We have a new teacher in our school for this year only - a BA HDip (hons). And we have a dilemma. Now, the problem here is nothing to do with her qualifications (excellent, as she is not shy about telling us), nor her track record - a clutch of As and Bs from her last honours English class. She is punctual, organised and experienced.
In spite of all this, we are in a predicament. None of this is worth a red cent when it comes to our particular situation. You see, we are a primary school.
There are no exams to threaten the pupils with; it's not a case of learn it or fail, it's a bit more subtle than that. You can't give three pages of history to a nine-year-old and say: "Come in without knowing that and you won't see the outside of the building for a week!"
And asking a second-class pupil to write out a poem five times is like asking you or me to transcribe the Book of Kells - an exercise in frustration.
It is difficult to explain to this self-assured lady that we do things a little differently in primary - no better, no worse, just differently. She has already figured out that the place is manic, by the way. On any given morning, there is a child coming through her room with a roll copy, a savings scheme to be run, photocopying money to be collected, a line of excited pupils clutching copies that are neat enough to be sent around the school for praise and a photographer waiting to take family groups.
This is madness she intones - you'd never be interrupted like this in second level. Add that to numerous subject areas and a multi-class situation and you'll see where she's coming from. The sad news about almost daily yard duty in a four-teacher set-up like ours nearly sent her running from the place, needless to say.
But, in truth, we consider ourselves lucky to have a teacher with qualifications in our school, however unsuitable they are. Horror stories of advertisements that drew no applications for the positions at all abound. Or schools willing to take any available person with a Leaving Cert to do substitute work. Simply put, qualified primary teachers are an endangered species.
Our principal is gripped with an urge to scream and tear her hair out when our BA announces: "My ways work, believe me," as she gives out an exercise that involves translating two pages of English into Irish to a fearful first class. But the alternative of scaring her away and coping indefinitely with her class divided up between us is enough to stop us in our tracks. And, maybe, her ways do work and we will reap the benefits eventually. Maybe . . .
