Although I wasn’t nearly as enamoured of teaching as I’d expected, I decided to take a job teaching children English after school. I knew absolutely nothing about children or what was normal for them, but I thought it might be fun. O Lamb to the Slaughter! I settled for five hours of classes – two on Monday, one on Tuesday and two on Thursday. All I can say is thank God for Wednesday and Friday. I shall call the woman running the outfit TB (The Boss). Single-handedly, she disproved my theory that there was no sex or glamour in teaching. Istill wasn’t convinced by teaching though and hesitated about signing on her dotted line, but I did. That was my first mistake.
My first class was one of 7 year olds. There were two very pink little girls (their clothing rather than their complexions), an alarmingly mature black boy (he turned out to be 9), and a boy with curly hair who walked in as though he had the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. When he sat down, he started talking, and basically never stopped for the next four months.
The two boys sat conferring, looking me up and down, and I was taken aback by how appraising their looks were. Then the curly-headed one made a big announcement in his small voice (speaking French). “We have decided that you are small and big. You’ve got a small head and a big arse”. And I had assumed Swiss children would be polite and respectful! That was my second mistake.
The next class was in a different school and composed of 14- and 15-year olds. Eight of them sat there, expectantly. I checked which textbook they were using at school. Some had an orange book and some had the red version. Some had finished the orange and started on the red. Some were midway through the red but had never seen the orange. Some were well on with the orange but had never seen the red. My brain yelled at the confusion of it all.
A boy put his hand up. “I think I’m too small for this class”, he said. “Oh don’t worry”, I said, “it’s not a question of SIZE”. Everyone started tittering. “No – I mean I think I should be in the OTHER class”. Unbeknown to me, there was a lower-level class next door. He and three of the others left to join it. GREAT, I thought. Only 4 left!
TB had come to assess the students’ level and was sitting observing. “Observing” normally means sitting quietly at the back, taking notes and discussing things afterwards. TB, however, was not what you would call “self-effacing” – either by design or by nature. She started interfering right from the start.
“WHY are you doing that now? Don’t you think it would be better to conjugate the WHOLE verb?” Oh very smart, I thought, undermining the teacher’s authority right from the start. And in front of a class of teens, too! I gritted my teeth and conjugated the whole verb. A voice came from the back. “Normally we write with GREEN MARKER and use RED to highlight important points”. My mouth was set as tight as a tripwire. As someone who hated my own mother telling me what to wear at the age of 4 and a half, it was unlikely that I would accept gracefully being told what colour pen I could write in when I was 50+. And Mt Etna had nothing on me when I realised that my enforced fiddling with the markers had left a green splodge on my lilac cashmere woolly that I never got off.
It was my first day of teaching – only my second HOUR of teaching – and already I knew it was a dreadful mistake.
Next, TB decided to help me by writing exercises on the board, so this 6- foot voluptuous creature is literally crawling on her hands and knees on the floor, stretching up an arm to write on the board, her black leathered bottom no doubt giving the two 14-year old boys the most violent rush of testosterone and a sleepless night. I tripped over her at least twice. It was a grotesque situation to be in in a classroom of teens – part of a clown act! I very nearly walked right out the door.
When I left the school, I noticed there was a cemetery opposite and thought it a preferable option to the classroom. I had not enjoyed my teaching day. At home, I rushed to open a bottle of wine. At least I’d survived! Then depression set in. I had to go back next day and do it all again.
