It’s the day of the interview, I can walk there, and it’s a sunny day. Imagine that, no trains, no tubes, no cancellations or delays, no standing for three quarters of an hour or being stuck in tunnels, no smelly armpits or people sneezing on you, just a brisk 20 minute walk in the summer sunshine. OK, at some point it’s going to be cold and raining, and this being England, that’s going to be sooner rather than later. But for today I’m just enjoying a walk in the sunshine and listening to the sound of birds (this is leafy suburbia, although they’re working on it they haven’t managed to chop down all the trees yet and we still get the occasional bit of fauna).
The interview notes state that there will be around 20 applicants, with each giving a 5 minute presentation. As it turns out, there are only three, and only myself and one other are there and its 10 minutes past the allotted hour. So we start anyway. Being as there are only the 2 of us, plus the 2 lecturers/interviewers, this happens in an office, rather than an auditorium. It’s all rather cosy.
I volunteer to present first, and am immediately put off my stride. When I introduce the topic – Does Grammar Matter – one of the lecturers mentions that it’s of particular interest to her. Now, I always knew that the lecturers would already know anything I could dig up for the presentation, especially given the timeframe I had to prepare it in, but I have rather emphasised the research showing that it doesn’t really matter very much at all. And I do poke fun at the pomposity of someone who gets upset when a apostrophe is in the wrong place (actually, when I do this, I don’t get so much as a smile, clearly no-one is demonstrating the benefits of positive feedback at this point). Too late to change now.
The presentation goes relatively smoothly. I invite, and get, some discussion around one of the Slides. I make a couple of jokes, no-one laughs, but no change there. Following the conclusion slide the lecturers make some positive murmurs and I sit down again.
It’s my fellow applicant’s turn. I spoke to her a bit while we were waiting to start, she’s nice. Part of the selection process is that you are required to be suitably smart. I’ve dressed down a bit, I didn’t think that my normal suit and tie would be applicable, so have gone for slacks and a shirt. My fellow applicant is also suitably attired. She stands up and starts speaking. She clearly knows what she’s talking about – “Synthetic Phonics”, a hot topic. Apparently. But there’s something about her that I find vaguely distracting and I can’t concentrate on the presentation. She has something metallic in her mouth, its not braces, you just get the occasional flash and I’m transfixed. And then I get it, she’s got her tongue pierced! Are you allowed to be primary teacher with a pierced tongue? I’m not sure what the rules are on self-mutilation. Presumably ear-piercing is OK, but I’m guessing that a bolt through the neck wouldn’t be. Do pierced tongues live in the grey world in between?
Presentations over, we have the dreaded written test. It is emphasised that the grammar and spelling are at least as important as the content – discussion of a children’s book. Content I can do, I’ve read books to classes before, I can talk about it with confidence. Writing about it, on paper, without spell-checkers or on-line thesaurus, it all seems a bit last century to me. We are left on our own to get on with it, and, when we are done, we swap and check each others work for errors (didn’t do it, nobody saw us do it, can’t prove anything – and actually no-one said we couldn’t). Amazingly, neither of us has any corrections, so we are on to the interviews.
I’ve done interviews before, and given lots of them. I’ve had a lot of training in doing so. I was braced for a grilling, drill-down on each of my answers to see the limits of my knowledge, questioning of my motives, looking for my weaknesses and strengths. But it’s not really like that. There are five standard questions, which I answer, and there isn’t too much follow up. I come away with the distinct impression that I haven’t really done myself justice, I’ve done a lot of preparation, reading on teaching and child psychology, and practical experience in classrooms of different descriptions, but I don’t feel I’ve been able to convey much of this.
No matter, the lecturers seem satisfied. Just a quick check of the 20 (that’s Twenty, with a capital T) documents I’m required to produce, and then I’m back out, walking home. In the sunshine. I’m feeling optimistic, positive, forward looking. I look for a word to describe how I’m feeling, and I find it – happy.
