The Boy Who Made it Rain

Pauline Croal’s Understanding

Pauline Croal’s UnderstandingIt was my first position out of teacher training college so naturally I approached the job with a great deal of enthusiasm. I also had a duty to my students to engage them in the subject. Long gone are the days of the antiquated practice of teaching from the board or enforcing individual study throughout the duration of the lesson. I did try to be more innovative and foster an environment more conducive to the learning process. It’s also what we were encouraged to do at college. After all, it’s the reason I entered the profession.

No, I didn’t find the school that difficult. Obviously I had no point of reference, however, I am led to believe from various members of staff that it was a tolerable school to work in. My own schooling wasn’t that far removed from my teaching experience there. The school was full of characters. I liked that. Both students and staff alike. It’s fair to say that some older members of staff didn’t like their feathers being ruffled; they prefer to exist in the malaise. All that stereotypical stuff we are warned about as students, coffee mugs and specific seats belonging to certain teachers are all true. A solid phalanx of hostility was apparent. There is a definite hierarchy in school staffrooms. A few months of observing the political situations, I found it stuffy and embittered. There seemed no desire to embrace change; too many teachers were set in their ways, waiting for the bells to ring, for the summer to come around. There was also the cynicism that grated on me. Lots of my colleagues had nothing positive to say about the students they taught. To be honest I was a touch surprised by the sheer disregard and contempt they had for their profession. In any other industry they would have been sacked. However many teachers simply close their doors and exercise a methodology that has no place in modern education practice. It’s too difficult to sack teachers these days. You have to cross a particular threshold for that to happen…I am babbling. I have a tendency to do that.

Obviously I am aware that this is a generalisation because not all teachers were like this. Some of us cared. I cared about my students and I invested in them. I endeavoured to encourage and cajole my students into developing a love for my subject. No, it didn’t always work.

I suppose that’s teaching for you. It could be said that I used my students as a solace from the challenges of the staffroom. They were my escape. I was continuously alert to the fact that I wouldn’t allow the passion and fervour I showed for my subject to be misconstrued or misinterpreted. I was always aware of that. It’s every teacher’s nightmare. I was no different in that respect.

It was like any other fifth- and sixth-year class, some showed a real desire for English, others apathy, some quiet and unassuming while others were boisterous. Just your average classroom gene pool. Rosie Farrell? There was nothing that struck me as odd about Rosie; your typical senior-year girl, full of teenage angst and misplaced rebellion. She had a thing about me…that’s not what I mean.

I mean she was distant and resentful for some reason. We didn’t really develop much of a teacher/student relationship it has to be said. I had the impression that she felt that I had a different agenda other than that of getting them involved in the subject and success in their exam, which was in fact my only agenda. I have no idea whatsoever why she felt this way. I certainly wasn’t going to challenge a sixteen-year-old girl on such matters. After all, I was the one who was in the position of responsibility. I had to show maturity, leadership and integrity; confronting a student simply because you have a distinct feeling that that student doesn’t like you is unprofessional and short-sighted. I am afraid I wasn’t that insecure about myself, or my methods, either.

Having said that, my understanding was that Rosie was a clever girl, sharp as a tac as well. I believed that she was more than capable of achieving anything she wanted to achieve. Actually I liked her individuality, or her desire to be individual. She seemingly didn’t subscribe to what her peers were interested in. As regards her dress sense, the music she listened to or her general attitude, she was what you would call an emo girl. Which means emotional. It’s related to that type of music. Emotional music, I’d imagine. It goes further than that, obviously, in the sense that it’s linked to the general aesthetic and attitude. Iconoclastic, and subversive with a small ‘s’. Rosie certainly fell into that category; she was a fusion of these things. It’s not as though we teachers don’t listen to music. It should be a prerequisite that we have to garner knowledge of popular culture. If anything we are more attuned to teenagers than any other profession. I’d advise all teachers to watch the X Factor, Big Brother or The Inbetweeners. It’s about trying to engage. It’s not rocket science, you know.

Rosie had a flair for English; however, I don’t think she could comprehend this. At times it’s tough to be objective, to have that ability to stand outside yourself and analyse successes and areas for improvement. Maybe that’s where teachers come in handy. I could tell that she had real potential. My understanding was that she enjoyed Macbeth and some of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

I thought Cora Kelly was a noose around Rosie’s neck. It was obvious that she was a bad influence on her; perhaps it was based on some intellectual inferiority complex or, indeed, a visual one. You know how teenage girls can be. I understood there to be a hint of resentment within that friendship. Cora could be an odious character, but there was something charmingly heartbreaking about her at the same time. She required an audience; if Rosie wasn’t in class for whatever reason Cora was like a morose dog without its owner. There was something more profound going on with that girl. None of my colleagues had a good word to say about her, but please don’t take that as any kind of barometer. There was no way on earth that she was going to pass her exam. Why? Simply because she was weak, and indolent. I think it was suggested to her that she was maybe better off leaving school and enrolling in the local technical college to study beauty therapy. In my mind it was a good idea. I am not sure why she didn’t; my theory is that she enjoyed the comforts, camaraderie and security that school provided her with.

Clem Curran? Well, that’s the story, isn’t it?