Last Tango in Halifax. A post in praise of Head Teachers, with help from John Hegley, John Otway & Wild Willy Barrett and Kate and Caroline.
Date posted: Friday 7th November 2014
Ms Jill McCann?
For a number of years (four) I worked in a large town, leading a small team that supported the education of children from the Traveller community. We worked with families who lived on the permanent Travellers’ site, families who were no longer mobile but now ‘settled’ in housing, and children who visited the town with travelling fairgrounds (Showmen) and circuses. Our main priority was supporting Traveller families who suddenly arrived in town and illegally parked their caravans on waste ground or on industrial estates, in public parks and sometimes literally by the side of the road. We enjoyed our work, which involved finding places for the children in local schools and supporting the staff to meet the children’s needs.
We know that all children have a right to attend school, no matter how long they are going to stay, but sometimes making that a working reality can be a really tough call for the schools. And one Monday afternoon I made a particularly tough call on a local primary school. A family of Irish Travellers had pitched up in the school’s catchment area and had five children who were eligible for school places. It’s rare that any school would have spaces in Reception, Year 1, Year 2, Year 5 and Year 6. But this one did. Slight challenge: none of the children had ever been to school before.
I’d never met Ms Jill McCann before, but had heard various descriptions, including ‘tough, fair, a hard taskmaster, runs a tight ship, typical Yorkshire and calls a spade a spade.’ I was soon to add ‘doesn’t suffer fools (like I can sometimes be) gladly’, ‘humane’ and ‘inspirational’. So I started my pitch: five children living in a caravan on an industrial estate, with no access to running water or facilities and no prior schooling. We don’t know how long they will stay, but usually no more than a week. I soon realised that Ms McCann chose her words carefully. During my initial explanation they mainly consisted of ‘right’ and ‘OK’. However, depending on her intonation and facial expression, those two words could mean anything from ‘You must be joking’ or ‘I see’ to ‘I agree’ and ‘let’s get going’. I think in our initial conversation Ms McCann signified all of those meanings, in her Harrogate accent. And she had this enigmatic way of taking her glasses off and placing them on the desk in front of her before she spoke, giving everything she said extra gravitas.
The next day Lizzie, Johnny, Tommy, Paddy and Dolores arrived at school and attended every day (evictions notwithstanding) for six months. Out team pulled out all the stops to make sure that the staff were supported to help these children get as much as they could from being in school. I was up at the school regularly but, like most Heads, Ms McCann was madly busy. So I only spoke with her to let her know that her staff were being brilliant… or when I was sent for. And sent for I was one Friday afternoon after school. I don’t like being summoned by school secretaries, who phone me up and say things like, ‘Mr Jones, Jill would like to see you after school today. She says it’s important.’
Maybe it’s years of being hauled into Head Teachers offices as a child that always makes me assume that I have done something wrong when I knock on their office doors. And I absolutely hate it when they say, ‘Shut the door and sit down,’ in THAT tone of voice. So as I crossed the room I looked for tell-tale signs of impending doom: Ms McCann’s body language was giving nothing away, so I tried to act like I wasn’t feeling like a cornered mouse.
“Ok Michael. Explain this,” said the Head as she pushed a piece of paper across her desk towards my trembling hands. It was a letter from the Council’s Chief Executive. The long and the short of it was that once a year, heads of service like me were asked to give a seminar to the Director of Education and other senior members of the local authority. I chose to describe the outstanding work of Ms Jill McCann and her staff, in supporting children who were highly vulnerable of educational failure, and were likely to attend school as often as they could, wherever they moved to next. The Director, unbeknown to me, had felt moved to report this to the Chief Exec, who in turn had felt moved to write to Jill McCann, inviting himself to the school to see good practice in action and to address a staff meeting. It was his letter that I was now holding in my hand.
From Ms McCann’s face and intonation when she said ‘Right’ and that special way she had of taking her glasses off and placing them in front of her on the desk, I couldn’t tell if I was in a for a right royal roasting or a ‘thank you.’ “I’m going to start by saying, ‘You shouldn’t have done this’ and then I’m going to say ‘thank you very much for this.’ But we are only doing our jobs, and any Head Teacher and her staff would do what we are doing. Have you got time for a cup of tea? Also what are you doing this evening? A group of us Heads are going to the theatre to see John Hegley, and I wondered if you’d like to join me.’
