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.