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Every teacher has his or her most difficult
class: a group that drove you to distraction and put you
on the verge of leaving teaching. Mine did none of the
conventional things; they did not scream, nor riot, nor
misbehave in any way. They were the complete opposite,
they were very polite and their behaviour was virtually
impeccable.
It began when the college where I worked
received a contract to teach a small group of Plymouth
Brethren on their own site. Classes were to be exam
oriented and very small. "A piece of cake" was the
general verdict in the staff room.
Initial contacts were very deceptive. The
church elders, the parents (there were always some at the
school) and the students could not have been more
friendly. Then came the first discussion on teaching
methods. The elders laid down that there was to be no use
of computers and the Internet, no access to television,
video or newspapers, no trips to the theatre and, above
all else, no questioning of the Brethren's views. (I
should add here that these are the views of only some of
this group; there have been some schisms and
divisions.)
Arguing was useless. For instance, you could
point out that computers already worked many things in
their lives - telephones, traffic lights and the bill at
the supermarket - but no alteration could be
contemplated.
Fresh battles loomed on the choice of books
for the A-level English literature and language class I
was to teach. Any mention of sex or contact between the
sexes was banned. Out went old standbys, such as Sons and
Lovers and Cider With Rosie. Eventually a list was drawn
up. Violence and retribution were acceptable, so no
problems with Macbeth and Hamlet. No frissons of
sexuality could be found in Great Expectations, although
there were some marriages. (We were not allowed to see
the David Lean version on video.) Truman Capote's classic
description of a gruesome murder and the execution of the
killers, In Cold Blood, was deemed fine. "But remember",
I was told, "no visits to the theatre".
"Could we do any acting in the classroom?" I
inquired. "Out of the question," came the stony
reply.
My biggest battle occurred over a collection
of women's short stories. Initially it was deemed
satisfactory but another check revealed the dreaded no-go
area of sexuality. When I returned to the classroom the
following Monday, I found that a hidden hand had removed
over half the stories. Any protest or argument was in
vain. Pointing out that in some years the exam board had
asked candidates to comment on stories that had been
removed proved pointless. "The children", I was told,
"must not be corrupted." (Most of "the children" were 17
or 18.)
If all of this summons up visions of
stereotypical bigots, nothing was further from the truth.
The instructions were delivered in a very courteous and
measured tone over a cup of tea. The manner was
apologetic, but the directions could not be
questioned.
Nothing about the school proved in any way
conventional. Everything was spotless, there was no
graffiti in the lavatories. The tuck shop ran on a trust
basis with purchasers putting their money in a tin and
giving themselves change. Nobody contemplated cheating.
There was little noise and no rushing. In some ways it
was like being in a 1950s musical. The boys wore ties,
jackets and pressed trousers. The girls had skirts down
to their ankles, socks and no make up. Their hair was
always covered by a headscarf. Students stood up when the
teacher came into the room. When they said Sir or Miss,
they meant it.
Teaching was completely different to anything
that I had done before. Discussion was out of the
question; the class wanted you to tell them the "right"
answer. They were very respectful and very quiet,
especially the girls, who were very timid indeed. They
could all be very childish but also very innocent.
Outside, reading their Bibles, sat the parents and the
elders.
The students' knowledge of the world was very
limited. Virtually all of their socialising was done with
other members of the church. Indeed, everybody seemed to
be related to everybody else. Members of the group only
worked for firms run by the Plymouth Brethren. Women gave
up all forms of outside work on getting married. Men and
women tended to marry young. Nobody went to university or
any outside educational establishment. They seemed very
removed from the world; they did not vote and took no
interest in current affairs. The parents ran their own
businesses and, judging by their cars, they were very
successful.
The biggest problems occurred in the parts of
the course that required discussion. The concept was
virtually unknown, as well as many of the topics. This
section was very media oriented and was difficult for a
group who had virtually no contact with it. Essay titles,
like "Discuss what should be shown on children's
television", were almost impossible for a group which
never watched TV.
One question asked the group to analyse an
advertisement about a woman teacher putting a hot
casserole in an oven and commenting how nice it was to
work and produce a hot meal for the family. The questions
asked inevitable questions about gender roles. The
reaction of the boys and girls was simple and
unquestioning, "women should stay at home after
marriage". When asked why, they simply replied, "That's
what we believe and that's what the Bible says".
Another question asked for their views on
capital punishment. The group looked incredulous: "We
believe in it and the Bible says so". In vain, mentions
of the New Testament produced no change. In the end one
of the elders came in and began to read passages from the
Bible. We never did the essay; there seemed little
point.
The Brethren were content with their world
and their fundamentalist view of it. For me it challenged
almost everything that I stood for. I never did bridge
the gap and found myself compromised personally and
professionally.
Only one student passed the A-level. I
decided that she was something of a freer spirit. In a
web of conspiracy, I deliberately left my unexpurgated
copy of the women's short stories on my desk and saw her
put it in her bag. She kept it for a week and then
returned the book to my desk. I sometimes wonder what
became of her. I suspect that she found it even more
difficult to bridge the gap than I did.
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