06 Educating Jack by Jack Sheffield Page B

it
true
we ask ourselves?’
    ‘I presume you’re joking,’ I said.
    ‘I never joke,’ he said blandly and I was beginning to believe it. He wrote another note, this time using a red biro.
    ‘Well, what can we do to help?’ I asked.
    ‘I need to quantify the number of minutes devoted to each essential subject of the curriculum on my input– output checksheet and then extrapolate the data analysis using our new dedicated computer at County Hall. So it will be necessary to observe each class.’
    ‘Oh, I see,’ I said … but I didn’t.
    ‘Is this your timetable?’ he said, pointing with his biro towards an A2 sheet of squared paper on the noticeboard. I was proud of my neat, colour-coded chart showing the days of the week and blocks of time for English and mathematics for each class, along with physical education, assemblies, topic work, radio broadcasts and our weekly religious education lessons with Joseph. The fact that, in reality, our
actual
timetable varied according to the interests of the children or the weather was something I didn’t want to share at that moment.
    ‘Yes, it is,’ I said.
    ‘So, according to this, your first lesson begins at five minutes past nine.’
    ‘That’s correct.’
    ‘And before that you do registration.’
    ‘Yes, we do.’
    ‘And the bell goes at nine a.m.’
    ‘Er, yes.’
    ‘Mr Sheffield, according to my watch it is now one minute past nine and my watch is correct every morning as per Greenwich Mean Time.’ He began to write again on his clipboard.
    ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Excuse me.’ I rushed to the bottom of the belltower, dragged the ancient rope from the metal cleat on the wall and began to pull on it. Another school day had begun … sadly, later than usual.
    * * *
    Mr Cripps spent the next hour visiting all the classrooms. In Class 1, Anne was reading the wonderful
Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck
and twenty eager faces stared up at her, following every word.
    He seemed impressed, until Katie Icklethwaite asked him, ‘’Scuse me mister, what are you doing?’
    ‘I’m watching what you’re doing and then I write it down,’ said Digby.
    ‘An’ ’ave y’got a proper job as well?’ asked Katie.
    Digby didn’t stay to hear the end of Beatrix Potter’s classic tale. He moved on to Jo’s class. In the corridor outside, seven-year-old Barry Ollerenshaw was queuing for the toilet. ‘And why are you waiting here?’ asked Digby.
    ‘Ah were caught short in t’middle o’ m’writing,’ said Barry with a strained expression. ‘We ’ad prunes f’breakfast.’
    Mr Cripps added a note to his list and moved on to Class 3 and their Africa topic lesson. When he walked in, the children had just stopped making a list of animals and Sally had picked up her guitar and her
Okki-Tokki-Unga
songbook of action songs. She had turned to number eleven, ‘The Animal Fair’, and the children were singing ‘The elephant sneezed and fell on his knees’. The cacophony of sound from a selection of percussion instruments added to the excitement. Mr Cripps shook his head, wrote a question mark against the title ‘Topic Work’ and walked across the corridor to my classroom, where Shirley the cook had just popped her head round the door. ‘M’jelly’s not settin’, Mr Sheffield,’ she said anxiously. ‘When you’ve got a minute, can yer ’ave a quick look at t’big fridge?’ I noticed that Mr Cripps selected a green biro and scribbled yet another note … and so it went on.
    At a quarter past ten, in school assembly, Anne began to play the piano. On wild and windy mornings such as this, she always chose what she described as ‘calming music’ to relax the children. Joseph glanced nervously at Mr Cripps and launched into the story of the Good Samaritan, then decided to review the story with what he considered to be pertinent questions.
    ‘Now boys and girls,’ he said, ‘if you saw a poor person injured and bleeding, what would you do?’
    No one moved or