I want to say that it’s the latest step towards a post-Covid universe but there’s many slip ’twixt Indian variant and lockdown easing. Still, the latest rule for schools is that masks are no longer required in the classroom and staff need only to wear masks in communal areas. 

Shoving aside the uncomfortable and unwieldy suspicion (imagine a king-size duvet on the crowded top shelf of the airing cupboard) that teachers are the reluctantly compliant guinea pigs in the government’s unethical “how far and fast will it spread?” experiment, there are aspects of the decline of the mask that make me happy. 

(Note: before I go any further, do I need to add a personal disclaimer that I am in no way affiliated with any anti-mask, anti-vax organisation, and that I do not consider the mild inconvenience of wearing a non-woven strip of polypropylene comparable with the possibility of spreading contagion or dying from a Sars-related virus? I just want to make clear that what comes next is no more than a celebration of the power of the uncovered human face. You know. Just in case…)

But, blimey, it’s one less thing to remember. My dad’s hilarious old joke about crossing himself as he left the house - “spectacles, testicles, watch and wallet” - has evolved into a more complex macarena: “Trolley, lanyard, specs, keys, boobs - definitely - lunchbox, flask, mask.”

Covid in schools: face masks and the art of quick student ID

And then there’s recognition. After a year of mask wearing, I’ve learned that, if you know someone pretty well, a face mask doesn’t really prevent you from recognising them; that if, for example, Bruce Wayne was in your year group and you happened upon him meandering down the art corridor in full bat gear, you’d be unable to stop yourself saying, “Hi Bruce! Interesting outfit! Now, pop your blazer back on and head down to RE”; and that any one of those Line of Duty Balaclava Men would be relatively easy for their mothers to identify from CCTV footage alone. 

But a full-face view does help quick ID from among a melee behind the portacabins, and rules out the possibility of Matthew being mistaken for Max and ending up with an unwarranted spell in internal. 

It works the other way round, too. I’ve taught some students who joined the school after 8 March, and I’ve only seen them without masks on their way back from PE - or on a Teams parents’ evening call - and it’s taken me a minute to register, “oh, that’s what Alisha looks like”.  

What I’ve found most difficult is hearing and being heard. There’s bit of me that remembers my teenage years as one wild round of parties and gigs, and I like to imagine my poor hearing is down to standing too close to the speakers. 

The truth is a lot more staid: it’s more likely that my inability to distinguish anything above background noise is the same part of the ageing process that means I have to hold documents printed smaller than a 12-point font at arm’s length if I want to be able to read them. 

Until the arrival of masks in the classroom, I was unaware just how much I rely on lip-reading to understand what kids are saying - or, indeed, who is speaking when there’s a persistent muffled whisper despite silence having been decreed.

Treading in the direction of hope

Just as when a household emergency disrupts equilibrium - when the boiler breaks down, for example, and it’s wall-to-wall takeaway until Ian from Gas-U-Like has sorted the faulty valve -  our justifiable panic over not killing each other with unfiltered breathing has taken priority over sustainability. There’s nothing worse for our environment than a single-use non-biodegradable product. 

In time - because, despite the current hiatus, I suspect some form of mask regulation is here to stay - there will be a compostable version and the efficiency of reusable masks will be improved. But it would be nice to think that there might be a little less non-recyclable waste over the coming months.

Of course, there are all the other benefits of open face: the warm breeze on our cheeks, the smiles of our students and colleagues, our unsteamed glasses and the end to the terrible dilemma of what to do when surprised by a particularly juicy sneeze while wearing a face covering. All these could, once again, be a daily occurrence. 

Small steps - and there may be a step or two backwards - but it feels like we’re treading in the direction of hope.

Sarah Ledger is an English teacher and director of learning for Year 11 at William Howard School in Brampton, Cumbria. She has been teaching for 34 years