“I thought of sending you the parents who scream and shout”

27/06/2008 by April First.

I put a note into Ms Hopple’s register saying that both Vladimir and Augusta were nominated for prizes for regular attendance and would she send both up to the office with the register.

At break Ms Hopple arrived, forced her way through the 46 members of the teaching staff who were hanging around the office in the normal way that teachers have, and demanded to know the meaning of this “stupid practical joke”. She was apparently referring to Vladimir and Augusta. I looked at her as innocently as I could which mostly involved biting my gums and forcing my lips to stay shut. The hubbub in the room quietened – teachers always like to witness a good brawl, and all attention focussed on Ms Hopple. “There are no such children!” she announced. “I asked the rest of the class and no one has ever heard of them – although a couple suggested I ask Havoc-Blythe.”

“I don’t think they are in the Doctor’s class,” I replied.

“They don’t exist!” she shouted.

“But you have been marking them present,” I told her with exaggerated calmness. (If you have never witnessed exaggerated calmness you’ll have to use your imagination).

“I shall report this to the head,” she said, growing redder by the second.

“He is at the dentist’s,” I told her utilising an in-joke which you’ll only get if you have been following this diary for several weeks, “but I will be pleased to hand over your register on his return. That should solve everything since it is a legal record I believe and it shows your confirmation of the appearance or these non-existent pupils.”

Janice fell off her chair and had to be helped up by Mrs Marchmount who seemed to be enjoying the show.

Ms Hopple had had enough and turned to leave – but the throng of teachers behind her, all jostling for a better view made it impossible for her to move. She lowered her voice to somewhat just above screaming, and demanded to know why I was doing this to her.

“To encourage you to be 100% accurate in completing your register,” I said evenly. “I thought of sending you a frog each morning. Then I thought of sending you the parents who scream and shout that we are supposed to be a school but we can’t even fill in a register correctly, every time I phone them to check where the pupils are, who are, amazingly, in your classroom all the time. But in the end I thought I would start with a gentle piece of humiliation. Get the register right and it stops. Get it wrong and I raise the game a little. And there is always Columbus.”

There was silence. Ms Hopple turned and this time the crowd parted for her, each teacher shuffling away, several removing their attendance registers as they went, even though afternoon registration was still several hours away.

As the room emptied Mrs Marchmount approached. I thought for a dreadful second she was going to hug me, but instead she shook my hand, thanked me and wiped a tear from her eye. I told her it was the least I could do after what she had done for me vis a vis the head’s attempt to have me sacked. It was, all in all quite an emotional day.

I returned to my desk. There was a frog on my computer. I decided to call it Constance.

At home there was a postcard saying that people of some significance would be in touch soon, and that as long as I was still minded to explore this area of work I should put a dandelion in a small jug on my windowsill where it could be seen from the road. I called Janice and Havoc-Blythe but both denied all knowledge.

You can go back and read the whole of the Diary from its start (and thus get the hang of what on earth is going on) by clicking on the Archives for April on he left and then clicking on the 10 – the first day of the entry. You can read more about the more down-to-earth doings of the School of Educational Administration at www.admin.org.uk If you have any comments you can leave them for public display, or write to April@admin.org.uk

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