Chapter Seven
School Days
Wherein I move to
a new country, start a new job, learn a new sport and engage in some
very interesting sidelines.
We took the train
from KC to NY. That way we could “easily” transport the
suitcases and whacking great crates. It was an overnight train and I
enjoyed the daytime sights as we trundled through Pittsburg. Very
scenic.
I arrived in England
on the QE II in June of 1974. We docked at Southhampton where we
were met by my father-in-law. He had hired a small van to transport
the crates containing all our worldly goods.
I distinctly
remember the Immigration Officer asking Maureen if she had come home
to have the baby in a sneering, deprecating tone.
Whilst they unloaded
the passengers' luggage, we went into Southampton and had some lunch.
On our return we
found the terminal closed with our possessions inside. We found an
unlocked door and dragged the stuff up a down-escalator and out the
door. Not a customs official in sight. We should have brought some
guns or narcotics – there would never be a better chance!
I set about trying
to find a teaching job. In the meantime I visited the Labour
Exchange and they fixed me up with a job at Kingers gasket factory in
Foots Cray. It was my first introduction to the world of work in the
UK – and what an introduction. I worked in the warehouse with two
old boys whose names now escape me. The day went like this: we
arrived and clocked on. We stood about for a bit and then we went
for breakfast in the staff subsidised canteen. A “full English”
set you back about 20p. We wandered back to the warehouse and did a
bit – we gathered some gasket material and placed it on a trolley.
We moved the trolley about for someone else to pack the stuff and get
it ready to ship.
We went to lunch.
After lunch we did
almost nothing – maybe a bit of tidying up or re-arranging the
stacks of gaskets.
The “old lags”
had made a kind of makeshift rest area out of some tatty packing
crates. It had rustic chairs and a battered, dilapidated old sofa.
They sat about most of the afternoon studying the racing form. I
often went to the bookies to place bets or collect winnings.
Then it was quitting
time. We went home. We were paid not very much.
Interestingly the
whole of Britain operated roughly on the same principles at that
time. There was almost no unemployment, but everywhere was
grotesquely inefficient and over-staffed. Maggie Thatcher would see
to that.
I was still looking
for a teaching job and one came up near Gt Yarmouth in Norfolk. From
my extensive research, I knew that the East coast was the warmest and
driest part of Britain. My kind of town. (Actually, I still like Gt
Yarmouth even though I don't live near there – and I am definitely
in the minority!)
Got the job.
In 1974, believe it
or not, there was no rental market for properties in England. I know
it sounds strange with the emphasis on Buy-to-Let with which we
currently suffer; but it is, nevertheless, true. Somehow we managed
to rent a house in Winterton-on-Sea for the princely sum of £10 a
week (a lot of money in those days).
I began teaching in
September 1974 and I was not very good at it. Looking back I can say
without much argument that I was not only inexperienced but also
suffering from culture shock. The country was new. The school was
unlike any in Missouri and the children were somewhat of a mystery to
me.
I stayed there for
11 years. My problem has always been, believe it or not, that I
don't really like change. I'm a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. So I
stayed and gradually got better at the job and began, almost, to
think it was a good career choice. Then the school decided to close
for lack of pupil numbers and I was made redundant.
In the summer I did
a variety of seasonal jobs. I cleaned swimming pools. I cleaned
pubs. I cleaned toilets. Such was the life of a hard-up young
teacher. I delivered newspapers – wholesale. Start at 04:30.
Rode my bike from Winterton to Yarmouth and then back to Scratby to
teach all day. I worked at North Denes airfield doing security
checks for off-shore workers. I loaded sightseers into light
aircraft. I refuelled helicopters. I did almost anything to make a
buck.
During that time I
played basketball for the Gt Yarmouth Gunners and cricket for,
firstly, NALGO in the Gt Yarmouth Mid Week League and secondly for
Belton CC in the Norfolk Cricket League. I had never seen a cricket
match until 1974 when I used to watch the old John Player League
(yes, cigarette manufacturers sponsored many sports in those days)
and listen to Test Matches on the radio with Johners, CMJ. Blowers,
Aggers and, of course, the best of all, John Arlott.
All this coincided
with two children, a divorce, and a remarriage.
After a few months
of unemployment and being unable to find a suitable teaching job, I
went to work for Dardan Security as a guard. I did shifts at Bacton
gas terminal. It was tiring and uninteresting, but it did keep the
wolf from the door.
Some people I knew
were teaching at Finborough School (then St George's) near Stowmarket
in Suffolk. An English job came up and I got it. I started in
September 1987 along with my good buddies John Cowley (Head of Maths)
and Steve Banks (Head of History). I had to work away from home
during the week. I had a small room at Finborough. I worked some
weekends. I stayed there until my retirement in 2004.
Eventually, I became
a good teacher. Good enough to be nominated for the Teaching Awards
anyway – but I didn't win. At the end of the day, teaching is
actually quite a simple job. As I was fond of explaining to the
teacher trainees I occasionally supervised, all you have to do is to
get kids to do things they would rather not. Not that they won't do
it necessarily, it's just that given a choice they would rather not.
There are as many ways of doing this as there are good teachers. I
also explained that if you cannot do this you are going to have a
miserable life, so leave now. Do not pass go, do not collect the
200. Go and get a “real job”.
The first year was
quite trying and I seriously though about giving up, but I persevered
and eventually got paid for doing what I like and would have
probably done for free. I talked about and read good books. I
taught Shakespeare and Chaucer to the sixth form. Eventually, I was
persuaded to take on the role of Head of the English Department. I
made many very good friends.
In 2004 I was
approaching the age when I always said teachers should retire, for
after the age of 50-55 you become out of touch with the next
generation. So, when the boss offered me early retirement I took it.
After a short
interlude, I decided that I would have nothing whatsoever to do with
education ever again. Opportunities to continue to mark exams were
there, substitute teachers were always in demand and experienced,
successful teachers are always in short supply. Non of this
attracted me, so I decided to do nothing at all.
Then one day I was
reading the EDP and a job advert for a Housekeeper at the Norfolk and
Norwich University Hospital seemed so interesting that I (stupidly)
mentioned it to Juliet who said that I should apply. So I did. I
got an interview. I got the job.
This was only made
possible by giving up smoking. In 2004, post retirement from
teaching, I said to Juliet that it was time to go to France to stock
up on cheap baccy. She said, “I think I'll give up.”
I said, “I think
I'll join you.”
She said, “You'll
never do it.”
We went to the
surgery and go all the gear - inhilators, patches, nicotine gum and
lozenges, We set a date to give up. I woke up, put on a patch and
puffed at the inhilator all day. It was a long day – a very long
day.
In the evening I
took Juliet to an art class at the Hoveton Village Hall. I went
straight to the local store and bought 10 cigs. I sat in the car and
smoked one. That was the last cigarette I ever had. I gave the nine
smokes left to my step-son Steve and told him to take them to Norwich
(he was going out that evening) and give them to some old down and
out. I believe he did.
I persevered and was
rewarded. A good test came about a week into the challenge. I had
to go to a cricket committee meeting in Dereham. Dereham is a funny
old place. No matter how many times I go there I never feel entirely
confident about finding my way about. I did have a favourite parking
spot but it was occupied so I had to find a new one. It was in a car
park behind some shops. After the meeting I could not remember where
the car was. I must have got turned around, for I just could not
find it. Would that I had a ciggie I would have lit it. I wandered
about for what seemed an hour before I found the car. That was the
last time I really fancied a smoke.
I was one of the
lucky ones. You can blow smoke in my face and it does not elicit a
craving.
Because I gave up I
could work at the hospital. So I did.
