The staffroom at my old secondary school felt like a sacred place, one that was off limits and that we rarely even got a glimpse of as students.

You would occasionally pass by one of the staffroom doors just as it was opening and peer into another world. It seemed a huge space, stretching far enough for a decent game of five-a-side football if all the comfy-looking leather chairs were cleared to the side. There was a buzz of easy conversation, far removed from the austerity of the classroom, and a faint whiff of tea and broken biscuits.

If for some reason you had to knock on the door in search of a teacher, she or he seemed different from how they were in class: softer-spoken, more languid in posture, a knowing smile replacing a stern frown. At break and lunchtime, while students revelled in running amok outside, teachers found their natural habitat in the staffroom.

Then, one day, we were in the staffroom. The school was putting on a production of Bugsy Malone and, in the absence of any better changing room, on the opening night our cast of dozens shuffled in, mildly anxious that we’d be in trouble for breaching this inner sanctum. That we put on our fake moustaches and trilbies next to teachers’ stashes of PG Tips and Ginger Nuts felt somehow intrusive.

The safety of the staffroom

It’s right that teachers have their own space in which to gather and let off steam, to share their days’ highs and lows or just to talk about Strictly or the football. A dedicated physical space, away from the demands of the classroom, can help teachers to clear a little space mentally.

It seems eminently sensible, then, to make staffrooms a central part of school life. Yet they have become increasingly peripheral in recent times. Secondary teachers, for example, often gather now in the smaller pockets of their department or faculty - indeed, modern school designs may not even include a room for all staff.

Judging by the reaction when we have written recently about the demise of the staffroom, many teachers still believe in the staffrooms of old. It struck a chord, for example, when I tweeted last week from a conference where delegates expressed concern that an absence of staffrooms could damage teachers’ mental health.

In one widely read Tes article, Haili Hughes, an English teacher in Oldham, said the school staffroom had had “a huge impact on my development as a teacher”. Simply as a social hub, it was “a brilliant place to be”. But she added that “one of the best things about the staffroom was the opportunity to talk to older teachers who had seen it all: national curriculums, exam changes and numerous governments”. When struggling with behaviour or a parent, she had turned to colleagues in the staffroom countless times.

Former secondary head Isabelle Boyd’s lament last week on tes.com over the staffroom’s decline during her 40-year career in Scotland suggested a link to poorer health and greater teacher stress. She described staffrooms as “a very important feature of a school: a safe place to let off steam, to build community and find support”.

I was last in a school staffroom just a few weeks ago, in a primary school. In the space of a few minutes, I heard teachers let out their frustration about workload, share useful advice about pupils who had acted up, come up with plans for a PE class and laugh about the cantankerous farmer who that morning had prevented some P2s from using a path as if they were invading Mongol hordes.

It was a place where, even if they only had time for a pallid cup of tea, teachers could press the pause button on a hectic day before heading back out with renewed vigour. It felt like an essential part of school life - not an optional extra.

Henry Hepburn is news editor at Tes Scotland. He tweets @Henry_Hepburn

This article originally appeared in the 11 October 2019 issue under the headline “Sending out an SOS for teacher wellbeing - save our staffrooms”