The Christmas Play

 Stage one (choosing play and casting. Two weeks until performance)

Key stage two teachers sit around staff room table and choose all-singing, all-dancing Christmas performance. Play chosen has vague reference to Nativity, in as much as the setting is the stable. Main characters are the animals that live there, walk on parts go to Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus. Main cast list:

A cow: Played by sassy Year Six girl (sure to remember lines and can dance)

A chicken: Played by sassy Year Six girl (sure to forget lines but can dance)

A sheep: Played by charismatic Year Six boy (sure to remember lines, talks too fast)

Two angels: Played by two rather cool Year Six boys. Re-casted at last minute as one angel is predictably suspended at end of term. Stand by angel proves to be brilliant.

Mary: Year Six girl. (will fluff lines due to hysterical reaction to being on stage, about as far from sweet natured angelic girl described in bible as possible)

Joseph: Played by last remaining boy in Year Six who can string a coherent sentence together and put right foot in front of left.

Jesus: Played by doll borrowed from Early Years Unit. (a dead cert for a good performance)

Wise Men: Played by all female cast of Year Four and Fives. (Asian, have nice oriental clothes to bring from home, saves on costume department)

A Camel: Boy who has own camel costume from last year.

Various other animals, shepherds and sheep: Children from all other years who will be sure to turn up on the night.

Chorus: Everyone else.

Stage Two: Learning the Songs.

Several singing assemblies carried out over a week where teacher with most musical talent is assigned task of getting the whole of Key Stage Two to learn the groovy and up-to-date musical numbers which pepper the play. Frustrating for all involved, but after three days the kids are all singing them in the playground very well indeed. Collective sigh of relief.

Stage Three: Learning lines and starting to act.

Rehearsals begin. Groups of children taken to hall by two teachers who start putting the whole thing together. Rest of children taken to classroom and have songs hammered into them by the talented teacher and another one with singing voice of a bullfrog in labour. Another teacher drafted in to choreograph dance routines. Children taught how to pelvic-thrust through the big numbers. Male teacher disgusted. Agnostic teacher starts to feel uncomfortable that the play is borderline blasphemous. Play starts coming together quite well by second day of second week, all teachers begin to sweat as Camel reveals that he’s being taken away on holiday early and will miss performance.

Stage Four: Final days of Rehearsal

Costumes suddenly produced by two veteran classroom assistants who have somehow produced an array of spectacular costumes and props, teachers very pleased indeed. Disaster as teacher remembers that Shepherd One is not allowed to perform in Christmas performances as parents have fundamentalist Islamic leanings and won’t even let their children make, or receive Christmas cards. Ecstatic Shepherd hands tea towel headgear to thrilled child promoted from Chorus and spends next two days in the computer room. Two other Muslim boys claim similar belief structure to escape. One is successful, the other isn’t. Fuming male teacher points out that a quarter of the main cast is Muslim whose parents are overjoyed to have their children in the play. Male teacher told to shut up and get off his soapbox. Soapbox grudgingly vacated. Angel one suspended for Assault and Battery. Year Four boy thrust into role. Girl playing Chicken finally realises her character is a chicken.

Stage Five: Key Stage Two perform dress rehearsal for Key Stage One.

Performance goes like clockwork. RSC would be proud. All the jokes go over the head of younger children but KS2 teachers all breathe sigh of relief. Children pleased with themselves, and justifiably so.

The Performance. (starts at 19.00 hrs sharp)

18:00: Children to arrive and change in preparation for performance.

18.30: Mary missing, phone calls made to parents.

18.35: Cast of Christmas performance reaching hysteria brought on by nervous excitement and a quart of blue fizzy drinks drunk at home apiece.

18.36: Teachers frantically trying to find a girl who knows Mary’s lines.

18.38: Substitute Mary found. She’s over the moon.

18.40: Hall starts to fill with parents and family members. Two families strategically placed as far apart as possible to avoid violent clash mid performance. Front two rows filled by excited Muslim and Hindu parents wearing festive clothing with tinsel accessories.

18.43: Mary arrives. Substitute Mary devastated.

18.46: Teacher loses it with majority of cast who are bouncing off the walls. Cast now sitting in silence in classrooms under un-festive glare of said teacher.

18.50: Teachers accept the grim reality that over half the chorus will not turn up because their parents aren’t happy about their lack of acting parts. Remaining chorus given outrageously optimistic pep-talk to get them to sing as loudly as possible. Teacher reminds children not to watch the action on stage but to face the audience. This is a futile gesture which is traditional at this stage.

18.55: Children told to walk quietly down to the hall. Children go to hall screaming like Genghis Kahn’s hordes.

19.00: Teachers and Classroom Assistants placed strategically around hall. One behind the stage to ensure children do not poke their heads up or attack each other, one at the back to wave arms frantically and dance around like a lunatic so the children can follow. Further teachers are dispersed amongst the Chorus to boost volume, cue lines and occasionally haul errant children over to sit next to them when they start to misbehave. (discretely of course).

19.01: Head Teacher gives welcoming speech, reminding parents that their children have worked very hard, to switch off their mobile phones and remove any infants during the performance if they start to scream or run amok.

19.03: Performance starts with fantastic opening dance and song.

