A few weeks into the new term, I’m still getting used to wearing a tie again. My dad taught me how to do a Windsor knot when I was 16, but six weeks without neckwear took its toll.
Day one required three attempts to get the length right. I stepped back to admire it in the mirror. With my smart new haircut and crisp new shirt, I looked like someone who would spend his day making executive decisions in the world of corporate finance. No one would guess I was going to sing times-table songs with seven-year-olds.
Closer scrutiny revealed the truth. My new tie was a gift from a former student and I’d promised him I’d wear it. I have several novelty ties including one that plays Jingle Bells at inopportune moments, but this is the only one in the style of a school blackboard. I can think of at least one former head who might have made me replace it with something less flippant.
“Our parents expect teachers to look professional,” said Mrs Prim, at a staff meeting one warm evening in September 2005.
“Neither the dictates of fashion, nor the unseasonably warm weather should be used as an excuse for wearing clothing that flaunts cleavage when leaning forward, reveals midriff when stretching upward or exposes a thong when bending over.”
In hindsight, it wasn’t a good idea for me to promise to keep my thong well hidden. “I expect male teachers to wear shirts tucked in and ties knotted up tight, Mr Eddison,” she said.
Out to impress
After a more detailed observation of my appearance, she added shoes to her list. “Scruffy footwear says a lot about a teacher’s commitment to maintaining standards.”
On the first morning back after the holidays, the children arrived at school early. Relieved parents ushered them into new classrooms filled with shining new faces and fresh uniforms. There is something very motivating about the start of the school year. New teachers, new friends, new sets of rules, new routines, new places to sit, new pencil pots, new tidy trays and new ambitions - and everybody determined to make a brand-new start.
Even Kennedy, despite her reputation, was out to impress. Her hair was restrained by plaits, her new white shirt was ink-free and her new grey skirt was unblemished with grass stains.
Her face was clean, her hands were clean and her knees were relatively unscabbed. The only blot on her entire landscape was one new shoe that was already scuffed from kicking a football against the classroom door.
“I’m going to be good this year,” she said, and went on to demonstrate how. She was the first one to sit on the carpet (by virtue of knocking the competition out of her way), and the first to put her hand up - while desperately grunting - for attention.
When she complimented me on my tie (in a voice louder than the tie itself), I could almost feel the newness wearing off. Before the end of the day her hair would escape, her shine would be smirched and this stupid tie would acquire a coffee stain and be rendered unwearable.
Steve Eddison teaches at Arbourthorne Community Primary School in Sheffield
