Over Hill And Dale Part 11

"I am expected."

"Who are you?" she demanded. This woman, I thought, could take a few lessons in manners and common courtesy from the pupil whom I had just met and who had returned to his vigil by the front door. "Are you from Fosters Floor Coverings?" she asked, not giving me the chance to reply. "To fit the carpet in the Drama Studio?"

I was tempted to enquire if I looked like a carpet fitter but resisted the urge. "No, I'm here for the interviews," I replied equally coldly. "My name is Phinn." She ran a long finger down a sheet in front of her. "It's spelt with a "ph"."

"What is?"

"My name P-h-in-n."

"There's no one on the list of that name."

I sighed heavily. "There's no "f" in Phinn."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Has it been spelt with an "f"?"

"Whether it's a "p" or an "f" there is no one called Phinn on this list. Did you receive an invitation from the Chairman of Governors to attend for interview?"

"No."

"Well, there you are then."

"That is because I am on the Interview Panel. The Head master asked me to join him. I am not one of the candidates. I am from the Education Office."

"Oh, I see. Well, I do wish you had said so earlier." She ran her finger down another list. "Yes, here you are. Jarface Phinn." I didn't bother correcting her. "The Panel is convening in the Conference Room. I'll arrange for a pupil to take you down."

"Please don't bother," I told her loftily. "I do know my way. I've been here before."

The gla.s.s abruptly slid shut in front of my eyes.

The Headmaster greeted me at the door of the Conference Room. Dr. Trollop was a tall, cadaverous man with unhealthy-looking, greyish skin. He was dressed in a dark suit, dark tie and was draped in a long black gown; his mournful countenance immediately reminded me of an undertaker.

"Good morning, Mr. Phinn," he intoned, surveying me morosely and without a flicker of a smile. "It's good of you to join us." To match his appearance, Dr. Trollop had the soft, vaguely ecclesiastical-sounding tone of voice of a funeral director about to give his condolences to bereaved relatives. I was ushered into the Conference Room to join the Chairman of Governors, Canon Williams, and the other members of the Panel.

A broad individual with an exceptionally thick neck, vast florid face and sporting a mop of unnaturally s.h.i.+ny, jet black hair was in loud conversation with Canon Williams, a thin cleric wearing steel-rimmed spectacles. Already seated at a long mahogany table was Mr. Mortimer, the know-it-all parent-governor, who was flicking eagerly through a pile of papers. On my last visit to the school for the interviews for the Head of English post, he had drawn out the discussions when I had asked a candidate about the importance of students reading the great writers of literature. All he had seemed bothered about was whether the students could spell and punctuate and write 'a decent letter of application'. The final member of the Panel was a quietly spoken and nervous-looking foundation-governor, Mr. Wright, who smiled weakly at me as I entered. All were dressed soberly, which made me stand out all the more in my suit of many colours. I surmised that these interviews were going to be as long and as tedious as on the previous occasion.

"I must say," said the man with the vast florid face when we had taken our seats behind the large table, 'it's a d.a.m.n sight warmer in 'ere than t'last time I were in t'school. I were frozzen to deeath. It's pretty par ky on t'tops where I farm so I know all about bleak weather but, by' eck, t'room were icy. I were fair starved. It took me a couple o'brandies and a gret rooaring farmhouse fire to thaw me out when I got back."

"Yes, I agree," said the canon, 'it was decidedly chilly. Of course, I'm quite used to the cold. I can never get the church heating, such as it is, to work and the rectory rarely gets warm. I often wear a body-warmer under my ca.s.sock. I get them from Fritters of Fettlesham, you know." He smiled in my direction. "However, I think we will be comfortable enough this morning as the Headmaster has kindly agreed to provide some heating for us." He gestured to a vast metal box of a heater in the corner of the room, which was blowing out great gusts of hot air noisily and at an incredible rate.

Dr. Trollop glanced at the heater with gloomy eyes and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He looked as if he had recently been exhumed. "I never seem to feel the cold," he murmured in a hushed voice. He's probably cold-blooded, I thought to myself.

"Well, colleagues, shall we make a start?" said the canon brightly. "I think we all know Mr. Phinn from the Education Office in Fettlesham, who is here to give us the benefit of his expert advice oh, perhaps with the exception of Councillor Peterson."

"I've not met 'im but I've 'eard of 'im," said the man with the vast florid face. "MorninV "Good morning," I replied, with a sinking heart. So this was Councillor George Peterson, the most vociferous and tiresome member of the Education Committee, and husband of the formidable Headteacher of Highcopse County Primary School.

