Teaching

It was getting colder now and as we were up on the North Downs near the Pilgrims Way, so it was a degree or two colder than down in the valley. I could feel it as I motorcycled up the lane, the air getting icier as I climbed the last half mile up to the turning into the driveway. I remember breaking the ice in the water buckets and my steaming hands as I kneaded the clay. In fact sometimes there were ice particles in the clay so we had to warm it up before we could use it. Our only heating in the studio was two paraffin stoves, except when the electric kiln was on when we then, basked in the luxurious warmth, like bugs in rugs.

I continued to enjoy the wild life, the deer leaping in the clearings, the rabbits carousing, gold finches bending the teasels to find the seeds. Later we saw the fieldfares and the redwings our winter visitors out in the fields eating the fallen apples. We both took walks up into the sheep leas, the bare branches of the beeches, was like walking through vast cathedral arches. The grey green trunks with knarled faces peered at us as we strolled and I loved the frosted hogweed, like bright delicate diamonds in the sparkling sunshine.

It was a great time and I loved the peace and quiet of it, but it was a precarious living and my finances were at rock bottom. Both Denis and Mike had been teaching in local adult education centres. Denis taught at Esher Green, a place I got to know well much later on and Mike taught up the road at the Howard of Effingham School in the evenings. Mike one day suggested I do some teaching myself and the thought scared me to death! Me, who hated crowds and avoided parties etc, I was not an extrovert and not nearly self confident enough to actually go and teach other people. I certainly didn’t feel confident to teach pottery anyhow, as my experience was too limited and although I knew a lot about painting, naively, I supposed, there was not much I could teach others. It was such a personal discipline, what would I teach them? I had enthusiastically engaged with various art movements and history, but it seemed rather random and idiosyncratic. Surely, those whom I would teach, would know a lot more than me?     

    

Anyway, Mike was persistent and had mentioned it to the school and that there was a vacancy for an art teacher on the same evening as Mike worked there. It felt like fate and I felt I had no choice, but to take the bull by the horns and give it a try.

An interview was planned and I sorted out a portfolio of work that I felt would give a clear idea of my ideas and what I could teach. I spent hours considering what subjects, techniques and methods that the students could tackle, I then felt even more inadequate, I had no experience or training in education, but Mike assured me I would be fine.

The evening came and I set off loaded with all my work lashed to the back of my bike and wobbled off down the lane and nervously drove through the gates of the school to await my fate.

I was well prepared to argue my case and show my credentials, my exams and my diploma in Art and Design. I was summoned into the centre manager’s office and was told to sit down.

“You are Michael Buckland’s friend aren’t you?”

I said, “Yes”

He said, “Are you qualified?”

Yes, I said I went to art school and have my diploma.”

“Can you start after Christmas?”

I answered hesitatingly, “Yes”

“Ok, that’s fine” he said offhandedly, “See you at the enrolments night.”

That was the extent of my interview, I tried to get my folder out, but he said

“It’s no good showing me any work; I have no knowledge of art!” 

He didn’t ask about my teaching experience, my understanding of health and safety rules or what to expect.

I asked him if I could see the room I was to use and he reluctantly said,

“I am not supposed to leave my office really, but I suppose I better show you what the room is like.”

After a brief visit to the room and checking on equipment, which was extremely limited, we went back down stairs and that was that.

I thanked him, gathered up my things and walked out somewhat dazed, I was now a bonafide part time teacher!

When I think of how things have changed now for part time tutors, it astonishes me how easily it was to get a job teaching. I still dread to think, what the students thought of this tentative rather frightened young man who was to teach them the rudiments of painting. I can’t remember a thing about that term; my mind is a complete blank. I could quite easily have taught them anything including standing on their heads or making funny noises with a comb and a sheet of paper, for all the centre manager knew. As long as no one complained and he could sit in his warm office, he was happy.