Last night, like many teachers across the country, I watched the prime minister’s address with bated breath, wondering whether the lockdown would be eased and whether schools would be returning to some semblance of normality.

In the days preceding the announcement, as a media frenzy built and teachers on Twitter speculated about what advice the government would give, I felt truly torn: my heart longed to be back teaching, doing what I loved, but my head worried that social distancing wouldn’t be possible in many schools and that we would be endangering the lives of our students and their families by opening up again.

But while watching the announcement, the stark reality hit me like a tonne of bricks.

Aside from the possibility that Year 10 and Year 12 may return before the summer, it seems unlikely that I will see my other classes again before September.

Of course, it makes sense as to why it will be like this for everyone’s safety, and on one level it is a relief that at least we are not trying to get all these students back.

But the reality that there will not be a chance for proper classroom teaching with so many students for another four months is very sad - and I fear it will have a huge emotional impact on students and teachers alike.

Loss of social interaction

Although teachers are working incredibly hard on providing video lessons, setting work online and giving personalised feedback to their students, it just isn’t the same as the face-to-face interaction in the classroom.

For me, one of the best parts of the job is the reciprocal communication of ideas and the interplay of human connection that life as a teacher brings.

The sheer joy of hearing a student give me an amazing analytical idea about a poem we are reading or seeing the pride on their face as I use their descriptive writing under the visualiser as a model makes all of the tough times worth it.

But the classroom stuff is only a tiny part of the bigger picture. Mostly, I thrive on building relationships with my students and getting to know about them and what makes them tick.

Being there for the tough times and being an ear to listen, who will impart some wise words of encouragement, is certainly a big part of my moral purpose and why I became a teacher.

Without this extra layer of support, I worry that some students will suffer in silence. As great as technology is, it just isn’t a substitute for a kind face and a comforting smile.

Absent role models

Of course, they wouldn’t admit it, but for many students, teachers are an important part of their lives.

For those whose guardians work long hours, they may see their teachers for more hours in a day than they see their own parents. The same can be said for teachers themselves, who during term time sometimes see much more of the students they teach than their own children.

Having that routine disrupted and the face-to-face contact cut off is not only sad, but is also strange.

Without the children, we are left with all the onerous parts of the job: the admin and data tasks, emails and written marking. It is what none of us signed up for but like we always do, we are making the best of it and doing the best we can.

When this all started back in March, I hoped that we would be back in a few weeks’ time, that it would be a temporary solution and I would soon be back doing what I loved.

Why we’re all here

As time has gone on over the past couple of months and the enormity and seriousness of the situation has become more apparent, it’s obvious that schools cannot reopen to students any time soon.

Without them, though, schools are just empty barren buildings with the soul missing.

For teachers, too, there is something missing from this job we love. Hopefully, in September we can reconnect with our classes and begin to rebuild our relationships, really making a difference to their lives.

After all, it’s what we came into education to do.

Haili Hughes is an English teacher at Saddleworth School in Oldham, Greater Manchester. She tweets @HughesHaili