"Now, we are gathered here to interview for the position of Head of the Cla.s.sics Department," continued Canon Williams removing his steel-rimmed spectacles. "It is a very important position in the school. Last time we interviewed it was for the Head of English post when, if you may remember, our discussions were a tad prolonged, largely because we departed down a number of diverse avenues, all very lively and interesting but immensely time-consuming. I do hope that these interviews will be rather more focused." He glanced casually in the direction of Councillor Peterson and Mr. Mortimer. I reckoned, as I listened to the well-meaning, cheerful clergyman, that these interviews would be no shorter. "We have three strong candidates for the post, all well-qualified and experienced '

"Can I just ask something before we go any further?" interrupted Councillor Peterson. I could see a weary expression cloud the canon's face. "I'd like someone to tell me what's t'point of kids learnin' Latin and Greek? I mean, I were never taught Latin at school and it's not sum mat what's held me back."

"Oh, Councillor Peterson," responded Canon Williams as if speaking to a naughty schoolchild, 'it's very, very useful for one to know Latin and Greek."

"Why?" demanded the councillor.

"I beg your pardon?" asked the canon.

"Why is it important?"

"Well, it is. I really do not want to go into the reasons for-'

"I can see it comes in 'andy for someone in your line of business, you being a clergyman an' all and 'having to use it at your services, but'

"In actual fact, Councillor, I do not use Latin at my services. It's those of the Romanish persuasion who use Latin. The Church of England services are in English and have been so since the sixteenth century."

"Well, I wun't know abaat that, Canon, I'm chapel mi self and there's no chance of our minister using Latin, not by a long chalk."

"Having said that," continued the canon, "I do feel that a good grounding in the cla.s.sics stands young people in good stead."

"Well, I can't see it, mi self grumbled the fat councillor, shaking his head.

"I feel certain that Mr. Phinn here could mount a very eloquent defence of the efficacy of a cla.s.sical education," said the canon, looking longingly in my direction but I felt it prudent to say nothing.

"Do you think we might get on?" sighed Dr. Trollop.

"I would be very interested to hear from Mr. Phinn in what ways Latin and Greek are relevant in the modern world." The know-it-all parent-governor now joined the discussion. Mr. Mortimer clearly was not going to let things lie and launched into a lecture on the futility of cla.s.sics in the curriculum. "It seems to me to be a total and utter waste of time to study cla.s.sics. Latin and Greek are of no practical use. French and German, yes, but a couple of old languages n.o.body speaks well, I just can't see the point. In this day and age we want captains of industry not relics of a bygone age. We want young people fluent in j.a.panese and Chinese, conversant with computers, able to enter the world of commerce, international finance and business. We want mathematicians, linguists, engineers, physicists, chemists, those highly skilled in communications.

I for one and I've said it to Dr. Trollop on more than one occasion feel that the school would be better ofF employing a teacher of Information Technology rather than a cla.s.sics master."

Canon Williams looked extremely ill-at-ease and turned to Dr. Trollop for help. The Headmaster, however also felt it politic not to enter the debate and continued to stare at the heater with a solemn countenance. He had obviously heard Mr. Mortimer's views many times before.

Mr. Wright, the foundation-governor, suddenly spoke up. "I did Latin at school," he said cheerily. The canon, a great wave of relief suffusing his face, thought he had found an ally and looked to him for some support, but there was none forthcoming. "We learnt a little poem. I remember it to this day." He then recited the verse.

Latin is a dead tongue, As dead as dead can be. First it killed the Romans, And now it's killing me. All are dead who spoke it, All are dead who wrote it. All are dead who learnt it. Lucky dead they've earned it.

"That makes my point exactly," said Mr. Mortimer, smugly.

"Oh dear me," sighed the canon, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

"And I'll tell thee this, Canon," boomed the councillor, quite determined to keep the discussion going, 'old Cosmo Cavendish, him who founded this place, could 'ardly string two words together in English, ne'er mind Latin. Only bit o' Latin he knew is the Yorks.h.i.+reman's motto: "Bra.s.so, in clutcho, in tacto Made his millions in cloth."

"Our school motto," piped up the parent-governor, 'was "Video, Disco, Audio", and I can remember-'

"My point is interrupted the councillor, but he was interrupted himself by the Headmaster.

