‘Sorry Miss,’ he said quietly, as Jonathan looked up sharply from the back of the room.
I turned back to the board, only to be interrupted again, this time by whispers behind me as I wrote. I looked back, but the front row were all quiet, diligently copying the diagram. Instead it was the kids at the back this time, two girls giggling and whispering, and surely those were phones in their hands? I looked at Jonathan but he didn’t even raise his head. I checked the seating plan.
‘Sophie and Imara, please could you hold up your books.’ I said.
‘Why?’ came the response from Sophie.
‘I’d like to check you are doing the work.’ I replied, still with the same light tone and slight smile.
The two girls looked at each other and then held up their books. From where I was, they looked completely blank. I looked at Jonathan but he was still not paying any attention.
‘Perhaps you would like to sit closer, so you can see the board,’ I said, ‘you are supposed to be labelling the digestive system.’ My tone was slightly cooler but not antagonistic. I didn’t know anything about these kids and there might be a reason they weren’t writing.
‘Thanks, but we’re fine.’ said Sophie.
‘Yeah, we’re ok here, aren’t we sir?’ added Imara, looking across at Jonathan.
‘Yes you’re fine’ he said, not even looking at them, he finally raised his head but it was me he frowned at, ‘Miss, please carry on.’ He returned to writing in his notebook as I stared at him nonplussed. I looked around the class and from the front row got a tiny shake of the head from the girl sitting next to Alex. She looked at me with a worried gaze; her big grey eyes trying to send me some sort of message. I looked back at the two girls, determined to get control of the classroom, but was interrupted from the front; the girl next to Alex had put her hand up. I check the seating plan.
‘Yes Freya?’ I asked.
‘Please Miss,’ she said, ‘what’s the word below the pancreas?’
I looked at her speculatively, had she interrupted me on purpose? It definitely seemed like she had. I turned to the board to complete the diagram, answering her as I did so. There were undercurrents in the classroom and I needed to find out a bit more about the teaching assistants’ role before I challenged the status quo. Otherwise, I would end up with another reprimand from James.
After work, I went to visit Frank, but yet again, I was turned away at the door. I walked down the high street feeling low. It was almost dark already. I did my usual route around town, but at the train station, the friendly soldier had been replaced. ‘Ma’am you shouldn’t be out at night, we prefer that camp civilians stay at home during the evening,’ he said frowning, his hand shifting grip on the automatic gun hanging across his chest.
I stepped back, alarmed. This was news to me, nothing in any of the literature I had been given had mentioned a curfew. I began to feel the stirrings of apprehension. This was not turning out as I had hopped. The house was nice, but the job was throwing up some issues, and although I had been given clothes and household goods, the cost of food was prohibitive… And now it appeared I couldn’t even walk where I wanted. I just hoped Frank was getting the care he needed.
In the staffroom the next day, I sat on the edge of a group of teachers and soon enough, the maths teacher asked how I was getting on.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, ‘but I’m a bit confused about the teaching assistants, and why there is such a distinct split between the kids at the back and the front.’
‘Ah’ said Stephen, the English teacher, ‘I was puzzled too when I arrived, but it makes sense. The school used to get the most trouble from the refugee kids, so that’s why the teaching assistants focus on their behaviour.’
‘But they sit at the front and work hard,’ I said.
‘They sit at the front to be as far away from the teaching assistant as possible,’ said Stephen with a laugh, ‘not because they’re interested in learning.’
‘Well I found them much quieter than the kids sitting at the back.’ I said.
‘Yeah, they’re used to being on their own,’ he replied, ‘they don’t talk much because they have trust issues.’
‘Oh?’ I said.
Stephen continued looking intent, ‘what you have to realise is that these kids were out on their own, looking after themselves for months and months. They resent being told what to do and don’t really want to be in school. That’s why we have to be strict with them.’
I thought back to my interactions with Alex and Freya, at the work the front row of kids had diligently completed, and then compared it to Sophie and Imara and the others at the back. In the end, the two girls had written just the date and the title, nothing else.
‘So what should I do if the kids at the back don’t do the work?’ I asked.
‘The original residents’ kids? They’ve probably covered the topic already. I would leave them be, their parents have their education under control and wont thank you for interfering.’
There were a couple of rueful nods and murmurs of agreement from the other teachers. This was sounding worse and worse. There seemed to be a distinct discrimination against the refugee kids going on, and it looked like I was expected to teach with half the kids ignoring me.
The bell sounded and I walked to the year 11 classroom, Should I do what Stephen had suggested, and ignore the lack of work done by the kids at the back? It went against the grain, but everyone had seemed in agreement that it was a waste of time trying to discipline them. And James had made it clear that the teaching assistants dealt with all behaviour issues.
The year 11 students were sitting at their desks by the time I arrived.
‘Books out,’ I said, ‘the title is Enzymes.’ I looked along the front, Alex and Freya had their heads down, writing, along with the two kids next to them; Ruth and Mark, but the pair of pretty blonde girls behind them were whispering.
‘Taz and Leila,’ I said, ‘please stop talking now and write the title.’
‘I’ve written it already,’ said Taz.
‘Shhh,’ said Leila, clutching her arm.
Jonathan stood up, ‘Taz! Outside!’ His voice cracked like a whip, and Taz sprang up, and was out of her seat and outside the door so fast I barely had time to see the look of dismay on her face. Jonathan slowly followed and I could hear him beginning to reprimand her as I called the register.
Leila silently pushed Taz’s book forward slightly and looked at me. I leaned over my desk, sure enough, there was the date and title, neatly written and underlined. Jonathan’s voice got louder. He was almost shouting now, his sharp voice sending words through the door. I heard him say ‘ungrateful’ and ‘lazy’, and had enough. I hadn’t asked him to take Taz outside and she hadn’t done anything wrong. I had made a mistake.
I set the first task and walked to the door. Opening it, I popped my head around I looked at Jonathan and Taz. ‘That’s enough, Taz, please come in now.’
‘I’m not done.’ said Jonathan, dismissively. ‘She answered you back and needs to be reminded why that is unacceptable.’
‘Well I need her in class to do the work; perhaps you could do this later.’ I said, opening the door wide and ushering her to come in.
Taz looked at me, then at Jonathan and back at me. She hesitantly stepped towards the doorway, and when Jonathan was silent, walked through, hurrying back to her desk. I smiled nervously at Jonathan and waited for him to enter. I could see why he was in charge of behaviour; he looked intimidating and unyielding. He shook his head.
‘You’re too soft on them,’ he said.