Issue No 17

“Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offerings

There is a crack, a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in.”

Leonard Cohen, the legendary Canadian singer, song-writer and poet, saw hope in darkness, thus these powerful lines in his acclaimed song, Anthem. As the school year draws to a close, it would not take many a wag with a taste for cynicism to offer an alternative, less positive last line. It has been a gruelling year.

Let’s stick with light for now though. When all else fails, humour lightens the mood and distracts us from our woes and pessimistic thoughts. It does far more than that though. Research tells us of the benefits of humour and laughter – these including the relieving of tension in muscles, improving vascular functioning, lowering blood pressure, easing of pain, reducing the level of the stress hormone, cortisol and boosting the immune system.

Another benefit of using humour relates to the brain as well. Using humour improves memory retention. Linking humour with facts increases the likelihood of retaining a better recollection of those facts. Very interesting – all of which provides me the justification for sharing a moment from my teaching past, hopefully one that at least elicits a chuckle, if not outright laughter from you.

It was in the early 1980s and things were different then, as the cliché always goes.

I was a class teacher at a metropolitan school in Melbourne, a school designated as a disadvantaged school and therefore in receipt of extra funding. Families in that community were doing it tough. To make matters worse, a firebug had burnt down an entire wing of the school – several classrooms in total and, to make matters worse, there were no replacement portables readily available. I recall teaching my grade 5/6 class in the corridor for most of the term during that time.

Our principal was a man deeply committed to environmental causes, and it was during that year that an important international conference on the environment was being held in Melbourne at the Royal Exhibition Building. He was going to attend the conference. At school we heard all about it for months in advance and there was a luncheon dinner for invited guests. Yes, our principal was an invited guest and couldn’t wait.

As luck would have it, for me that was, on the day before the conference, the assistant principal and two other senior staff members took ill, leaving me next in line for the Acting Principal position on the day of the conference. As an Assistant with Responsibility – ARs as we were then known, I was well down the pecking order to substitute for our principal on that day. It was to become my first day as an Acting Principal and as such, one of the younger members of our staff. With a mixture of anxiety and pride, I fronted up early.

I had barely had time to sit down in the principal’s chair than the school secretary came in and told me that a Mr George Patterson from staffing was on the phone and needed to speak with the principal very urgently. That wasn’t meant to happen in my plans for the day. With some trepidation I answered the call. I had no idea what lay before me.

Mr Patterson seemed annoyed that he was speaking to a relatively junior member of our staff, given the importance of his call. I was informed that we had three teachers over entitlement and that one of them needed to be moved to an immediate vacancy on the following Monday at Irymple Primary school in the Mallee. I tried to explain that I was only acting in the position for the day and couldn’t make that important decision. He was having none of that. If you are in the position, even for day, then you have to make decisions that must be made on that day. With that, he told me that he would ring back after lunch for my decision and promptly hung up. What an awful task!

Somewhat shaken and beginning to wish that I had been ill too the day before, I wandered into the staffroom for morning tea. Mobile phones hadn’t been invented then and I had no idea whether I could get in touch with my principal in time, happily ensconced in the conference in the city, as he most surely was. Ashen-faced, I sat down amongst my colleagues. It didn’t take long for them to ask me what was the matter. The bell rang and they all got up, wishing me luck and saying how glad they were that it was my problem, not theirs.

Back in the principal’s office, the chair suddenly didn’t feel quite so comfortable. I didn’t think our principal would welcome an emergency call to the Royal Exhibition Building from me during the day, on a staffing matter, especially before he had attended the luncheon. But then again, I couldn’t make the decision to name the teacher to be sent packing to Irymple over the weekend. I almost felt like going there myself to avoid making the decision.

To my rescue! The secretary, a very kindly person indeed, came into the office, saw me looking somewhat out of sorts and told me that the staff were playing me. Most of them were in on it, including the three over entitlement teachers, one of whom had already put in a request to meet with me before I reached a decision. What a green-horn was I! Not to be outdone, in the hour before lunch, I plotted my revenge.

Lunch time came, and I waited until the perpetrators, including the alleged, Mr George Patterson, were all seated at the lunch tables. Breezily I marched, beaming as I came, plonked myself down next to “George Patterson”. It didn’t take more than a moment for him to enquire as to whom I was going to name for the long journey to Irymple over the weekend.

I can still the colour draining from his face and the others, as I didn’t miss a beat as I told them that I’d made contact with our principal at the conference and he was about to rush back to school, pre-lunch. Dear “George Patterson” vanished from the staffroom within seconds and it was only a minute or two before the secretary came in to tell me that George Patterson, from staffing was on the line and needed to speak with me urgently.

“Tell him I’m busy,” I recall saying. She came back in flash. “It’s critically important he says.”

I took the call, noting the extreme silence in the staffroom as I left. We weren’t on the phone for long. Mr Patterson started by telling me that there had been a change of plans and that the need to identify an over entitlement teacher to move to Irymple immediately, was thus reversed. When I told him that I’d contacted our principal who was now on his way back from the conference, his voice instantly become somewhat hysterical. Furthermore, he suddenly sounded just like one of my colleagues at our school as he insisted, rather illogically, that I do something, anything.

Not letting on that I had recognised the culprit George Patterson impersonator, I returned to the staffroom. I did my best to look very sombre as I informed those that had not yet evacuated the room, that our principal was going to mightily displeased when he returned shortly. Having missed out on the luncheon, only to be told that it was a false alarm would only make matters worse. He would surely be tracking down Mr Patterson, who by the way, did not exist.

We all had a hearty laugh after school that day. More than a few smiles radiated in our staffroom the following Monday as our principal told us what a wonderful conference and luncheon it had been.

I shared this story with a colleague recently as we swapped anecdotes from our respective careers, anecdotes that made us laugh. We don’t indulge ourselves in that sort of thing much anymore my colleague observed. Things are quite serious these days, for many reasons. There’s a lot of pressure coming from every which way.

Find a humorous anecdote or two from your memory box and share it. Who knows, it may just find a “crack” and bring in the light.

Note: We sincerely thank Henry for his insightful From The Memory Box pieces published throughout the year. We know many members look forward to reading his articles and we a truly fortunate to have Henry share his perils of wisdom and deep acumen on school leadership.

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