Perks of the job

There weren't may perks to be had in teaching; the odd roll of sellotape to wrap Christmas presents, a few pens and pencils and the odd packet of paper - that was about it.

Where did the vodka come from?

When the schools were amalgamated, those that were going elsewhere decided to stock up ready for their new schools. One teacher in particular filled the back of his estate car with every conceivable item he could possibly need from board rubbers to felt tip pens.

As he left the car park, it became clear that he hadn't closed the boot lid properly. So, as he turned out of the car park, the lid opened and the carefully packed booty slid out onto the road.

Boxes and packets were strewn everywhere along with a bottle of vodka which smashed creating a stream of alcohol behind his car. The discretion that he had shown packing the car was totally wasted.

That was a mistake

In my latter years at the new school, I was Assistant Headteacher with responsibility for Finance. One time, the Headteacher made the mistake of suggesting to me that each member of the Senior Management Team should have a laptop. Of course he wanted one for himself and could only justify the purchase if we all had one.

It took me less than two hours to place the order for six top-of-the range Dells.

Out of the members of the team, two of us used the laptops extensively. The Head took his home for his son to use; another member took his home where it stayed in its bag ; one wasn't even taken out of the box that it was delivered in and the last one replaced an ageing desktop in a Deputy Head's house.

When I retired I negotiated with the Head who allowed me to keep my laptop. At the time I did feel a twinge of guilt; after all the computers cost the school £1,600 each. I needn't have worried though. When the school eventually closed all the staff, who by then had been "loaned" laptops by the Authority kept them.

I also had a school credit card, something that the Head had declined.

When the Head suggested a weekend conference for members of the SMT, the Senior Admin. Assistant and I booked us into one of the smartest hotels in Liverpool. We ate well, drank the finest wines and cognacs on offer and even smoked the best Cuban cigars.We did fall short of ordering champagne for breakfast - that might just have been over the top.

When it came to settling the bill, I simply produced the School credit card and paid for the lot. The colour drained from Head's face when he saw the total. He never suggested a follow up event.

The day I retired, the Head came to see me in the morning to recover the credit card from me. I managed to keep him waiting until my farewell speech to hand it over. The suggestion that there might be some items on the bill in Spanish did not go down well with him.

Entertaining the troups

At Anfield we did our best to entertain the children. The drama teachers put on plays which were passable. The Music department, on the other hand was more successful with its "show band". The band had taken part in many competitions both in Britain and abroad and even did an exchange with a school band from Canada. They were very good ; both children and parents enjoyed the many concerts they performed in the school.

One year we decided to put on a review for the pupils. Staff performed comedy sketches, sang and generally acted stupid much to the delight of the boys. Roger and I performed as a duo; he played guitar and I sang. He was dressed as a hippy in his long multicoloured cardigan and I wore my wife's blonde wig and my dinner suit. We seemed to go down quite well. The review was sadly a "one off" which we never repeated.

At Christmas there was always a carol concert which would start with the usual stuff - "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" etc and finish with "Jingle Bells", Rudolph the red nosed reindeer" etc.

The Head of Music tried to carry the tradition on when the school amalgamated but the atmosphere was different. The event descended into a parody when young children were dressed up on the stage to enact the Christmas Story. They performed well but somehow did not evoke the same spirit that rousing choruses of Jingle Bells did.

One of the traditions at the new school that did engage the pupils though was the pantomime. The Anfield version of traditional themes were written by one of the English staff and then performed by a mixture of students and staff. The Textile and Art Departments were heavily involved in producing costumes and scenery. These pantomimes were very well received by the pupils.

However, one of the later Headteachers thought that the whole idea was sexist and so the annual pantomime was dropped much to he delight of some of the staff who thought the pupil's behaviour at the performances was unseemly.

The other event that was dropped from the new school was the Harvest Festival. During the weeks before the festival, pupils were encouraged to bring in tins and packets which were then carefully arranged at the front of the hall.

The Headmistress, resplendent in her flowing black gown, gave a talk about the purpose of the collection which was to distribute gifts of food to the pensioners in the area. The talk was followed by the usual harvest hymns ,

On the last occasion the festival was held, The Head of Music, who sat at the piano just below the stage, spotted that someone had placed a packet of sanitary towels in amongst the collection of tins and packets. Luckily he was able to remove the offending item before the Headmistress spotted it but not before the eagle eyed staff in the hall had a good giggle about it.

