right on Rod! So, what's the problem? Yep, you guessed it – it's those folks who are the worst people to have children – the parents.

Marcus was hand-fed and then there came the day when he was looking especially plump and juicy and the headmistress, Andrea Charman, decided it was time to electrocute him down at the abattoir and divide him into chops. That, after all, was the point of Marcus. To be served lightly grilled, pink inside, with asparagus spears and Jersey Royals and mint. But then all hell broke loose, even before someone — maybe mice, who knows? — had made the gravy.

The kids’ parents — or some of them — demanded that Marcus should be allowed to live, because he was a nice sheepy. Rightly, Charman refused, saying: look, this is precisely what we need the children to learn; this is how the world is, especially here on Romney Marsh. Sheep are food. So Marcus was zapped and quartered, as sheep are.

Key point: the Head was trying to show kids where lamb chops come from. This is an important bit of info to learn in life, really. It's not clear whether the Head was proposing to have said Marcus chops on the school menu.

It was at this point that the endlessly hyperactive, bone-headed online fascists got involved and last week, Charman, who had been hand-picked to turn round this hitherto failing school, felt forced to resign from her job for “personal reasons”. Some 2,500 cretins started an online petition calling for the beleaguered head teacher to be sacked. It is entirely possible that none of them whatsoever had any connection to Lydd primary school. However, the campaign of vilification and vituperation had begun.

Another Facebook site was set up by 650 similarly sad, lifeless, drongoes, demanding not merely that Charman be sacked but — and I quote — to Ban Andrea Charman From Teaching Anywhere. Can you imagine the sort of people who would associate themselves with such a cause?

I can. Maybe you can. Rod can. Can anyone else? Particularly, anyone in a position to do anything about it?

Apparently not.

It was at this point that the endlessly hyperactive, bone-headed online fascists got involved and last week, Charman, who had been hand-picked to turn round this hitherto failing school, felt forced to resign from her job for “personal reasons”.

Charman’s local MP, Michael Howard, bemoaned her departure and said that the internet campaign “had implications for the future of society”. Too right. Charman’s resignation is obviously a defeat for education and rationality, seeing that she was trying to educate the kids as to how food appears on our plates.

So, who's to blame? What's to be done? It's a tough one. There are, evidence would seem to point to, a lot of fairly stupid people in Lydd. This is (fortunately, or unfortunately) not a crime.

I'll take the unpopular view, Michael Howard should have insisted that the Head be persuaded to stay. The Head should have refused to be bullied. The “hyperactive, bone-headed on-line fascists “should have had their bluff called.

You don't expose ignorance by pretending it doesn't exist.

These people need educating. So do their children. Sounds like Lydd and the country have lost a good teacher.

Serves them right.

Bovine Mayhem, Raccoon Terror

Worrying!!

Strange to see in the paper yesterday two stories about animals attacking humans.

Story one, from the local EDP, concerned a farmer being trampled by his own cattle.

Number two – a woman in Florida was attacked by a marauding band of raccoons.

No, I'm not making this up!

Now, I have heard of cow attacks before. Despite the unlikely nature of such premeditated bovine assaults, it appears they are much more common than you might think. If you think not, try typing “cow attacks” into a Google search.

Herewith I must confess to putting a whole generation of school children at extreme risk by assuring them that cows are harmless, docile creatures and will not harm you. (Bulls are an exception!). I must plead ignorance. I just didn't know that cows were so damn dangerous! They never were when I was young.

At Thorndon in Suffolk, a farmer received “multiple injuries” after he was trampled by his own cattle. Roger Jones had broken ribs, cuts on his face and injured his shoulder after the cattle attacked him on his own land. He was in a stable condition in the hospital. (I had a look in EAU but didn't see Roger – I would have liked to find out some of the details!) Most of the cattle assaults documented on Google concern cows with calves. This makes sense. No matter how domesticated the beast, when the young are threatened (or are seen to be threatened by a brain-less cow) they will defend the calf. Fine. I can understand that. What I would like to know from Roger is what exactly was he doing when he was attacked? If they were his cows, surely they would be used to him and not see him as a threat?

People in England have died after being trampled by cows. Yes, it's true.

Part of my pitch to kids was our divorce from the natural world. Our recent ancestors would have had intimate knowledge of domestic (and wild) animals which we have lost. Ask most kids where a steak comes from and they will say Tesco's. The idea that a cow had to die and be butchered to get a steak is only peripherally known to most kids. They know it, sort of deep down, by they don't really think about it or imagine it as part of their daily lives. Confronted with the reality of slaughter, most kids instantly convert to vegetarianism (fortunately for Tesco this conversion only usually lasts until the next BBQ!).

