Education, education

Miss Mackintosh and me

I had a row with one of Alexander's teachers over the phone the other day. A month ago, I would have held back, but I am getting a bit demob crazy. Her name is Miss Mackintosh, and in my mind's eye she has a large backside, a bit like my old Latin teacher, and is wearing a mackintosh. I had called to ask if Alexander could study Spanish instead of doing SATS tests, since he isnt going to need them in Spain. This is what happened:

Miss M:(very loudly and clearly in ringing posh voice which goes up and down on stressed words) Now Mrs Aitken, about this idea of Alexander doing Spanish homework (said as if I had suggested he use the time to download porn) during the tests, I' m afraid we can't possibly have that.
Me: (with cold suspicion) And why is that? (I could have added "pray?" but I didnt actually).
Miss M: We can't possibly make exceptions for individual children. If we did that, every parent in the school would be ringing to ask for the same treatment.
Me: (thinking, why would they do that, the rest of them are not moving to Spain). Well, it's a bit disappointing. You don't seem to be very flexible..
Miss M: (interrupting). You say that Mrs Aitken, but most of the parents are perfectly satisfied. You must understand, Mrs Aitken, the school is geared up to provide what most of the parents want..
Me (interrupting) Which is? Exam results, I suppose.
Miss M: Of course they want the children to do well and to have Choices!
Me: It's a shame they couldnt do Spanish, when it is the world's 3rd most spoken language whereas French and German...
Miss M: (Over the top of me). Well, Mrs Aitken, I am a linguist, and I have been teaching for FORTY YEARS and I am afraid I DO NOT AGREE WITH YOU.
Me: I dont think we're going to agree.
Miss M: (booming and onto the next thing) I'm sorry to hear that Mrs Aitken, and I do wish you very well in your future life. Goodbye!

I can see I was being pretty annoying from her point of view, but all the same her listening skills weren't that great and she got a C-for customer relations. I told this story to Jan who said in the public sector she would be expected to provide individual programs for children and in fact does, for at least a third of her class, most of whom are special needs, statemented, or have parents that make Kerry Katona look posh, who come up to the school with a large posse of relations and say "You fucking lay off my kid, you hear? I don wanna hear the word OMEWORK you fuckin ear me?"

It seems pastoral care is better in the state sector, which when you think about it is not really surprising. I basically fell for the middle class folly of thinking that if I paid for something it would be better. It may well be, if what you want is Oxbridge, but in other ways, maybe it isn't. Certainly, they seem to apply a ruthless capitalist ethic to the customer: put up or shut up if you want results.

A bonnet? I don't think so!

And by the way, it pisses me off that while I am in the middle of packing, which as we know by now is a never-ending nightmare, that the school sends me a note asking me to provide Lara with a garter, a black skirt, a feather boa, a cape or jacket, a blouse and, to cap it all, A BONNET. Where am I supposed to get a flipping bonnet? The note helpfully says that I may find it useful to go round the charity shops in Sevenoaks. think I am supposed to make it. Hmm, there is a lot of stuff in the Sevenoaks charity shops, but given that most of them are full with the good burghers' cast-off Armani (not to mention all the stuff I dumped in there since packing fors Spain) and given that most people stopped wearing bonnets about 200 years ago, I don't really think I am likely to come across a bonnet.

The point is, what happened to the dressing-up cupboard? Every year, the school puts on the same play, more or less, and every year the parents are asked to go and look for bonnets. Ie expect I will get a "slack mark" , the latest invention of Lara's school, which has a whole range of ways of punishing the children. Ha ha, I think to myself. You may give me a slack mark if you like! I'm leaving!

La Directora

At the end of May, I met Isabel, the lady who runs the children's new school. Registering was no sweat, as I may have said before - just an email with their passport numbers. We went into the school, which is the only one in Lubrin - at 9.00. Not a 4x4 in sight, because people a) walk or b) take the bus. The bus picks up every child in the villages from their front door; I expect this used to happen in the UK. Isabel was charming; other ladies came in and out and kissed us on both cheeks as we were talking. We had a chat about what year the children would go in.

"Some of the English children fall behind in their Spanish, so we put them back a year," she said.
I said I'd prefer them not to fall behind.
"The trouble is, they work hard in school, but they don't do their deberes, homework." School ends much earlier, 2 for Lara and 3 for Alexander, after which there is lunch, and then the bus back. So homework is important.
"Why not?" I asked.
She sighed. "Well, you know, it's the English mothers... They don't really make them work.."

Later, I asked Juan Manas (builder in Spain) about this. He said it was true, most of the English women sat around in the square getting drunk and letting their children play in the street. Oh dear. I have seen them, actually; there are a couple of blondes with the leopard-top, dirty feet kind of look, with their beers lined up on the table. I assure Isabel I will not be like this. Later, Jane tells me maybe I will. Maybe I will have my fag and flipflops and let the kids play on quad bikes all day. Maybe not, though. I can be a rebel when Miss Mackintosh is on the phone, but then, any good middle-class girl can do that.