Actually this giving of largesse to pensioners was something that the Senior Master at the original Anfield used to organise every Christmas. Each year there would be thirty or more parcels delivered by the most difficult pupils from the school. One boy in particular was so pleased to be chosen for the task and so overwhelmed by the reaction of he recipients that he brought his delivery bike into school to speed up the service.

Traditions only remain traditions when people carry them on.

Caning

The deal was that you were not allowed to administer the cane during your probationary year. After that, with the permission of he Headteacher, you could apply two strokes. The senior staff were allowed to administer six stokes for serious offences.

Once my first year was completed, I was ready to deal with my first victim. I had to choose carefully though. I didn't want to pick on one of the hardened characters who might have judged my performance poor.

Eventually I found the right pupil to deal with. I can't remember what he had done but it was bad enough for me to give him two strokes.

Now I had a choice; the hand or the backside. The backside was an easier target but required a different technique and there was always the risk of involuntary flatulence on the part of the pupil, so I chose the hand. I missed on the first stroke but got him right on the crease where the fingers join the palm with the second and managed to break the cane in the process.

One of the Housemasters offered me his cane as a replacement. This one was short and thick and had been carefully wrapped in tape to stop it from splitting.

It was just the job because the third stroke was right on target* and brought the required response from the boy - a sharp gasp followed by a rubbing of the hand to try and soothe the pain.

* I was told that the best place to aim for was the fingers where there is little flesh to cushion the blow.

Now with first blood under my belt, I could relax because I'd established my reputation.

There were a few amusing incidents involving the cane that I will relate.

Giving chase

The Deputy Head was intent giving a boy six strokes for a very serious offence. The boy had other ideas though and would not stand still. After chasing the boy around his office a couple of times, the Deputy Head summoned help. Whilst one teacher held the boy still the other applied the cane.

The cure for lateness

The Senior Master decided that enough was enough and that he was going to deal with the problem of lateness. He summoned a couple of members of staff to help. One shepherded the latecomers into the first year yard, the second recorded their names into the punishment book and the Senior Master applied the cane. The first day he dealt with over 120 pupils. The second day there was just a handful. The Senior Master was relieved; applying two hundred and forty strokes of the cane in less than an hour was a bit of an ordeal for him.

Parent power

A particularly arrogant pupil had been very offensive towards one of the Science Technicians so his father was called into the school. The pupil obviously thought his father was going to defend him but he was wrong.

Once the situation had been explained to the father, he asked the Housemaster if he could borrow the cane. Having got the cane, the father made his son drop his trousers and gave him six of the best on his backside.

He then offered the cane back to the Housemaster so that he could follow suite.

Finally the father asked for the technician who had been offended to be summoned. The boy was made to kneel down and make a groveling apology in his underpants.

We never had a problem with that boy again.

Dealing with smokers

Almost every school has its "smokers corner", a place where pupils go for a cigarette at breaks and lunchtimes. At Anfield this was in the area between the craft block and the perimeter fence.

Each breaktime you could see the plume of smoke rise as the pupils  light up. Of course by the time you got there the young boys who were standing guard had given the alert and all that was left were butts on the ground.

So there was a bit of a game played between staff and pupils. You'd give the smokers chance to satisfy their need for nicotine before wandering over to show your face.

One day, the Biology teacher I've mentioned previously, decided to play a trick on the smokers. Just before the start of break he climbed up onto the craft block roof with a bucket of water and positioned himself where the smokers would congregate. Once they'd arrived and light up, he dowsed them with the water. Of course the smokers shouted out in protest to which he replied, "I'm sorry I thought there was a fire". The smokers now had a problem. Should they go and visit their Year Heads and ask if they could go home for dry clothes or sit it out for the rest of the morning wet through.

Then there was the occasion when Roger and I were wandering around the school taking photographs. We came across a pair of smokers in the area where the bike sheds had been. I quickly raised the camera to my eye and pressed the shutter. The boys begged me not to send the photographs to their parents, even offered me money. What they didn't know was that I had just run out of film.

Cannabis

At the school where I finished my career, the group that caused the biggest problem with smoking were the girls. Their chosen venue was the toilets which were opposite the staffroom door.

We spent a lot of money refurbishing the pupils' toilets to make them pleasant and comfortable. Whilst the boy's toilets stayed in good condition, the girl's were a disgrace within weeks. There was graffiti on  the walls, the seats had been broken off, the floor was covered in chewing gum and burn marks; they even managed to remove the pans in two of the cubicles.