I just wish the paper had let us in on more of the details.

Same day – same paper – a real human interest story.

Gretchen Whitted, resident of Florida was trying to chase some raccoons from her garden. Five raccoons surrounded her and attacked. She ended up in the hospital with cuts to her neck and leg (presumably she fell down – the idea that a raccoon could, or would, leap a metre or more in the air to bite Gretchen's neck is just too much to take in!) Still, a pack of killer raccoons loose in a Florida garden is pretty worrying!

Again we are sadly lacking in detail. Did, for instance, Gretchen corner the raccoons? Most animals will attack if cornered. What does it mean when she tried to chase them from her garden? With a stick? A broom? Her hands? A twelve gauge shotgun??

I need and want to know!

From the Associated Press

LAKELAND, Fla. — Animal control officers hope to trap a pack of raccoons that mauled a 74-year-old Florida woman who tried to chase them from her yard.

The sheriff in Polk County, east of Tampa, says Gretchen Whitted fell when five raccoons surrounded and attacked her Sunday. She was taken to a hospital with extensive cuts from her neck to her legs.

“We’re not talking about a lot of little bites here,” Sheriff Grady Judd said. “She was filleted.”

A neighbor called for help after hearing the woman’s cries and seeing her covered in blood.

Whitted was treated for rabies, though officials doubt the animals were infected.

Fire crews flooded nearby drains to drive the animals out, but none appeared. Animal control officers hope to catch them using cat food and sardines as bait.

Filleted! Not just bit, but filleted!!

There's something strange going on here! I'm sure raccoons could give you more than a nasty nip, but the idea that they form a gang, make a plan and then attack someone needs investigating – and now!! There are a lot of raccoons!! They're all over the place!!

My expose regarding harmless animals, given in good faith and with more than a modicum of humour and with tongue firmly in cheek is looking fairly irresponsible and, perhaps, the basis for a very expensive legal action.

I can see the headline now: Girl Trampled – Irresponsible Teacher Blamed!

A young lady was savagely attacked by a herd of cows whilst walking near Stowmarket yesterday. Sally Smith told he Mum she was going for a walk but is now in hospital in Bury with severe concussion after being trampled by up to 15 cows near her home in Lackbrain Crescent.

“I was just walking across the field to get home when the cows charged at me and attacked. I wasn't doing anything to annoy then! My English teacher, Mr Kauffman, told me years ago that cows were not dangerous. He lied to me! I'm very upset.” Suffolk Constabulary refused to comment saying the incident is under investigation.

I may need a good lawyer. Not to mention a fence to keep raccoons out of my garden!

Scary.

Price of a Pint

Beer v. Petrol

In my previous incarnation as a children's entertainer (school teacher) I had some favourite lessons I could always trot out when things were either not going very well – or when the class was in need of some thinking practice.

To get them thinking I would pose the question: why is beer four times more expensive than petrol?

Think about it. A gallon of petrol equals about 4 litres. Petrol is about a pound a litre – or is shortly to be according to the news media. That makes the cost of a gallon of petrol as £5 – to keep to round numbers. Beer is about £2.80 a pint for lager. That's about £11 pounds a gallon. Therefore, beer is about twice as expensive as petrol. Why?

Ask children this question and they will come up with some convincing answers. Beer is taxed highly by the government. Actually, half of the price of a litre of petrol is tax, for beer the numbers are less. Beer is a luxury commodity whereas petrol is a necessity. Possibly true, but that would be a reason for taxing petrol more – after all if beer is a luxury you can just stop buying it!

Just to complicate things, I would then ask the youngsters to consider what is required to produce a litre of beer and a litre of petrol. For beer you need some water (almost free) some hops (a plant that grows naturally and is, therefore a renewable resource). A brewery – some expense here in plant, buildings and machinery. A bottling plant to make your product easy to store and move about. A transport network with lorries to transport your product to the destinations. Pubs, clubs and supermarkets to retail the product.

For petrol the scene is seemingly similar – but much more expensive. For raw materials you need oil instead of water. To get the oil you need (in the case of North Sea oil) drilling rigs and pipelines – not to mention the costs of finding the oil in the first place! Then instead of a brewery you need an oil refinery. Very expensive kit required here. Then you need the same transport system as for beer – whacking great lorries to move the stuff to petrol stations. At the station you will need staff at about the same wages as the pub staff to retail the stuff.

In short, petrol costs far more to find, refine, transport and retail than beer. It is taxed more highly. Therefore, common sense would tell you that petrol must be more expensive than beer. Wrong, as we have seen.

It's actually half the price.