"Whether we teach Latin and Greek is not an issue here, gentlemen," said Dr. Trollop in a low, wearisome tone of voice. "The fact of the matter is we teach cla.s.sical civilisation, we have Latin and Greek on our curriculum, students are examined in these subjects and we require a head of department. We can argue the pros and cons of retaining the cla.s.sics at the next full governors' meeting if you wish, Mr. Mortimer, but this morning we are here to undertake an interview and I would be grateful if we could now proceed."

"Eminently sensible idea, Dr. Trollop," chortled the cleric. "So let us move on."

The first candidate looked like a younger version of Dr. Trollop. He stared over his thick spectacles with great gloomy hooded eyes and, in answer to the question why he had applied for the post, breathed out heavily and said that he found the public school where he taught at present a little too demanding and was looking for a quieter life in rural Yorks.h.i.+re in a school with not so many pupils to teach. When Councillor Peterson tackled him on the relevance of Latin and Greek in the modern world, he nodded sagely and said he sometimes wondered about that himself when faced with a cla.s.s of adolescent boys more interested in football and pop music. He went on to explain that Latin was a discipline and part of our cultural heritage and helped students with their English.

When it came to my turn to ask a question, I asked the candidate which of the cla.s.sical scholars had influenced him the most in his own life.

"I don't quite see the pertinence of that question," he answered wearily. "Of what significance is it to my position as a teacher who has influenced me or not?"

"I feel it is very relevant," I replied. "Were you applying for the Head of English post I would ask which is your favourite author or poet. It tells me something about you."

"Well," he replied dismissively, 'this is not for an English post, so I really cannot say."

I decided not to pursue the line of questioning any further. There was enough heat in the room already without adding to it. The Conference Room was like a furnace. The huge metal contraption was blowing out great blasts of hot air, mostly in my direction, and I was beginning to feel like a side of beef on a spit.

The next candidate bore an unnerving resemblance to the first: the same thin angular frame, funereal expression, dark doleful eyes and sallow complexion. When asked by the canon why he had applied for the position, he replied that he wanted something more 'pedagogically challenging'. When asked by the parent-governor about his strengths, he replied that he had 'a fertility of intellect' and that he enjoyed mending clocks. In answer to Councillor Peterson's question as to the relevance of Latin and Greek he thought for a moment, crossed his spindly legs, folded his long arms and stared at the ceiling.

"Did you understand t'question?" asked the councillor after an inordinately long pause.

"Oh yes," replied the candidate still staring heavenwards. "I was just contemplating the best way of responding." After another lengthy interlude he enquired, "Perhaps, rather than answer that question directly, I might be allowed to set up a paradigm."

"A what?" snapped the councillor.

"A paradigm," repeated the candidate, p.r.o.nouncing the word with slow deliberation. "Would it be acceptable for me to set up a paradigm?"

"It's all right by me," replied the councillor, 'but is this room going to be big enough?"

"It is quite in order for you to set up your paradigm," said the canon, his words accompanied by the sc.r.a.ping of chairs as the councillor and the parent-governor moved back to get a better view of what I suspected they imagined to be the erection of some sort of marquee. I was tempted to say that it might prove difficult hammering in the pegs.

The last candidate was a small, middle-aged woman with dark hair sc.r.a.ped back tightly on her head and tied in a neat bun. My heart missed a beat when I saw what she was wearing. She had on a suit made in exactly the same material as my own: mustardy brown with a dark red, dog-tooth pattern. There were no wide curved lapels, heavy cuffs or large leather b.u.t.tons but it was certainly made from the same cloth. By the look on her face the candidate was as surprised as I when she caught sight of my attire. The other interviewers clearly thought we were related in some way for their eyes flashed backwards and forwards from the candidate to me.

The room was now like a sauna and I could feel the perspiration all over my body and the heavy suit sticking to my body. I wondered how the candidate was feeling, but she answered the questions with great skill and flourish until it came to Councillor Peterson's turn.

"Ave you a family?" he asked.

"No, I'm not married."

"Do you intend to?"

"Do I intend to what?" she asked sweetly.

"Get married."

"Councillor Peterson," the canon interrupted quickly, "I'm afraid that kind of question cannot be put to the candidate."

"Well, I just 'ave," he replied.

"It is entirely irrelevant whether the candidate is married or not."

"It's very relevant," he replied aggressively. "What if this young lady gets married and then 'as a family? She'll 'ave to 'ave time off to 'ave the kiddies and then get somebody to look after them when she's at work. That's not satisfactory at all, is it?"

