Tags
Brahms, chautauqua, I know where I'm going, John Donne, John Milton, Paradise Lost, Phaedrus, Pilate, Robert M Pirsig, Suarez, Tortoise and Hare, value rigidity, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Drusilla said: Fire away! She felt like John Milton’s daughter- the one who
was his amanuensis for Paradise Lost. Was this going to be as epic?
Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, Governors, Stakeholders, Staff and boys,
including Old Boys…. Have I left anyone out?
Maybe just ‘girls’. There are bound to be a few sisters in the marquee.
Okay. In addressing you all on this auspicious day, I feel rather like Suarez-
pause for effect– who might have felt that he had bitten off more than he
could chew.
Dru raised her eyebrows, but continued to type.
Conscious of my-ah-rhetorical failings, the expression of such an
awareness being a trope I admit, I sought a framework for my
observations on The Metaphysics of Quality and, being in the
moment, recalled that excellent manual for life: ‘Zen and the
Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.’
Philosophical investigation and being confronted with bad writing can,
as Phaedrus knew, make you insane. I should have paid more
attention to this.
I have always had complete confidence in St Birinus’ Middle as an
institution, as much as I never doubted that the sun would rise
on the morrow.
Dru interrupted: Do people still say ‘morrow?’
They would if they read John Donne. That was supposed to be an
answer.
With the advantage of the oblique insight of the dyslexic, I declare that
I am not so much going into retiral as into a re-trial, assuming the post
and concomitant responsibilities of Deputy Head. My mistakes will be
part of my education. One never stops learning.
However, one mistake I have never made is to believe that schools exist
to teach children to imitate their teachers. Our assessment systems often
caution against originality. Value rigidity- what a pernicious trap! Surely the
good is to re-evaluate what one can see through the perception of one’s past
commitment to certain values?
The question, my dear fellow travellers, is not ‘What is new?’ but rather
‘What is best?’
Our institutions should not exist for the perpetuation of their own ends
and for control, but for the objective search for Truth.
And, as Pilate said: What is Truth?
Dru looked up from the computer, expecting an Existential Revelation,
but Gus neatly side-stepped the nub of the matter and continued:
I am reminded of the servant who buried his talent in the ground
because he was too afraid to make it grow.
Reviewing my own career, I find that I am well-equipped to write my
own epitaph. I was ‘ever the outsider’; ever the one attacking what
was being taught, rather than learning from it. I have been an
educational anarchist.
In days gone by, there were others in our staffroom who may have been
deemed to have also lived in the shadow of insanity, or anarchy. To share
a mug of builders’ tea with such as those, around a three day old crossword
and to sense minds that thought as you thought and to listen to voices
that spoke as you did was as close to an epiphany of the sacred as any
mere human could anticipate this side of eternity.
A tear rolled off the tip of Dru’s nose.
Modern Head Teachers may expound and expand on the destiny of mankind.
We, we just wanted to run a school. The Future will judge whose approach
had most value.
Constant activity based on restlessness may drive one to conquer mountains,
but it can be exhausting and debilitating. My mind strays to the example of
the tortoise who outstripped the hare.
Leave that out, Father. It’s too tangential.
Should I mention the noumenal sherpas?
No.
There are many archers who seek to hit targets, but pricking the bulls’ eye
may distract one from gazing at a ray of sunlight as it touches a leaf.
Those ghostly voices of the past sing to us, conveying a sense of purpose:
I know where I’m going
And I know who’s going with me.
Dru’s made a typo as she thought: But the dear knows who he’ll marry.
What voices are you on about? she asked.
I had in mind a kind of Brahmsian ‘Ja, der Geist Spricht.’
Well, don’t blame me if the reference goes right over their heads.
I’m used to it! Most of my lessons did the same, but there is always
one who hears the message. They receive the chautauqua.
Blimey! How do you spell that?
Never mind. I’ll edit it later.
We may have difficulty in mapping where we are at any given moment,
but, with hindsight, we will see, as Robert M Pirsig said: ‘a pattern…
emerge.’
What does the ‘M’ stand for? Metaphysical?
Very funny. Leave it there. I will add to it later.
Well, you haven’t left much time for the presentation of prizes, Dru
said. You do realise that everyone will be anxious to escape and have
their strawberries and cream and no one will listen to a word in that
humid tent?
The world was ever thus, agreed Snod. But one cannot cease to be an
educator.
Candia Comes Clean 
Do schools still have speech days? And prize givings? I don’t think my old headmaster had ever read Zen (possibly too recent for him) and he certainly would not have acknowledged girls in his address – strictly boys only. He definitely just wanted to run a school. I am far removed from the education system of today but I doubt whether many heads sprechen from the Geist. Too much admin.