2003-2004 writing course. One of my pieces of writing from when I was in my early 30s.

Causes and consequences by Mark Richardson.

It's now Spring 2020. Reading the last paragraph made me chuckle. Still unpublished. To be expected
when all I managed to write between 2004 and 2017 was one short story.

Sandon High school, Meir, Stoke-on-Trent during late October 1996. Whilst Blur and Oasis battled for
our minds and souls in the charts, a very different type of battle was occurring in a History classroom
in the above-mentioned school: a battle whose consequences have and continue to ripple through time
and space. At the time of writing this autobiographical piece, I have had experience of teaching History,
English and Media studies. I have worked in a total of fifteen schools as a supply teacher, three of them
as a long term cover teacher and finally as a full-time teacher of English and Media studies at Bluecoat
comprehensive school. Let’s return to 1996.

I had just celebrated my twenty-sixth birthday and was about to enter a new chapter of my life: my first
lesson with a class, on my own. I believe I need to explain at this juncture that I originally trained to be a
History teacher, partly because I wanted to impress on teenage minds the importance of causes and
consequences over a period of time, and, partly due to my lack of confidence with the rules of
punctuation and grammar to train as an English teacher.

With great trepidation, I shuffled into the classroom. I clung to the desk in terror desperately trying to
remember why on earth I had put myself into this situation; any noble sentiments of inspiring the future
generation had evaporated leaving a wraith like figure haunting my fevered mind whilst my heart
palpitated violently. Don’t show your nerves, I thought to myself, followed rapidly by pull yourself
together- they’re only kids! As I looked at them, steeling my gaze, I was reminded of a cartoon scene
where two vultures where watching the hero, only the hero in the vulture’s eyes resembled a leg of ham.

I breathed in deeply and puffed out my chest in the vain hope that I appeared calm and confident.
Ignoring the taste of bile in my mouth and the purple spots dancing in front of me, I took a final deep
breath and spoke,

“Right class, I want you to turn to page 96, we are going to examine why world war broke out in 1939.”

Compliantly, the class turned to the relevant page. They sat in silence.

“Okay. Hitler wasn’t as strong as his propaganda machine suggested. When he threatened to go to war in
1936 and in 1938, that’s all they were: threats. If Britain and France had called his bluff, he would have
had to back down. By 1939, Hitler had become accustomed to Britain and France backing down, he
decided to raise the question of Danzig in Poland, a city which historically speaking had been German.
The aim of today’s lesson is to investigate why Britain and France reacted differently in 1939 to 1936
and 1938.”

I paused. I surveyed the classroom. The uniformly hungry expression had been replaced by various
expressions: interest, boredom, resignation and sheer indifference. The room was a box-like square with
green walls and multi-coloured sugar papered display boards proudly showing children’s work. Some
thoughtful teenager had written the word ‘Bollocks’ next to the year seven Roman display- still at least
the culprit has spelt the word correctly. Bollocks aside the room had an element of calm to it, even the
bored looking children seemed content to sit there without speaking.

Time crawled on. I had set a task on the board, my handwriting was so small that the students, packed in
rows like sardines, had to concentrate carefully to successfully copy down what I had written. Such
concentration resulted in furrowed brows and the holy grail for all student teachers: silence. I carefully
stored the ‘write on the board in tiny letters for when I need a bit of piece and quiet tactic’ for future
reference in the filing cabinet in my head and walked around the classroom, partly to see if the students
needed help and partly because it felt as if I were supposed to.

I stumbled over an assortment of bags, footballs and chair legs as I noticed a girl at the back of the class
with her hand up. She had long brown hair, dark eyes and what appeared to be an amused expression on
her face.

                           “ Sir?”

                           “Yes. Er, how can I help you?”

                           “How old are you?”

                           “Er,Er,I Er don’t think that is an appropriate question to ask a teacher!” I stammered.

                           “I won’t tell anyone honest.”

I became aware of stifled chortles and thirty pairs of ears wagging. I knew I was doomed.

                          “L-L-Look, can you concentrate on your work please. Britain and France didn’t attack
Germany in 1936 because…”

                          “You look about nineteen sir,” she interrupted.

In my mind I was transported back to 1984- I was fourteen again, something I wasn’t particularly happy
about,

                          “Who does he think he is telling us what to do? He isn’t much older than us!” I screeched
to my fellow classmates.

Zooming back to 1996 and my 26 year old self, I knew I had stumbled against a problem – They thought
I was too young to be a teacher. Flushing with anger, I hissed,

                         “I’m not 19, I’m 26, that’s 12 years older than you!”

The smile grew on her face as she smelt victory. 

                        “Ooh you don’t look it, what a shame…Sir what colour are your eyes?”

I knew I was defeated. I was angry. If a fourteen year old girl had spoken to me like that in the street, I
would have ignored her or told her to sod off. However, I was a teacher, I had to think of an appropriate
response. Unfortunately, my mind was a blank. Blushing with embarrassment, I staggered back to the
teacher’s desk. As I sat down, I heard her say out loud,

                       “I think he is shy!”

A group snort followed by suppressed giggles of laughter was the response. I stood at the front of the class
glowering with humiliation as a tidal wave of noise swept over me, shattering any illusions of classroom
management.

                      “Er, young man put that stool down!” I barked.

                      “Whah? It weren’t me sir!”

                      “You four sit down immediately!” I thundered.

The rest of the lesson descended into a cacophony of noise. I realised that this job was going to prove
more difficult than I originally anticipated.

Zooming forward to the very beginning of 2004, I ask myself did that year nine group learn that there are
result of every action? Probably not, however there was one consequence that continues to spear through
t of that very lesson: my teaching career. As I type these very words, I realise I have achieved one of my
ambitions in life: becoming a teacher. I have one more major target I wish to achieve during my lifetime:
see a written piece of work published. Will I ever achieve this ambition- Maybe the consequences of
undertaking this writing course will be a determining factor in this.