Peter Viney's Blog

The inspection …

(Lockdown ramblings – with the Prime Minister in hospital)

I’ve felt sympathy for Dominic Raab, though I know nothing about him. The Foreign Secretary is First Secretary of State, so in the absence of a Deputy Prime Minister, takes over in the Prime Minister’s incapacity. It’s an office which has been used politically in subtle ways. It has the best country house, Chevening, (for entertaining foreign dignitaries) and a finer London house than the Prime Minister. One use was a job for ex-party leaders … Alec Douglas Hume, William Hague. Another was to keep your chief rival busy in a prestigious place (Boris Johnson held it under Teresa May), but separate from the main work with Chancellors and Home Secretaries. Nevertheless, James Callaghan and John Major both held it before becoming Prime Minister. The main reason it was the automatic place for stepping up and taking charge was that usually emergencies were envisaged as international crisis and war, and the Foreign Secretary oversees the secret service. He knows where the red telephone is.

Watching him taking centre stage took me back 45 years.

I was working at Anglo-Continental, then the largest ELT school in the UK. I had just been appointed Head of Elementary Studies. The school had a Director of Studies, and three Heads of Department (Elementary, Intermediate, Advanced), each with a deputy. In summer Elementary could have ten to twelve main course classes (16 per class) and another ten summer course classes, so bigger than most ELT schools. All the teachers worked full-time at just one level – a major advantage

That Monday was my first day as Head, and Bernie Hartley’s first day as Deputy-Head. Running the department wasn’t a worry – I had been Deputy Head to John Curtin for two years and as we all had eight weeks of annual holiday, I was used to running the department. John was off to set up the new London school.

Still, my first Monday, so I thought I’d better get in earlier than my 8.50 start. At 8.30 I opened the office door and my phone was ringing. It was the Director of Studies’ secretary. He was off sick, and couldn’t come in. That wasn’t the main thing … the government inspectors were already in her office for a week’s inspection. That was a major issue for private language schools.

‘What does that mean?’ I said.
‘It means you’re in charge of the lot,’ she said, ‘You’d better come over to his office.’

One of the other Heads was on holiday and the other, as a normal day, wouldn’t be in for twenty minutes.

Fortunately, Bernie got in two minutes later. Bernie had been through a few inspections elsewhere and said ‘Don’t let them wander about and in and out of classes. Tell them we won’t have classes interrupted and in fairness to students and teachers, they can only watch complete lessons.’

I walked across the car park to meet them. They were somewhat surprised (and shirty) about my instruction. It went well – I had confidence in all our teachers in Elementary.

Then we got to the Wednesday- the day of our weekly sketches and music show,” Drama Evenings”. I had a meeting with the chief inspector in my office at 2 p.m. I made sure his book (he was quite famous) was placed carefully on the shelf nearest his seat. Wednesday was a busy day – as soon as we finished teaching at five, Karen and I would set the stage, and bring out all the costumes and props from our costume store. The staff restaurant was next to the stage and used as our dressing room, and we arranged the tables (two each) and Karen assembled the props and costumes required for that particular show on everyone’s tables, ready when they arrived at six. I went out at lunchtime to get anything we needed for that show and went to the off-licence with the orders for drink. As usual, a bottle of Old England sherry for Guy, a litre of Carafino Hungarian Rose for Alan, a litre of Carafino Hungarian Red to share between me and Karen. I got delayed and arrived at five past two to find the august presence of the inspector sitting in my office with Bernie. The bottles in my bag clinked.

‘Ah, drinking man, are you?’
‘Um … not at work. We have a drama show this evening.’
Pause.
‘Pity.’
‘Mmm.’
‘I like a drink with my lunch,’ he said, ‘I didn’t have time today. Is that sherry?’
Bernie, being older and wiser, interrupted, ‘May we offer you a glass?’
‘How kind. Thank you.’

Bernie went and fetched just one glass. He consumed half the bottle. We got an excellent report, too.

At our 3.50 tea break, my ultimate boss, the Swiss Group Educational Director (The group had several other schools … Interlink, Academia, Nova, Anglo International, Private Study Centre), came over and asked me how it had gone. I told him the whole story, and said I’d have to get some more sherry for Guy. He called over the catering manager and told him to give me a bottle of (much finer) sherry from the store cupboard.

There was an addendum. The inspector bravely agreed to address my department with his findings. He then waxed eloquent – our main fault was unsystematic use of the board, he said. Every one of us was at fault. One should have three colours red, blue and black (we had whiteboards, though in those days they were light green). The board also should have three areas. Administration notes such as events and homework, perhaps in red in a column on one side. Things of passing interest, such as board drawings or diagrams, maybe in blue in the centre, and a third area on the other side for things students were expected to copy down, let’s say in black.

I could see Karen shaking her head.

‘You don’t agree?’ he said.
‘Not at all,’ she said, ‘It’s nonsense. I’m only five foot tall, and I can only reach half-way up the board, so there wouldn’t be enough room.’
Another woman teacher chimed in, ‘That’s true and I wear short skirts so if I reach right up to the top it’s embarrassing.’
A third added, ‘These pens run out all the time in mid-lesson. How many would we have to carry?’

As we left the meeting, he said, ‘You know, that’s my pet topic. No one’s ever disagreed before.’
‘Ah,’I said, ‘Welcome to my world … ‘