The growing concern in schools is for the number of children smoking cannabis both on and off the premises. A few years back, the Head of First Year at Anfield became  aware that some of her charges had fallen prey to the weed so she summoned the Deputy Head Pastoral and between them they concocted a devious plot.

The two of them managed to convince 180 children that they had a simple medical test which could detect if someone had smoked cannabis in the last three months.

The children were given a day to confess to having smoked a joint. Those that didn't would be tested and if the test was positive, they would be handed over to the police.

The teachers were flabbergasted when half of the children came forward to confess. Their trick had uncovered a problem which they clearly had no solution for.

Sometimes it is best not to know too much about what the children are up to.

The Art Adviser

It was towards the end of my first year of teaching before I met the Art Adviser for Liverpool. He told me that he was taking a special interest in me because I was the first Art teacher in the city with a B.Ed. degree. The normal route for Art teachers was via a foundation course followed by a diploma course (the equivalent of a degree at university).

I was warned before I met him try and avoid staring at his head. Those who had known him for some time had seen him go prematurely bald. His solution was to wear possibly the worst wig you can imagine. I don't know what animal the hair came from but it didn't look human.

Try as you might, you couldn't help staring at it looking to find the join, hoping that a slight gust of wind might move it. I can't say it ever did. Over the years that I worked in Liverpool the adviser obviously updated his "rug". The later ones were much better.

In spite of the fact that he'd proclaimed an interest in me, the Art Adviser rarely came to see me - I put it down to being the wrong sex.

In service courses

During the the years I taught art, there were many meetings and courses to attend. The most memorable was a weekend at the Far Sawrey hotel in the Lake District. The deal was that we would have a talk before dinner on the first night. The following day would be spent out in the countryside sketching, painting and taking photographs. Then on the Sunday morning before we left there would be a summary session.

The talk on the first night was the usual inspirational stuff with work from the chosen few being trotted out as examples of good practice. We'd all come from a day at the chalkface so all we really wanted was dinner and a few pints.

The following day was glorious. Roger, Jeff and I had packed our fishing gear. So instead of the planned sketching trip, we sauntered down with Pat in tow to Windermere to test our luck with a few maggots.

Upon our return to the hotel, the explanation of how we'd spent our day did not go down well with the Art Adviser who clearly thought we were less than serious about the purpose of the weekend.

That night, after dinner, the Art Adviser and his friend, who was a lecturer at one of the local colleges, disappeared down into the nearest town only to reappear an hour or so later with a couple of young "ladies" in tow. They had a couple of drinks at the bar and then disappeared again only to reappear several hours later sans female company. At that point we understood the real purpose of the weekend.

Actually we art teachers didn't really need an adviser because we had a thriving association dedicated to what art teachers do best - partying.

The association organised events throughout the year at the Gaslight club in Liverpool which were always packed and then each summer we would have a "do" on the Royal Iris.

The Royal Iris was one of the famous Liverpool ferries which was used at night for functions. It would leave its berth at Seacombe and sail across to Liverpool where we would pick up the party goers. Then the boat would cruise up and down the river sailing out to the Mersey Bar and back. Actually we could have been sailing anywhere in the world, I don't think many of us bothered with the scenery.

Rather interesting to note that there was never a similar association for geography teachers, or maths teachers or in fact any other class of teachers. I dare say the art association no longer exists. Teachers these days are too wrapped up in initiatives and OFSTED to think about partying.

The video club

A few of us at Anfield formed a video club. Each fortnight or so we would take our sandwiches to one of the lecture theatres to watch the latest film. Bear in mind we are not talking Mary Poppins or the Sound of Music here.

The videos mostly came from the caretaker who got them from the local police station. I understand that the police had a facility set up to make copies of any videos they'd impounded which they then distributed to selected people.

The rest of the staff must have wondered where twenty odd teachers were disappearing to for these lunch time sessions but never said anything.

All was going well until one lunchtime a young teacher arrived at the lecture theatre followed by the members of his stamp club. I think they were intent on watching a video about the origin of stamps.

The young teacher quickly realised that what we were watching was not suitable for his first year charges and managed turn them away before any of them caught sight of the screen.

Some time later, a senior member of staff who was part of the club, was summoned to see the Headteacher who had become aware of what we were about. The senior member of staff was told in no uncertain terms that this activity was to cease.

From then on viewing had to be conducted at home. I was entrusted with the collection of tapes and before you ask - no I don't still have them. They were lent to a Science Technician who never returned them.

There were a few other occasions when I was involved in a reprimand.

