July 2012
It was a week into the Autumn term and Alison was assessing her day. She looked at Bradley's target, 'discourage the throwing of toys at his peers'. She chewed her pen and struggled to find a positive outcome. Eventually she wrote in the box 'still throws toys, but now only at the head teacher, and with amazing accuracy'.
Alison enjoyed her job in the Special Needs Unit, or rather 'Centre' not 'Unit' anymore. The name had been changed by the new head teacher, Mrs. Smythe, who thought it sounded more 'approachable'. Saying that, she rarely crossed the playground from the main school for a visit. Then Alison remembered Bradley . . . that probably didn't help. The staff of both schools had been consulted by the governors before Mrs. Smythe's appointment to ask for their opinions on what qualities to look for at the interviews. Alison recalled feeling privileged to work in such a caring, democratic school. She stood up and requested an experienced head teacher who had undertaken the uniting of two schools before and had excellent people skills.
They got Mrs. Smythe, who was in her early forties, without management experience, but according to Iris, the cleaner, who knew everything, she had flashed her legs at the Chairman of Governors and as they say, the rest is history. Alison still held out some hope for 'people skills' until Iris told her that a desperate parent had asked to use the toilet and Mrs. Smythe had refused.
Alison thought for a minute, she was feeling very happy at the moment. It had been a good day and Bradley was keeping Mrs. Smythe at bay. It must be time for Iris to appear . . . and she did with mop, bucket and a tragic expression. 'Afternoon, Iris, hasn't it been a lovely day!'
'Haven't you heard the news? There's been a car crash on the M25, fifteen dead, they reckon.'
Alison tried desperately to change the subject before Iris described the injuries. 'How are things in the main school?'
Iris produced a feather duster from thin air, reminiscent of a Tommy Cooper trick, and started flicking it randomly. 'Well the news isn't good.' Somehow Alison wasn't surprised. 'They've taken on a new teacher, Mr. Green, wet behind the ears, knows nothing, about your age. Talk about Green by name and green by nature, he let Freddy Spratt loose with scissors and he cut Belinda Fortescue's hair off. 'Cutting Skills' he called it. Any fool knows those Spratts don't need any cutting practice. His little brother, Johnno, got hold of a pair of wire cutters and let all the nursery kids out through the fence. Luckily they were all on trikes or pushing prams, otherwise they'd have made it to the main road before that useless article of a teacher noticed.'
The feather duster disappeared and Iris shuffled off, no doubt to the next classroom to bring a little sunshine into Mrs. Goodbody's dull day. Alison had had enough. She packed up and headed for the car park. An idea struck her, 'I'd better get 'Up a Tree' before Goody two shoes Goodbody nabs it.' Since the new Literacy initiative, all the teachers seem to plan to use the same big book as the focus for their lesson at exactly the same time.
Alison headed purposefully towards the resource room in the main school. A side door burst open and a harassed, very pink, but rather nice looking man thrust his hand out and spluttered, 'Mrs. Fortescue, I presume.' Alison accepted the hand automatically and opened her mouth to explain, but she found herself being propelled into the classroom.
The terrified teacher, whom she took to be Mr. Green, looked about furtively before closing the classroom door. Mrs. Smythe was often 'on the prowl' at this time of day. 'I must apologise about Belinda's . . . er . . . haircut. At this age, many pupils partake in . . . er . . . exploratory play, and the pupil concerned was obviously fascinated by your daughter's very fine blonde hair.' Alison stopped him there, she couldn't bear to see him squirm any longer. She told him who she was and did some role play with him, showing him how to handle an irate parent, during which he cheekily asked her out for a drink. She thought she could encourage Mrs. Fortescue not to report the incident to Mrs. Smythe. Mrs. F was in Alison's debt for educating Belinda's brother, Bradley, when no other sucker would have him.
Needless to say, this case of mistaken identity had done more to unite the two schools than Mrs. Smythe and her legs had ever done.