By E. R. Braithwaite. Looking back, I realize that in fact I passed through three phases in my relationship with my pupils

Looking back, I realize that in fact I passed through three phases in my relationship with my pupils. The first was the silent treatment, and during that time, for my first few weeks, they would do any task I set them without question or protest, but equally without interest or enthusiasm; and if their interest was not required for the task in front of them would sit and stare at me with the same careful patient attention a birdwatcher devotes to the rare feathered visitor...

I took great pains with the planning of my lessons, using illustrations from the familiar things of their own background... I created various problems within the domestic framework, and tried to encourage their participation, but it was as though there were a conspiracy of indifference, and my attempts at informality fell pitifully flat.

Gradually they moved on to the second and more annoying phase of their campaign, the "noisy" treatment. It is true to say that all of them did not actively join in this but those who did not were obviously in some sympathy with those who did. During a lesson, especially one in which it was necessary for me to read or speak to them, someone would lift the lid of a desk and then let it fall with a loud bang; the culprit would merely sit and look at me with wide innocent eyes as if it were an accident.

They knew as well as I did that there was nothing I could about it, and I bore it with as much show of aplomb as I could man- age. One or two such interruptions during a lesson were usually enough to destroy its planned continuity... So I felt angry and frustrated when they rudely interrupted that which was being done purely for their own benefit.

One morning I was reading to them some simple poetry. Just when I thought I had inveigled them into active interest one of the girls, Monica Page, let the top of the desk fall; the noise seemed to reverbe-rate in every part of my being and I felt a sudden burning anger. I looked at her for some moments before daring to open my mouth; she returned my gaze, then casually remarked to the class at large: "The bleeding thing won't stay up." It was all rather deliberate, the noisy interruption and the crude remark, and it he-ralded the third stage of their conduct.

From then on the words "bloody" or "bleeding" were hardly ever absent from any remark they made to one another especially in the classroom. They would call out to each other on any silly pretext and refer to the "bleeding" this or that, and always in a voice loud enough for my ears. One day during an arithmetic period I played right into their hands. I was so overcome by anger and disgust that I completely lost my temper... I went upstairs and sat in the library, the only place where I could be alone for a little while. I felt sick at heart, because it seemed that this latest act above all others, was intended to display their utter disrespect for me. They seemed to have no sense of decency, these children; everything they said or did was coloured by an ugly viciousness, as if their minds were forever rooting after filth. ‘Why, oh why,’ I asked myself, ‘did they behave like that? What was wrong with them?’

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