The next occasion was when I was in charge of external examinations. I was in the stock room sorting the papers out when the Headteacher's Secretary came in. We were having a laugh and a joke about some issue or other. Our conversation was quite noisy and raucous.

The Head's office backed onto to the stockroom so he obviously heard the commotion and came to investigate. Being the gentleman that he was, the Head announced his presence before rounding the corner where we were. When he saw us, he politely asked us to keep the noise down and left.

When he'd gone it occurred to us that he possibly thought we involved in some carnal activity which is why he was so discreet. On reflection, the incident probably caused him more embarrassment than it did us.

Then there was the occasion when Roger and I decided to take our new pottery teacher, Pat Gamble out for a drink on her birthday. Unbeknown to us she was supposed to be in a meeting with her Induction Mentor, the Deputy Head. On our return we got told off for a) taking her out and b) drinking at lunchtime. We never went out to the pub at lunchtime after that.

The most amusing telling off though was when Stanley Park Girls and Anfield Boys merged to become Priory C.C. School. We had a few days before the pupils arrived to sort ourselves out. I'd been promoted to Sixth Form Coordinator and was duly summoned to a meeting with the Headmistress. She had one of those traffic light systems on her door.

When the green light came on, I entered her sanctuary with the cigar I was smoking in my hand. I was immediately stopped by the coldest most withering stare you can imagine. After a pregnant pause, Miss Wilkinson handed me an ashtray and told me that under no circumstances would I be allowed to smoke in her office. I dutifully put the cigar into the ashtray where I left it to smolder until our meeting was finished at which point I retrieved it and continued smoking back into the staff room.

My last telling off was when the Senior Admin Officer and I placed one of the Site Managers on the same scale as his colleagues. We were told by the Head that we would face a disciplinary meeting with the Governors for our actions. That was until we pointed out that the three of us had discussed the promotion at one of our regular weekly meetings and that in fact the Head had signed the pay advice to the Authority placing the Site Manager on his new scale. When we later asked for the date when the meeting was to take place we were promptly told to forget it.

More tales from Cholomendy

A few years after Roger arrived at Anfield, he was joined by Pete Wiseman, a Biology teacher he'd worked with. Pete's party piece was to greet people by shaking their hand saying, "please excuse my warts". He did it with men, women, inspectors - anybody.

Pete and Roger took parties of boys to Cholomendy and had many tales to recount of their times there. I will just relate two of them.

Pete and Roger had been to the Cholomendy Arms for a drink one night. When they got back to camp, they called in the dormitory to see that all was OK. As they stood leaning on one of the bunks, Pete and Roger became aware that it was moving in a rhythmic fashion. They quickly deduced that the boy on the top bunk was pleasuring himself. I'm sure I don't need to relate the content of the conversation that took place between the two teachers. The gist of it was that they decided a quick slap in the region of the offending part would put paid to problem. The boy looked suitably sheepish the next day but of course nothing was said.

On another occasion Pete and Roger had a bad snorer in the party who was keeping the others awake. They moved him to a bunk at the far end of the dorm but that didn't work. So the next night they waited until he was fast asleep and then carried him, complete with his bunk, outside. When the boy woke up in the morning he must have wondered where the dormitory and all his friends had disappeared to. I don't think he slept for the rest of the week for fear of what might happen to him. It certainly cured the snoring problem.

Actually Pete played a similar trick on me. Once I had settled a class down to work, occasionally (well once a day at most) I would visit Roger next door and we would go into his stock room for a smoke.

One time, when I'd been next door for a smoke, I returned to my room to find the whole class had gone. Their work was still out and their bags were still there but there wasn't a child in sight.

As I started to consider how I was going to explain to the Head that I'd lost my class whilst I was having a smoke next door, I heard a noise from my stockroom. I opened the door to find that Pete had managed to get all 30 members of the class into a room the size of a normal bathroom. Both he and the class thought it was hilarious.

I never did get my own back on him for that.

Cholomendy

Liverpool Education Authority had an outdoor centre at Cholomendy in North Wales. where you could take parties of children for a week at very little cost. In cases of hardship, the pupils would go free. The Authority even arranged a Cooperation bus to take you there for 60p per pupil return.

Roger, the new Head of Department, had taken parties of children to Cholomendy many times. At West Derby, where Roger came from, they had a policy of taking all the first years there for an induction week. Children, who had come from different Primary Schools got to know each other and make friendships  that would last through their time in Secondary School. 

