Read Online Out of the Woods But Not Over the Hill by Gervase Phinn - Free Book Online Page A

then housed a girls’ school, and he was intending to accompany the teachers and students to Stratford-Upon-Avon to see a production of King Lear , but he was ill. Sister Margaret Mary suggested I might like to take his place.
    After a couple of hours on the coach to Stratford, I became increasingly uncomfortable. I had drunk a few cups of coffee that morning and now wanted to go to the toilet. I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs to try and ease the pain in my complaining bladder.
    â€˜All you all right, Mr Phinn?’ asked the nun sitting next to me.
    I pulled a pained expression. ‘I’m fine,’ I lied.
    The discomfort got worse and worse. I just had to go to the lavatory or I would burst.
    â€˜I suppose we’ll be stopping for lunch soon,’ I said casually to my companion.
    â€˜Oh no,’ she replied. ‘We shan’t be stopping now until we get to Stratford.’
    The pain in my bladder was becoming unbearable. I just had to go to the lavatory. Then I thought of the most horrendous scenario: me, standing by the side of the road, doing what I had to do, with thirty girls and four nuns staring out of the coach window in amazement. The embarrassment, the indignity, the shame! No, I would have to think of something.
    I eased myself down the aisle of the coach to speak to the driver.
    â€˜I have to go to the toilet,’ I whispered in his ear.
    â€˜Toilet!’ he exclaimed loudly.
    â€˜I have to go,’ I said. ‘I’m desperate.’ There was a pathetic pleading in my voice. ‘Please.’
    â€˜Well, I’ll tell you what I can do. I’ll get off and go via Coventry. There’s a car park and toilets in t’cathedral precincts.’
    â€˜Oh, thank you, thank you,’ I said.
    â€˜But you’ll have to clear it with the teachers back there.’
    I tiptoed down the aisle and returned to my seat. ‘I was just talking to the driver, Sister,’ I said casually, ‘and he says we are in very good time. I think it might be a good idea to break our journey at Coventry and see the wonderful cathedral.’
    â€˜What an excellent idea,’ she said. I said a silent prayer of thanks.
    Ten minutes later, the longest ten minutes of my life, we pulled into the car park by the cathedral. I nearly cried when I saw the GENTS sign. As soon as the coach came to a halt, I leapt down the steps and shot off, like a man pursued by a charging rhinoceros. To my dismay, I heard the nun’s voice behind me.
    â€˜Follow Mr Phinn, girls. Follow Mr Phinn. He’s heading for the cathedral.’ I turned and to my horror saw thirty girls running across the car park in my direction.
    That Will Teach You!
    I was presenting the certificates to newly qualified teachers. Each new member of the teaching profession attending was accompanied by their mentor, an experienced and senior member of staff, who had monitored progress and advised them during their first induction year. It was good to hear that they had received such support and encouragement.
    At a conference, some weeks earlier, I had learnt that there was a haemorrhaging of teachers; after spending only a few years in the job, as many as one in seven newly qualified teachers decided to leave and do something else. The mountains of paperwork they had to deal with, the constant changes, new government initiatives, disruptive children and awkward parents were all cited as causes for them to leave the profession, but one other reason was that some felt they received little help and support from colleagues. There was the young woman who sought the advice of her head of department after a particularly difficult lesson with a group of disruptive pupils. ‘Well, they were all right when I taught them last year,’ he told her haughtily. Another mentioned the head teacher who, commenting on the display that she had spent hours mounting on the wall down the corridor, said that she had used too