In a life not unacquainted with tragedy, I have found being a headteacher during Covid-19 one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to deal with. 

I have prided myself, and branded my public persona, on being unbreakable. But this is testing me like no other time.

Right now, I feel like I’ve been whacked around the head with a hefty cricket bat. 

It’s not that I’ve been without my own challenges before this time. In particular, I have experienced a disproportionate amount of death, compared with most people of my age: the death of my sister and two of her children, my first wife and a number of my very close friends. 

Even during the pandemic, the school community has grieved the untimely loss of two of our former pupils. These deaths weren’t Covid-related, but they were unexpected and deeply distressing for many of us. 

Each time something like this has happened, I have found myself reflecting on life and questioning how and why I do things. Eventually, I emerge from the experience stronger and, I hope, a little wiser.

Digging deeper than usual

So, what about now? Why does it feel as if I’m needing to dig even deeper than usual to find that inner resilience that I have preached about to my pupils for so long? 

Like the vast majority of school leaders, I’ve had to work out the complexities of the pandemic within the context of my school. We’ve had to scrutinise the reams of guidance from the Department for Education (school guidance which, on the face of it, has sometimes appeared to contradict the government’s messages to everyone else). We’ve facilitated online learning for the pupils at home, as well as run physical schools for our key workers’ children and others. 

Underpinning all of this has been the need to keep our staff buoyant and optimistic during this time. Indeed, the wellbeing of pupils and staff has needed to become a top priority throughout this period. 

And then there are our own personal lives: our family circumstances and individual challenges. Just like everyone else in the world, school staff - and the people we are close to - have been affected by the pandemic, and tested by it.

The combination of these challenges makes up the cricket bat that I refer to. These are my current adversities: a huge amount of stuff to deal with in one hit, and the real possibility that, perhaps this time, I might stumble and fall. 

The making of us

For Game of Thrones fans, cast your mind back to the final battle between the Starks and the Boltons, on the fields of Winterfell. That scene where Jon Snow prepares for his last stand against the enemy, drawing his sword, as the Bolton cavalry - vastly outnumbering his own - charges towards him. Defeat seems almost inevitable. That’s how I feel right now.

But I can’t help feeling that therein lies the gift of this situation. Like the times when I’ve been on my knees when I’ve lost a loved one, or the regular occasions when I’ve made the pupils at my school brace themselves against the elements outdoors, we do eventually grow stronger when we overcome our challenges.

It might not seem like it now, but I believe that Covid-19 could be the making of us. Just look at how many of the children back at school this term were thriving. Notice the numerous school staff who, in the face of extreme adversity, held authorities to account, supported their communities and still managed to keep a smile on their face. 

It’s a hard time, and I’m feeling it. But I’m going to make sure that I forge a new sword in this fire - one that is even stronger, and which I will use more wisely than those that have come before. 

I might have to mine deep down to find the metal ores of my personal resilience. But I feel spurred on by the example of others, and determined to make the best of this time.

Mike Fairclough is headteacher of West Rise Junior School in East Sussex