Since we couldn't take children from Anfield in term time,  Roger decided we'd take them during the first week of the Summer holiday. We established this pattern for a number of years and ended up taking some of the boys several times.

The groups we took were carefully selected to include children who would benefit from a week's holiday rather than those who would traditionally have been taken away by their parents.

Roger already had extensive knowledge of the area and good relations with the staff at the camp. He was therefore able to put together a plan of activities for the week designed to  keep the children busy.

It was always difficult on the first night to encourage excited youngsters, who were not used to being in a dormitory of 30,  to get to sleep. So on the first full day, we'd take the boys on a long walk to tire them out in the hope they would sleep better the second night. It worked for me, I always arrived back at camp shattered. The boys, on the other hand, would complain of tiredness during the walk and then ask for a ball to play a game of soccer when they returned to camp.

One of our regular trips during the week was to the quarry at Cefn Mawr. We'd spend the morning briefing the children about Cefn Harry who Roger explained was a Welsh terrorist that frequented the quarry with a gun; determined to wipe out English visitors.  The boys  were instructed to follow Roger and watch carefully for a sign he would make if he spotted Harry. I was amazed that streetwise 15 year old Scousers fell for that story.  It was hilarious to watch 30 boys drop to the ground the instant Roger raised his arm. Years later one boy even asked me if Cefn Harry was real or whether we'd made him up. I didn't have the hear to tell him the truth.

Another activity which proved popular with the boys was dissecting owl pellets. I never really understood how Roger was able to find so many of them so quickly but he did. The boys would then spend hours carefully teasing out all the bones from the fur to find out what the owls had been eating which was always mice and shrews.

One year, the warden at Cholomendy knitted Roger and I knee length multi-coloured cardigans, which we wore whilst we were there. On Sundays the children's parents visited the camp to make sure their offspring were OK and to bring them food parcels in case they were hungry. Spotting the pair of us with long hair, beards, sunglasses and our multi-coloured coats, one parent asked, "who are those two hippies?" Once they'd been told we were the teachers, Roger and I  had a hard job convincing the parents to leave their children in our charge. 

Roger and I didn't get a lot of sleep during the weeks we'd spend at Cholomendy. The pair of us would stay up until 2am playing cards whilst we made sure the children were all asleep. Then we'd get up at 6am to go fishing on the River Alun which ran though the bottom of the camp. With a few trout in the bag, we'd return to the dormitory to wake the children up at 8am.

The routine first thing was to clean the place until it was spick and span ready for inspection by one of the wardens. Beds had to be made perfectly without a crease in the sheets, clothes had to be neatly folded in lockers, shoes cleaned and the floor swept so you you could eat off it. Each day they would be given a mark which would always start at 6 out of 10 and gradually get better as the week progressed. You would not believe how competitive those children could be. Anybody who let the side down was thoroughly admonished by the rest.

The times we spent at Cholomendy were good for both us and the boys in our charge. I don't think I could do it now though!

The arrival of Roger

During my first year, the Head of Art found another appointment leaving me in charge of the Department. The Acting Head took pity on my situation and gave me £300 to spend on materials to keep things going. At last I had some brushes and paint to work with.

A term later, the school had appointed a new Head of Department -Roger Taylor, from nearby West Derby Comprehensive. It didn't take me long to realise that things were going to be very different with Roger in charge.

With his straggly hair, long beard, crooked nose and stooped back he looked like Fagin from Dickens' Oliver Twist. Roger also shared some of Fagin's traits; he was good at begging. Thanks to Roger, we had materials coming out of our ears as he called in favours from his previous colleagues.

I learnt a lot from Roger. He was the best sort of mentor a rookie teacher could have.

It wasn't all work though; Roger played hard as well. We had some great times together over the years both in and out of school. There are lots of tales for me to tell about our partnership.

In the meantime, the last time I saw Roger was on the Royal Iris July 2004. We were at the leaving do for Chris Sproat, a PE teacher from the Anfield days and another great character.

Roger didn't look any different, still the same full head of straggly hair, the long beard and the stoop. Although he looked very well, Roger told me that he had been very ill with some rare disease that eluded the doctors for some time. At first I wasn't sure if he was telling me a tale but his wife made it clear this was no story on Roger's part.

I was glad that he had recovered so well. I hope that he continues with good health for a lot more years to come. The teaching profession needs more people like Roger - folks with their feet firmly on the ground rather than their heads up on some esoteric cloud.

Settling in

I didn't meet the other members of the Art Department until the first day of term. There were four of us in total; Pete Davies, the Head of Department, Ken Houghton, Chris Mandry and myself.