At this point kids would want to know the answer. I never had it. Still don't.

If anyone does know why beer is twice as expensive as petrol, I wish they would tell me.

Another Brick in the Wall - Part Deux

Exasperation Rules! OK?

With uncommon regularity, reports of teachers suffering abuse at the hands of pupils appear in the local press.

For example: Teachers have demanded proper protection as a survey revealed a shocking catalogue of physical and verbal abuse launched against them every day by children in Norfolk's classrooms. - EDP

Sounds familiar? It should do, for I have commented on this before.

See http://malkauffman.blogspot.com/2007/02/another-brick-in-wall.html

This is becoming what I call a Quarterly Story: i.e. four times a year it will appear in the press and nothing will be done, therefore, it will appear four times the next year.

Almost 150 incidents were recorded in a week chosen to provide a snapshot of some of the extreme behaviour that goes on in the county's schools. Among the incidents recorded were foul-mouthed racist and homophobic abuse, physical attacks, assaults with objects, threats of violence and verbal attacks by parents. - EDP

Charmed, I'm sure.

The survey by three Norfolk teaching unions paints a chilling picture of the intimidation and fear endured by people who are trying to give the next generation a good start in life. Some teachers said they were so ground down by the constant abuse that they were looking to quit the profession. - EDP

Sound familiar?

The latest findings show an extraordinary lack of deference to teachers and raise serious questions about Tony Blair's much-heralded Respect agenda.- EDP

Lack of deference? I'd be surprised if any teachers complained of a lack of deference! I would hope they would only want and expect the amount of respect people performing a public service are entitled to.

Colin Collis, Norfolk secretary of the NASUWT, stressed that some schools did not have a problem, while others dealt with incidents very well.

But he said: "I would like to know what makes youngsters think it's okay to abuse their teachers.

"I think it's a disgrace that they feel they are in a position to do that. Part of the problem is that they don't believe there are any consequences for doing it.- EDP

Yes, Colin, congratulations, you have identified the problem! The questions is: what consequences are you recommending?

"We are in discussions with the county council about it. It's not about getting at the council - we want to work with them to find solutions.

"One of the things I'm very unhappy about is the number of times an incident was reported and there was no proper follow-up by the management. That's not good enough." - EDP

Great! Let's have some discussions! That will solve the problem, oh yeah!

Tony Mulgrew, county secretary of the NUT, said: "The issue of it not being dealt with properly is a big factor in people leaving the profession." - EDP

So, Tony, what makes you think some more discussion groups will help?

Mr Collis added: "There needs to be proper support to our members under the duty of care.

Excellent! What I don't understand is why, if and when their staff are assaulted, the NHS policy is to call the police and prosecute. Why don't schools do the same? Don't they have the same duty of care? Obviously not.

1. At the county's joint consultative committee in January, union leaders and school bosses agreed that all schools should display notices like those in doctors' surgeries and hospitals, warning parents and pupils that verbal or physical attacks would not be tolerated. - EDP

Excellent! They have read my mind! Now convince me, let's see a prosecution. You can't have it both ways. If assaults are happening all the time, prosecute them. It's not rocket science!

Lisa Christensen, director of children's services: "We have an expectation that everyone working for the county council should be treated with dignity and respect and work was already under way on a county wide behaviour strategy. - EDP

I am so comforted. Just what we need – another discussion group. You're in the hole lads – stop digging!

My solution is simple. Expel pupils who assault, verbally or physically, either their teachers or other pupils. Give them a week off. Twice. Then, permanently. Let them and their parents come to school and beg to be let in.

I think it's called Zero Tolerance. Dashed good idea!

Waterloo Road

Tripe masquerading as entertainment!

I compulsively watch Waterloo Road. There, I've confessed. Perhaps I'll now feel better.

It all started by accident. I was vaguely aware that this programme had something to do with schools and I had nothing much else to do, so I turned it on. I watched for a bit, puzzled. It clearly had something to do with schools, but I couldn't really figure out what that something was.

Eventually the penny dropped. It's a soap opera masquerading as a drama about school. I was so pleased with myself for figuring this out I forgot to switch it off. I don't “do” soaps. Never have. Never will. But, the sheer grotesqueness of the characters and the idiotic story had me mesmerised. Never have I seen such tripe paraded before prime time audiences.

The characters are completely unbelievable. That's just the teachers – the pupils are worse. The plots make the machinations of a hundred hashish-smoking Bedouin horse-buggerers seem pale by comparison.