19.05: Man in audience answers mobile phone and starts to talk.

19.06: Play progresses smoothly.

19.07: Two year old in audience runs amok. Child intercepted by male teacher and restrained for rest of performance. Teacher realises child has very soiled nappy. Hears comment from be-tattooed ladies that he’s really good with small children. Notices flat-faced woman looking at him with bovine lust. Tries to ignore her.

19.10: Play still going really well.

19.15: A dancing animal (stage school attendee) so busy waving to mother that she takes a crunching nose-dive off the back of the stage.

19.26: Chorus have given up singing and are enjoying (admittedly very good) performance on stage by peers.

19.28: Terrifying family group from vibrant travelling community realise their child has no further part to play so start conversing loudly. Parents in vicinity decide to let it go. Wisely.

19.35: Performance finishes with fantastic musical number to thunderous applause. Everyone present agrees it has been the smoothest and most successful performance to date.

19.38: Head Teacher (flushed with pride) thanks Children, staff and parents. Proposes all assembled finish the evening off with a rousing rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”. Song held together by Muslim and Hindu parents who know all the words, native Brits join in for chorus.

20.30: Final parents pushed out the door and teachers escape to home and stiff drinks with indecent haste.

British Education Rulez!!!! :)

 That’s it, it’s official. We have produced a generation of geniuses. I think I and my teaching colleagues deserve a knighthood apiece, the thanks of a grateful nation and free passes to Thorpe Park. It hasn’t been easy, but from their arrival in the Early Years unit of their local primary school to their final day in the Upper Sixth this generation of children (or ‘young adults’ as we should call them) have been tutored and nurtured by us; the fucking amazing teachers of this country. Not only were many of our successful A Level students pretty girls (as expected), but one was a royal girl, the first person with Windsor blood running through their veins to score three pretty good A Level grades. Well, they would have been very respectable indeed in my day but since she didn’t get straight As I can only assume her classmates are laughing behind her back and calling her Princess Thickie. But three A Levels she has got, I think in Film Studies (I’ve got an A Level in Film Studies so she must be pretty good), Basket Weaving and Dressing Herself. Hurrah! Also, I’m thrilled to see that one young shaver managed ten A grades. Ten. Aha, you will argue that he had it handed on a plate what with him being at Eton and being Russian (well known for being dead brainy…or dead pissed), but don’t knock him. He has ten fucking A Levels. All at A grade.

Now, don’t be giving me any of your broadsheet reading shit about A Levels being easy. It’s all down to us teachers being the best teachers in the whole world. And also that this year’s crop of 18 year olds are the brainiest 18 year olds this country has ever produced. Ignore all this dreadful propaganda you might hear that in fact we, as a nation, are amongst the least literate and culturally unaware in Europe. Ignore the claims that children in many countries don’t start school until the age of seven and outperform our children within a couple of years. It can’t be true, after all we start them at the age of four and test the fuck out of them several times a year until they either storm out of education in disillusioned disgust at the earliest opportunity or stay on, do the time and walk away with anything between three and ten A Levels. The proof is there, we have the brainiest kids in Europe, and the best education system in the whole world. And I, dear readers, am a part of it.

From the mouths of babes.

 Some of the things I’ve heard quite recently from a bunch of eight year olds…

(during a history lesson) “Were you evacuated during the war?”

(after some children started giggling after finding the word ‘sex’ in a dictionary) “sex isn’t that funny actually. My mum and dad keep doing it all the time…”

(after Mr Chipz revealed he spent some of his childhood living in Berlin) “Did you meet Hitler? Was he nice?”

(after drawing the world trade centre on fire with all people falling out) “that’s the best thing that ever happened on the news. Ever.”  (gulp)

“I’m more cleverer than all you girls coz I’m a boy an’ you’re just all girls” (bold statement by Somali boy, with Gumpish intelligence. Girls fall off chairs laughing. Mr Chipz tries not to laugh too)

“Mr Chipz, I’ve banged my penis on the table and now it hurts”. (well it would, wouldn’t it)

“Sorry I didn’t come in yesterday, but my mum had an I.B.S (irritable bowel syndrome) attack and couldn’t hold on long enough to drive” (vomits silently)

Child: “I saw a fight outside my flat yesterday Mr Chipz!”

Mr.C: “Oh dear Stephen, I hope it wasn’t too nasty!”

Child: “Yeah it was wicked, this bald guy called this young guy sumfink I dunno what but I fink it was the ‘c’ word and so the young guy hit him with a hammer.”

Mr.C: “Oh. That’s horrible. Did the police come? Was the man alright?”

Child: “I dunno, he fell over and he had blood all over his face. I went and played football so I dunno what happened afterwards”

Mr.C: “Riiiight…time for maths everybody!”

“Hey Mr.Chipz. My brother got shot at yesterday in Croydon!”

(shouted across school field in residential area) “Mr Chipz! I need to go toilet!! Can I go inside?!” (moment’s pause) “It’s for a poo!!!”

Mr.C to weeping girl: “What’s the matter?”

Girl: “Kiesha said sumfink nasty to me.”

Mr.C: “I thought Kiesha was your best friend, what did she say? Can’t have been that bad.”

Girl: “she called me a fat ugly bitch.”

Mr.C: “Oh.”