Ken was a saxophone player in a trad jazz band. He taught pottery part time for a bit of money. Pete , who was from New Brighton, painted fairground rides as a hobby. Chris was a probationer like myself.

In those days probationary teachers taught a three quarter timetable but had a mixture of the good, bad and ugly classes. My first class were 1st years, as new to the school as I was. They were bright and eager; easy to teach. I enjoyed my lessons with that group.

Then came the fourth year lags. Raising of the school leaving age to 16 meant that these pupils would have to suffer an extra year at school. They resented it and let me know in no uncertain terms that cooperation was something I would have to earn.

Neither group prepared me for the next though. The school was streamed into four bands. The top band were intelligent, bright and cooperative, The second band were amiable and friendly. The bottom band was small in number. They weren't the sharpest knives in the drawer but at least they were pleasant in nature. Problems came with the third band where all the disaffected pupils lurked.

The set I had most difficulty with came from a third year group in third band. For some reason they were timetabled for two lessons of art a week; including one last thing on Thursday afternoons.

One pupil in particular stood out from the rest. As soon as he walked through the door I knew I'd have problems with him. Terry Holt was one of a pair of twins. Fortunately his brother, Tommy was in a different set. Terry was totally unpredictable; some lessons he would be almost normal and then, out of the blue, he'd become wild and almost uncontrollable. I met quite a few students like him in the following years. As a newcomer though I wasn't prepared for the likes of Terry.

I still remember a  lesson when the class had made such a poor job of clearing up that I locked the door and refused to let them go until the place was tidy. Terry, desperate for a smoke, started climbing out of one of the windows. Bear in mind that my room was on the fourth floor. He was half way out when I spotted him. I had to make an instant decision; do I bluff it out or give in to him and loose control for the rest of the year. Fortunately his response to my, "go on then if you are so desperate" worked.

I needed a good stiff drink when I got home that night. 

The day I started

In my third year at college, I applied to Liverpool LEA for a teaching post but had no intention of taking it up because I intended to stay at college and study for  the new B.Ed degree. Once I'd completed my fourth year B.Ed course, I was ready and eager to accept the offer Liverpool had made of a job.

In those days, Liverpool placed  new teachers in what they called the "pool". When the Authority knew of the vacancies in their schools, they informed you as to which school you had been allocated.

In my case I, was allocated a post as Assistant Art teacher at Anfield Comprehensive School, Breckside Park. The Head Teacher, a Mr Prothero, sent me a letter confirming the appointment and added a note saying he looked forward to meeting me the day before term was due to start. Satisfied that my career as a teacher was about to begin, I got married and went on honeymoon.

When I returned to England, I found a letter waiting for me from Bert Holmes,  the Deputy Head at Anfield, informing  me that the Headteacher who'd written to me  had died. The letter went  on to say that he was now the Acting Head. It crossed my mind that seeing off a  Head Teacher was a not a good start to my career.

On the appointed day I went to see my school for the first time. After a bus journey through the demolished area along West Derby Road, I arrived at Anfield Comprehensive School to be greeted by Mr Holmes. Having just lost the Head Teacher, the school was in a little bit of a turmoil. Still, the Acting Head seemed pleasant enough and he dutifully showed me to the room where I was to teach.

On the way up to the fourth floor, where the Art rooms were placed it became clear that Mr Holmes didn't have a lot of regard for the department I was about to join. When I arrived at my room, it was obvious why.

The Art room at the school where I was taught brimmed with materials. There were all sort of different types of paint, brushes in every size and quality, papers in various weights and colours along with equipment for a whole range of crafts. The walls were covered with current work and there were cupboards filled with all manner of resources. It was a haven for any pupils interested in the visual art.

As pupils, we'd always  suspected that the Head Teacher at the school was having an affair with the Art teacher which is why we reckon the department was so well stocked.

My room at Anfield was completely different. The school was only four years old but you would have imagined that my room had come from an older building. It was obvious that the previous tenant had shown little respect for his new surroundings.

The work on the walls consisted of tiny pictures mounted onto fading sugar paper which looked as though they'd been produced by junior school pupils several years before.

The stock room was near empty. One rack of pencil stubs, a handful of badly worn squirrel hair brushes and some tubes of poster paint were all I could find of any use. Admittedly there were boxes full of coloured gummed paper and some assorted pastels but very little else that I could use for my ambitious lessons.

I sensed this was going to be an uphill battle.