Their Lives in my hands

Maggie Scott

I had lain awake most of the night going over my plans for the day. The alarm had been set half an hour earlier than needed, my clothes had been laid out ready. I had made a new red pinafore dress especially for the occasion in order to make an impact. I usually wore mini- skirts but this was what my granny called a 'decent' length.

Four years of learning, of practising, of reading and of preparation. The Big Day had finally arrived. The day I had longed for - my own classroom with my own pupils. I had been into school the previous few days preparing the classroom; the House Corner toys were in position, the animals in the toy farm had been washed, the jigsaws had all been checked for missing pieces and 'activities' had been set out on tables. I had gone over the class list, read the relevant social work and medical records and prepared my first lessons. I had made the name badges and prepared the coat hooks and place names with matching pictures.

For my pupils the day was to be a special one too - their first day of school. They had been kitted out in their brand new uniforms, schoolbags at the ready. Parents had been warning them, 'Wait until you get to school, the teacher will sort you out!' and other such remarks. Not the best comment to encourage or inspire.

For the parents it was an emotional day. The babies they had nurtured for five years were now being handed over to this young, unknown woman. Would she care? Did she know anything about the needs of children? (Several years later when taking my own children for their first days of school I was pleased to learn that their teachers were 'mature', experienced teachers and then understood how my first pupils' parents must have felt being confronted with me!) If these parents did worry about my abilities, I am glad to say they did not show it!

My worries in the darkness of the night had been the realisation of the impact and importance I was to play in the lives of my young charges. I was to start them on their educational careers. (This was before the days of Playgroups and Pre-school classes.) My school was in an Educational Priority Area which meant that many of my pupils came from homes where unemployment, poor housing and shortage of money was normal. Many of these parents had bad memories of school. Some had Learning Difficulties or were unable to read. Several were immigrant families with little or no English. It was up to me to encourage them to participate in their child's education and to feel confident enough to come into school and discuss any problems they might have. We had to work as a team as their children started down the Path of Learning, but I was the one who had to lead both parents and pupils down that path. It was up to me to ensure my pupils' first experience of formal education was a happy one. They had to want to come to school every day! If they weren't happy at the start they might be put off. They might not want to come back. The responsibility of it all was daunting!

Strangely enough, these thoughts and worries were to return to me before the start of the school term for many years to come. In fact, they remained throughout my career, but on this, my first day, I did not realise this was a normal reaction. I had not discussed it with my colleagues or Headmaster in case they thought I was incompetent. Experience and Parenthood helped diminish these qualms but through thirty years of teaching, they never totally left.

The bell rang. My colleague popped her head round the door. 'Ready?' she asked.

I was.