Extract from First Class!

Taken from Chapter 1

‘Alice.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Wow! What a start! I don’t think I’ve ever been called ‘sir’ in my life.
‘Daniel.’
‘Yes, Mr Gray.’
‘Sophie.’
‘Yes, Mr Gray.’
‘Charlotte.’
‘Charlie!’
OK, first test. Don’t panic, she just wants to be called Charlie.
‘Sorry, Charlie.’
‘Yes, Mr Gray.’
That could have been worse.
‘Miranda.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Two sirs in one register! The Lord is on my side.
‘Robert.’
‘Yeah.’
Bollocks.

It was this exact scenario that had had me in a cold sweat at three o’clock this morning. I had learnt the hard way, in my final teaching practice, the importance of the very first registration. While I knew all the theory – establish yourself first, don’t be over-friendly, ensure confident body language, etc., etc. – somehow I had thought, in a moment of madness, that if I let them answer the register in a quirky, fun-filled manner, they would instantly proclaim me a cool dude of a teacher and regard me with a cross between hero worship and reverence. By the time my first registration in that fateful teaching practice had finished, some fifteen minutes after it had begun, I had already lost control. To my utter horror, ‘quirky and jovial’ quickly turned to rude, disrespectful and, eventually, completely defiant. It was, by some distance, the worst fifteen minutes of my life, and as the last snotty-nosed kid screeched ‘yeeeeeeeesssssss Mr Gay’ (met with rapturous laughter) I began to foresee what a nightmare the next six weeks would be. By the end of it my confidence as a teacher was completely shot, and I wondered whether I was cut out for the job. Had I been in the slightest bit cut out for anything else, I wouldn’t be here now, in a moment of crisis, barely ten seconds into my first ever proper job, listening to Robert answer, ‘Yeah.’

I took a second to look at him and gauge whether his response was a ‘cheeky chappy’ sort of ‘yeah’, designed to get a bit of a laugh, but without menace. That first meeting of our eyes confirmed, instantly, that this was no cheeky chappy. Robert was not a big child, nor did he sport a telling crew-cut or stud earring. Indeed, he had rather handsome features, short, well-groomed fair hair, and a clean green uniform. His eyes, however, were steely and daring, causing me to take an involuntary little gasp before issuing the standard response:
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said, Yeah.’

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. Any lingering hope of a ‘cheeky-chappy-with-unfortunate-steely-and-daring-eyes’ swiftly evaporated as Class 6G awaited my response. I knew the protocol. I knew that I could not be seen to hesitate for a fraction of a second, and that I should maintain a calm authority without losing eye contact. But … but, but, but. Knowing what to do, and actually doing it fifteen seconds into one’s chosen career, are vastly different things. I started to speak but faltered, perhaps for half a second, before saying: ‘Let me make myself clear, so you can be in no doubt as to my expectations, Robert. When I call your name, you respond, “Yes, Mr Gray”.’ (I didn’t push my luck with ‘sir’.) ‘Yes, Mr Gray.’ As a little speech, it was quite well delivered, and I did maintain eye contact, but everybody noticed the half-second hesitation. The moment passed, however, and the rest of registration ensued without incident.