John Hegley is a local hero in this town. Not only did he go to primary school there, but he remains great friends with a few of the pals he was at school with, who are now Head Teachers of local schools. So whenever John is in town, as many Heads as possible see his show and then a few of the chosen get to spend time with him after the performance.
John Hegley: A Licence to be Poetic
And that’s why at midnight I was in the midst of a raucous ‘lock in’ at The Baker’s Arms, sitting next to Jill and listening to one half of John Otway & Wild Willy Barrett improvising some sublime Irish reels while everyone, including John Hegley and Wild Willy’s friends Sleeping Dogz, were well on their way to getting totally plastered. Everyone, that is, except me, who had offered to drive Jill home. Lisa Hannigan wasn’t there, (but she’s worth a gratuitous mention just so you can see how nice she is). Neither were there any children, but the playing was as good as this wee girlie’s.
‘You know what Michael,’ Jill informed me in her West Yorkshire accent, after two pints of Guinness and a whisky chaser, ‘Some of the Heads call you ‘Michael Marmite’ because some of them love you, while others can’t stand the sight of you.’
Michael Jones?
“OK. Right” I replied, taking my glasses off and placing them on the ale-and-spirits-splashed table in front of me, in the hope that my words would have some added gravitas, ‘So where do you stand on the Marmite spectrum?’ (To tell the truth, I was thinking that there’s no need for interrogators to shine a bare light bulb in a prisoner’s face and threaten him with all sorts of horrible stuff. Just give him two pints of Guinness and a whiskey chaser and anyone will immediately spill the beans.)
‘OK. I’ll be absolutely honest with you I …’ Jill began, but her phone vibrated in her pocket, “Oh hi Linda!” she yelled above the din, “I’m locked in some Irish pub getting sloshed with guess who… John Hegley, Wild Willy Something or Other and none other than the legendary Michael Marmite! No, no. You don’t need to come and get me. Michael will give me a lift home, and you can finally meet the man who is a legend in his own lunchtime.”
John Otway: Cor baby, that’s really free!
More punk mayhem and the infamous ‘leaping on the amp’ incident.
“Was that your daughter?” I asked.
“Oh no. My teenagers are fast asleep. Linda is my lovely…”
At which point there was a resounding crash, as six pints of Guinness slipped off a tray someone was carrying past me, and landed in my direction. It must have been a miracle, because not a single drop missed me. Now my lip reading is quite good, but I had put my spectacles on the table so couldn’t quite make out, the split second before I landed in the drink, what Jill’s last sentence was. It looked to me like ‘Linda is my lovely parceller’.
That brought the evening to a sudden end for me. I made my excuses, Jill got a taxi home, and on Monday morning I got a call to say that the Traveller family had left town after six months (and were never seen again). I visited the school a few times after that, but Jill was either busy or out, so our paths didn’t cross again. At the end of term Jill and Linda moved back to Yorkshire and opened a bookshop.
But here I am, on a plane to Shanghai, having just watched the first three episodes of BBC TV drama/rom com Last Tango in Halifax. I thought I was going to be watching a remake of that awful film by Bernardo Bertollucci and starring Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider. But why, I asked myself, should the BBC choose a mill town in Yorkshire to re-enact some of the worst moments in cinema history?
Kate and Caroline
But this TV series involves a Head Teacher from Harrogate, who says ‘Right’ and ‘OK’ with many meanings and takes her glasses off and puts them enigmatically on the desk in front of her, to give everything she says added gravitas. And she has a lovely ‘parceller’. And I’m in heaven.
I’m a big fan of Head Teachers. They do a very tough job, and this post is dedicated to them. And particularly to Jill, whatever her views on Marmite might be.
Take care out there.
Michael
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4xoxFrRA2Q
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You are utterly butterly when it comes to the marmite test, especially after what you said about headteachers. Right? OK?
And you being from Yorkshire as well!!
Thanks Simon. Are you a fan of ‘Last Tango’?
Michael