A little bit of appreciation for the teachers

As I typed ’Week 8’ into the school plans this week I thought this was wrong. There should be some sort of law that makes you have a half term after any 6 week non-stop teaching period. Now I can hear the moans from those in the ‘real world’ already – but hear me out. Time in teaching is like dogs years, so every week in teaching equals seven in any other job. There is very little down time in the classroom and the younger the children, the more intensive the work. This week, ‘Teacher Appreciation Day’ passed with a small recognition (let’s face it – chocolate always goes down well in a Primary staffroom) but no bells and whistles this year. To be honest, I don’t really feel the need for little prizes and bribes as my job offers me satisfaction in itself and the children show their appreciation in a thousand different ways every single day even if it rarely comes from elsewhere. I don’t work in McDonalds so am not spurred on by my name being put up in lights as Burger Flipper of the Week, nor am I five years old, desperate to be noticed as the Star of the Week!


Teaching in the UK is definitely not appreciated enough. The media, politicians and some parents use teachers as scapegoats for pretty much every ill in society from teenage pregnancies to financial irresponsibility. When I lived in London I hated telling people I was a teacher. Instead I would claim that I was responsible for putting the stripes in toothpaste, tiled swimming pools or painted double yellow lines on roads such is the lowly status of a teacher in modern Britain – somewhere between a roadsweeper and a traffic warden I should think. Thanks to the Daily Mail and its enlightened readers, you are often asked how many chairs are thrown at you on a daily basis! Plus everybody had some sort of fancy job title – nobody has a job with a name that defines the nature of the work anymore, everybody is a ‘project manager’, a ‘facilitator’, an ‘analyst’ or a ‘consultant’. So I would like to mention some of the jobs we do throughout the year.

When it comes to peace keeping, I think we could give the UN a run for their money and probably come out trumps. With twenty-five or so diverse characters in a classroom, it would be unnatural for them all to get on well all of the time. We counsel and support our students in times of need and help them find solutions to their problems on their own. We encourage mutual respect and work hard to build self-esteem. We how to spend all day, every day in each others’ company without coming to blows and come home with many friends.

We are script-writers, theatrical directors, set-builders and musicians. Every time you see an hour long school play, you are looking at hundreds of hours of teachers preparing and editing the scripts, stage managing the children, considering the acoustics and even painting the set. Not to mention crowd-controlling over a hundred excited little people. Most of us don’t have any training in this area yet we manage to pull it off year after year.

Some of us are football team manager, swimming coaches, dance teachers, general motivators.

Events management existed in teaching years before the fancy job title cropped up. Not a week goes by without us thinking about or going on a school trip or organising one of the special events that punctuate the year. And of course, it’s in our nature to put all this information in a grid and add some pretty pictures to make it look more attractive. We record everything fastidiously and have enough spreadsheets on the go to make any accountant shudder.

Cripes – that’s a lot and I haven’t even mentioned teaching yet. I’m sure there are hundreds of others but I think I have made my point. And we still have enough energy to bake cakes on a Thursday evening ready for FAT FRIDAY in the staffroom. Still, I think my favourite description of a teacher is in the Roger McGough poem where a confused Reception child tries to make sense of her first day in school:

Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.

First Day at School

A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)

Why are they all so big, other children?

So noisy? So much at home they

Must have been born in uniform

Lived all their lives in playgrounds

Spent the years inventing games

That don't let me in. Games

That are rough, that swallow you up.



And the railings.

All around, the railings.

Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?

Things that carry off and eat children?

Things you don't take sweets from?

Perhaps they're to stop us getting out

Running away from the lessins. Lessin.

What does a lessin look like?

Sounds small and slimy.

They keep them in the glassrooms.

Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.



I wish I could remember my name

Mummy said it would come in useful.

Like wellies. When there's puddles.

Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.

I think my name is sewn on somewhere

Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.

Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.



Roger McGough