It’s the most wonderful time of the year, and I’m prepping for the ancient traditions of the season. Such as eating my own body weight in stuffing and watching telly with my feet up until either my eyes or my legs or my brain stop working.

In more accepted practice, the giving of gifts from students to those that teach them as a sign of respect, admiration and gratitude is in full swing. Well, so I’ve been told. Now, I’m not 100 per cent sure that this is an FE thing or whether this is just a Tom thing, but in the decade I’ve been working in the sector, you could count the grand present haul from my learners on the fingers of one hand. Even if that hand had been involved in a terrible industrial accident.

Although I’m completely and utterly in this game for the swag, the lack of yuletide treasure doesn’t really bother me - I mean, if it did, then I’d have to become a primary teacher and there’s not enough Toblerone in the world for me to get into that kind of insanity (having said that, have you seen the amount of gear that they get? I could live for a year off that. Or at least have a really, REALLY good night).  

‘All the more precious’

There is an upside to the lack of bath bombs and wine, however. When a student does get you something, its rarity makes it all the more precious.

Amongst the half-eaten mince pies and post-its that litter my work desk, there’s a little red diary. It’s the type of thing you can pick up for a couple of quid from a stationery shop and looking at it, you’d say it’s pretty unremarkable. But it’s not.
It was given to me at Christmas three years ago as a joint present from two of my students. These two young women had overcome hurdles in their lives that I could not imagine facing (let alone overcoming), left their families and travelled across entire continents, ending up in my classroom.

We spent a year working with each other and during that time I was honoured to witness their drive and determination as they made huge inroads to becoming confident and outspoken learners. They were also an extremely funny double act.

‘The best present in the world’

There was rarely a lesson where I got out unscathed as they were hilariously merciless in matters regarding my appearance (“Oh, hello sir, we didn’t realise it was you. I think it’s because you dress like a student, but not like a cool one, y’know?”) and could not believe that their teacher could be so disorganised (“You do know that I had to swim through a river. During a storm. At night. And I still managed to keep my stuff with me? Why is it you can’t remember a worksheet?”) Their Christmas gift was a part of that joke. A diary to help me remember.

And it does. It helps me remember that I am gifted by the presence of some exceptional people in my role. Those students have gone on to become a nursery nurse and a university psychology graduate respectively and I got to meet them on their journey towards that point.

So I don’t get mountains of chocolate or cases of booze or pretty much anything really.  But every time I look at that little red diary, I think of the women who gave it to me, who I was lucky enough to teach, and that is the best present in the world. Merry Christmas.      

Tom Starkey teaches English at a college in the North of England