This programme should be banned. Many parents and (worse) pupils probably think that Waterloo Road is a kind of documentary dealing with contemporary issues in education; for, occasionally, the writers attempt to introduce some topical educational issue, like Academy funding, as a sop to the viewers. This is disastrous! The unsuspecting viewer will only have their prejudices reinforced. According to Waterloo Road, Academies are all funded by dodgy blokes who make a killing selling porn and then return to their Alma Mater to make things better by ensuring that the present generation get a worse education than they did.

I'm not kidding. That's as good a précis as you might get of a recent plot.

The producers imagine that the teachers spend all day either bickering or bonking – or possibly both at the same time. The children swagger around in various states of scruffy dress or possibly undress. The administrators' plots to undermine each other rival any plan personally stamped by Machiavelli himself. The unwholesomeness of the relationships between staff and pupils is a disgrace and a travesty of real life. Need any more reasons for a ban?

Waterloo Road is so bad that it has become compulsive viewing in my house.

Here's an episode “taster”: “. . . a student teacher struggles to learn the ropes when he takes on the Waterloo Road kids ( yeah, Guv, better not send any weedy student teacher to Waterloo Road – we'll 'av 'em for breakfast! )– Steph ( a grown woman and, supposedly a responsible teacher ) continues to help Maxine ( a teenage girl with a drug habit and abusive step-father who hates school but has been dragooned back by the aforementioned Steph ) by trying to find her a new home – Lorna finds comfort in Tom ( who up until last week was living with and expecting a child with one of the other teachers ) as she gradually comes to terms with her illness, ad nauseaum, ad infinitum, ad circulum !

That's it Sweeties, please pass the hemlock, I think I might need it.

Another Brick in the Wall

Teacher's Woes.

Steve Downes' investigation into the state of teachers and teaching in the EDP, “Who'd want to be a teacher today”, confirms what everyone already knew. Teaching is tough and getting tougher.

A Yougov survey showed six out of ten teachers suffering from stress. I'm surprised it's so low. What are the other four doing? They were probably off sick the day the survey was taken.

A survey for Teachers' TV says half of all teachers have considered quitting because of stress. The other half must be downing prodigious quantities of Valium.

Teaching is stressful. I could have told them that and saved them the effort and money involved in taking a survey. This is not news. What Steve has brought to the table is some insights into why teachers may be stressed. Some of these bear closer inspection.

Quoting John Barnes of the ATL, Steve reminds us that society today is much different than it was when teachers who are in their 50's started their careers. Putting it another way, most people expect, as they reach the years approaching retirement, things will become “easier” at work. Their long experience of the job should lead to less stress and more in the way of financial rewards. With teaching it's the opposite. Those older teachers surveyed are reporting that the job is just getting harder. Leaving aside the government initiatives, it's society, in the shape of the raw materials provided (the kids) that is causing the stress.

Mr Barnes' take: “Parents have an attitude very often, which passes on to their children, that “you are paid to do this job and the pupil's job is to make it as difficult as possible for you”.

This is interesting. We are awash with signs in the hospital, doctor's surgery, post office, shops, supermarkets, pubs and other public places which inform the public that abusing staff will not be tolerated. You've all seen them.

Ever seen one in a school?

Mr Barnes goes on: “It's now automatically assumed that the child's rights are paramount. The assumption is that the child is always right and the teacher is always wrong.”.

The rest of the article is a litany of children swearing, being truculent or being downright violent towards their teachers. Little in the way of support from management is in evidence.

So, what is to be done? No-one has addressed solutions to teachers' problems for many a long year – and it would not be that difficult. It would be painful but not too difficult.

First. Insist that parents take responsibility for their children's actions. How? Install CCTV in every classroom. Then, instead of having meetings to discuss children's behaviour, just show the tape.

Second. Make parents' responsibilities truly extend to their children's education. Exclude the pupils who the teachers can't teach. All of them. No “ifs, ands or buts” . Remove them, now. The onus to get them back into school is now where it really belongs, with the parents. They can either educate them at home (and they better do it right – cause I'd be inspecting the devil out of them!!) or make sure they behave well enough to go to school. Simple. Sample scenario: teacher takes pupil to head teacher; informs head that pupil has sworn at them; head suspends pupil for that day; head informs parents to collect child; parents collect within an hour or the suspension becomes a week. Pupil returns from suspension and does it again. Same scenario repeats. Pupils and parents may begin to get message.

Third. Stop treating teachers as baby-sitters. Let them teach. Pupils who are violent towards their teachers (or other pupils) should be prosecuted by the police. Let the courts deal with them and their parents.

A sea change is needed in the way parents and pupils view education. Teachers, administrators and government must make it clear to parents that education is a privilege, not a right. If parents are not happy with what the teacher/school is doing – let then do it themselves.

I confidently predict things would improve.