SHORT STORIES - 'AN EMBARRASSING MOMENT'

AN EMBARRASSING MOMENT

Teaching brings many highlights and unfortunately it also brings some embarrassing moments. My very first prac teaching session was at the illustrious Sydney Boys' High School no less. Its reputation was second to none in Sydney unless you included Sydney Girls' High. Both had always been at the apex of public education in the state and as selective secondary schools, their pupils were of the highest order intellectually and academically (mostly!).

On our first day, we were greeted by the Principal (at the time the 'Headmaster') and he had 'chewed out' one of my prac teaching colleagues for turning up without a coat. He was told not to bother coming back if he could not dress appropriately in future. Standards set upon entry!

I was directed to my staffroom that housed the Language teaching staff. One of the teachers to whom I was assigned asked me straight up: "How's your French? Reckon you could cope with Year 9 French?" "Yep," I volunteered, "I think so". "Good," he said, "we have a class Period 1, they're doing a reader lesson, here it is, starting story No. 3, see how you go, have a quick look at it beforehand and it's just down the corridor, Room 34." I figured this was all a bit sudden thinking that it might have been nice to observe the class for at last one lesson and get to know where the students were at and how they behaved. So, with French reader tucked under the arm, a stick of chalk and a duster in hand, I marched off to Room 34.

The classroom was configured in much the same way as most high schools in those days - desks and seats bolted to the floor, four rows of ten all neatly lined up behind each other. The blackboard was on the wall at the front and a bench stood in front of it on a dais raised about 15 centimetres above floor level. The raised platform did not extend right across the width of the room but covered about half of the area.

I introduced myself to the class and proceeded to write my name on the board. Mindful that my writing might well not end up being level in a straight line - it was my first attempt at writing on a blackboard with chalk after all - I stepped back to see how my name looked and forgetting about the dais, I suddenly half fell backwards off the platform.

Well, we all know what it's like when we try to avoid a fall ... you have to basically 'run' to stay on your feet. I did run and crashed straight into the door with my shoulder. So ... how did the class react, you ask? They were, after all, Year 9 boys with clearly a prac teacher on board who couldn't even stay upright for 2 minutes. The laughter did eventually subside after about five minutes with my encouragement but let's face it, I would have laughed too if I had been one of the students. I never did get on top of that class. Year 9 boys are often a rowdy and unruly lot at the best of times and they didn't need an entrée like mine to set them off.

So, when I was first appointed to South Sydney Boys' High as a permanent teacher, I was determined not to make a similar mistake. All sorts of disciplinary measures acquired at college and in subsequent pracs armed me with some kind of mental attitude about how to get any Year 9 classes heading in the right direction. I had two of them, one German and one French.

Things panned out pretty well for the first couple of weeks. "Friendly but firm" was one of the catchcries for beginning teachers back in those days and it stood me in relatively good stead at the time.

The Year 9 German class, however, was a little restless at times and I noticed it took them a little more time than most to settle down and get their materials out of their bags and ready to work. In the very front row, right in front of me was a boy we will call 'Paul'. He came from a German background, spoke Bavarian German at home with Mum and Dad and was always polite and well behaved. He did have, however, one disturbing habit. It did not matter at what time of the day Paul would come into class, early in the morning, after recess or lunch, the first thing he would do was to put his head down on the desk and almost drop off to sleep.

It had occurred to me that this was not setting a good example for the others to follow and I needed to do something about it ASAP. Knowing he spoke German at home, I told him to wake up in his mother tongue. When you read the phrase, it seems innocent enough - "wach auf!" - but the pronunciation is at question here. We would say it approximates something like English 'var ch (the sound a cat makes when it hisses at a dog)  owf'  Well ... yes..., basically it sounded like I had told Paul to 'eff off!'

Well you should have seen the looks on their face - they were like stunned mullet! For the first time I truly had their immediate attention including Paul's. "Now, boys, hold on a minute, I didn't say what you think I said, I merely told him to 'wake up' in German.

"You mean, sir, if you want to tell people to wake up in German, you tell them to 'eff off'??? asked one of the more confident students.

"Ahh, sort of, that's the way it works in Germany, boys"

"Aw, you beauty, reckon I'll remember that one," said one of the other bolder lads.

I must add at this stage I could have compounded the problem by telling Paul to 'wake up and pay attention'. It would have sounded like 'varch owf oohnt pus owf!' Fortunately I had only faultered at the first hurdle.

After this little stumble and certainly one of my more embarrassing moments as a young teacher, I would occasionally come across one of my German boys in the playground who would dare to tell me I was looking a little tired that day and I should 'wach auf!' Hmm, the traps a foreign language can cause the unwitting apprentice teacher.