1
Trying to make some money before entering university, the author applies for a teaching job.
But the interview goes from bad to worse...
Unit 3 My First Job
While I was waiting to enter university, I saw advertised in a local newspaper a teaching post
at a school in a suburb of London about ten miles from where I lived. Being very short money and
wanting to do something useful, I applied, fearing as I did so, that without a degree and with no
experience in teaching my chances of getting the job were slim.
However, three days
later a letter arrived, asking me to go to Croydon for an interview.
It
proved an awkward journey: a train to Croydon station; a ten-minute bus ride and then a walk of at
least a quarter to feel nervous.
The school was a red brick house with big windows, The front garden was a gravel square;
four evergreen shrubs stood at each corner, where they
struggled to survive
the dust and fumes
from a busy main from a busy main road.
It was clearly the headmaster himself that opened the door. He was short and fat. He had a
sandy-coloured moustache, a wrinkled forehead and hardly any hair. He looked at me with an air
of surprised disapproval, as a colonel might look at a private whose bootlaces were undone. 'Ah
yes,' he grunted. 'You'd better come inside.' The narrow, sunless hall smelled unpleasantly of stale
cabbage; the walls were dirty with ink marks; it was all silent. His study, judging by the crumbs on
the carpet, was also his dining-room. 'You'd better sit down,' he said, and proceeded to ask me a
number of questions: what subjects I had taken in my General School Certificate; how old I was;
what
games
I
played;
then
fixing
me
suddenly
with
his bloodshot eyes,
he
asked
me
whether
I
thought games were a vital part of a boy's education. I mumbled something about not attaching too
much importance to them. He grunted. I had said the wrong thing. The headmaster and I obviously
had very little in common.
The school, he said, consisted of one class of twenty-four boys, ranging in age from seven to
thirteen.
I
should
have
to
teach
all
subjects
except
art,
which
he
taught
himself.
Football
and
cricket were played in the Park, a mile away on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons.
The teaching set-up filled me with fear. I should have to divide the class into three groups and
teach them in turn at three different levels; and I was dismayed at the thought of teaching algebra
and geometry-two subjects at which I had been completely incompetent at school. Worse perhaps
was the idea of Saturday afternoon cricket; most of my friends would be enjoying leisure at that
time. I said shyly, 'What would my salary be?' 'Twelve pounds a week plus lunch.' Before I could
protest, he got to his feet. 'Now', he said, 'you'd better meet my wife. She's the one who really runs
this school.'
This
was
the
last
straw.
I
was
very
young:
the
prospect
of
working
under
a
woman
constituted the ultimate indignity.