"You are not allowed to ask that, "joined in Mr. Mortimer, 'because it's a non-PC question."

"A what?" exclaimed the councillor.

"It's not politically correct," he was informed.

"Well, I think I know more abaat politics than anyone here present," he spluttered. "I've been a county councillor for nearly twenty years."

"Shall we move on, Mr. Chairman?" asked the Headmaster, fixing the councillor with a look that brought to mind the Ancient Mariner and his glittering eye.

"I don't have any immediate plans to get married," said the candidate looking Councillor Peterson in the eye, and with a smile playing about her lips, 'or indeed to have any children."

"Right then," he said, leaning back in his chair as if vindicated. "I'll move on. Do you reckon you'd be able to cope with t'big lads, you bein' a woman an' all?"

The canon breathed out noisily. Dr. Trollop shook his head.

"I've never found any difficulty coping with big or indeed little lads." She smiled and looked directly at him.

"Oh." Councillor Peterson was lost for words.

"I generally find that they do exactly as I say."

"Oh."

"Large boys present no problems for me."

"No," muttered the councillor, rather chastened, "I don't suppose they do, I mean don't, I mean, I'm sure they don't give you any trouble."

"And your last question, Councillor Peterson, about the relevance of the subjects?" prompted the canon.

"Oh yes. Well, I'm just a simple farmer what sc.r.a.pes a livin' from t'land and not knowing Latin's not 'eld me back.

A lot of t'lads at t'school will end up running their family farm or mebbe becoming estate managers or land agents or working for t'Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries. What I'd like to know is, what's t'point of 'em studying Greek and Latin and all this cla.s.sical stuff?"

The candidate continued to smile sweetly. "A knowledge of Latin helps us gain a good command of the grammar and vocabulary of our own language. Effective communication is very important in the modern world. It's always impressive to hear English well spoken, don't you think?" She paused and looked Councillor Peterson straight in the eye. "I also believe that we have so much to learn from studying the Greeks and the Romans. Take Aristotle, for example. He wrote a great deal about logic, metaphysics, physics, astronomy, meteorology, biology, psychology, ethics, politics, philosophy and literary criticism. His philosophy became the foundation for the Islamic religion and was incorporated into Christianity. Then there's Socrates, such a clever, gentle and enigmatic man, very like Jesus."

"Really?" said the canon suddenly sitting up. "In what way?"

"Well, their contemporaries found them both difficult to fathom. Neither of them wrote anything down and we have to rely on their disciples to know what they believed and what they said. We do know that they were wonderful communicators, great teachers, that they could use words in such a way that people's lives were changed for the better. Surely learning about such men helps young people to live good, honest lives, to become more compa.s.sionate, truthful and humane."

"Fascinating, fascinating," murmured the canon. "I would dearly like to debate this further, but I am afraid that time is of the essence and I will now call upon Mr. Phinn, the representative from the Education Office, to put a question."

"I was going to ask which cla.s.sical scholar has influenced you the most," I said, looking into the candidate's china-blue eyes, 'but I'd guess from what you've said that it's either Aristotle or Socrates."

"It isn't actually," she replied. "It would have to be Seneca." She turned in the direction of Councillor Peterson. "He was a Roman playwright and author of many essays and the teacher of Nero, one the most infamous of Roman emperors."

"T'chap what fiddled when Rome was burnin'," said the councillor.

"The very one," agreed the candidate. "Despite teaching the young emperor and forming what he thought was a close relations.h.i.+p with his pupil, Seneca was forced by Nero to take his own life. He told the unvarnished truth, you see. It was a tragic end to a brilliant writer and philosopher. It was through reading Seneca that I decided to come into teaching. You see, he never lost his optimism and enthusiasm and delighted in the company of the young. He said that part of his joy in learning was that it put him in a position to teach, and that nothing, however valuable, would ever give him any pleasure if it were just for his benefit alone. "If wisdom were offered me on the one condition that I should keep it shut away and not divulge it to anyone," he once said, "I should reject it, for there is no enjoying the possession of anything valuable unless one has someone to share it with." Makes good sense, doesn't it?"

There was a silence in the room. The canon nodded, Mr. Mortimer shuffled his papers, the foundation-governor stared at the candidate as if she were the Queen herself, Dr. Trollop gave a brief smile and nodded, and I knew that this candidate had clinched the job. Indeed, fifteen minutes late rafter a surprisingly brief and amiable discussion, Miss Rebecca Barnes was offered the position of Head of Cla.s.sics.