The Bird Catcher

Generally, people don’t aspire to be teachers. It is a career that most of us drift into, much like banking I imagine. Or perhaps career begging.

A teaching career frequently evolves at the sound of that metaphoric alarm bell that suddenly rings in one’s head during the third year of undergraduate school blaring, “Make your mind up time!”  My own experience was that I entered university fully intent on a career in political science. But that was 1980 and the beginning of the Reagan administration. This fundamental shift in the American psyche, which saw a blurring of the lines of Christianity and right wing politics, corresponded with my own epiphanic embrace of the political left. An immediate re-think was required.

Being a show-off, a theatrical career seemed attractive but the fact that I can’t remember much of 1982 attests to the fact that the mandatory party scene was not, perhaps, the right grounding for making a living.  Well that and the fact that my acting skills are probably only slightly better than those of Keanu Reeves. Yes, I was THAT bad.

So when the alarm bell rang and I realised I was closer to undergraduate school graduation than high school graduation, I decided that I would enter the teaching profession. Teaching, I thought, would allow me to use all my talents and skills whilst quenching my need to appease my liberal social conscience. I threw myself into the career whole-hog and to this day, have not regretted the decision.

After 11 years as a class teacher I secured my first posting as Head Teacher of a small school in North West London. Suddenly all my skills, half talents and ability to blag became not only desirable but a basic necessity of the job. Instantly I had to become an expert in the intricacies of infant toilet bowls, leaking roofs, jammed photocopiers and negotiating bulk-buy deals with school book salespersons.

A great attraction of the job, aside from the social improvement factor, is the fact that one never knows, each morning, what the day has in store. It is never boring. Stressful, maddening, frustrating, euphoric; but never boring.

Today is a good example. I arrived at 7.20am and within 90 seconds I was dealing with a leaking toilet in the Nursery. I should add that I somehow can fix things at work but the skill does not transfer itself to my own house.

By 10am, a nervous group of staff rushed towards me as I returned from monitoring Maths books in the upper school. A bird had flown in through an open window and was trapped in the staffroom.  The staffroom is the sacred heart of a school. A refuge. It is holy ground that is seldom without at least a few souls in attendance paying their devotion to the great gods that maintain all schools; coffee, cigarettes and sugary food.

But with a wild animal on the loose in London, the staffroom door was firmly closed, almost barricaded to stop the best from entering the rest of the building. The staff looked at me in expectation. They seemed to know that catching stray birds in the staffroom is a role that is traditionally covered in Head Teacher training. I pulled my job description from the file cabinet and pencilled in “BIRD CATCHER.” Turning the door handle slowly I glanced back with a forbidding expression that silently read, “I might not make it back.”

Once inside I slammed the door behind me, for by this time I was bordering on joining in the hysteria. For some reason Tippi Hendren raced through my mind. I expected one of the two dozen or so vicious, dive bombing crows that live atop the school’s dome. There in the corner perched on a copy of 1000 Art Ideas for Teachers it stared me down; a four inch European Sparrow.

Chuckling to myself I grabbed a wastepaper bin and a tea towel and began to chase the tiny bird around the staffroom. Everytime I got close enough to throw the towel over the bird, it would flutter away with a tweet and a look of distain. The pattern repeated itself as it flew to the coffee mugs by the sink, back to the magazines, under the resource tray and back to the coffee mugs.

Summoning my skills, I tried to reason with the bird, explaining that I meant it no harm but simply wished to direct it towards the window and its rightful place in God’s great kingdom. This lasted about 20 minutes and I began to entertain the idea of maximising my resources and going home to get our cat who would have relished the chase and ultimate capture. 20 more minutes passed; then an hour. With one last flap of my arms the sparrow bolted for the tea spoon drawer and disappeared down the back and underneath the sink unit. I had it trapped.

Knowing it had to be behind the plinth, I waited. That’s right little birdy, I am on a stake out and sooner or later you will have to come out for food, or water or whatever birds need. (The basic needs of bird beyond food and water are not a skill that has presented itself as imperative thus far in my career).

Twenty more minutes passed. By now the school caretaker had joined me along with some of the heartier school staff including the Choir Leader and Receptionist. Four public servants armed with buckets, tea towels, even a metre stick to catch the sparrow when it finally emerged. But there was other work waiting and our patience was growing thin. Well, mine was. An executive decision was needed.

The caretaker re-entered the room with his tool box and began to dismantle the sink unit. It soon became obvious this is not a task that had been undertaken in the school building’s 17 year history. Another 30 minutes passed. Almost casually, no, mockingly; the sparrow poked its head from under the plinth and flew straight into the magazine rack. It paused for a minute and for one last time stared at me like Edgar Allan Poe’s raven and flew out the window.

The steadfast staff all exchanged pats on the back as if celebrating a goal in the Cup Final. But the euphoria didn’t last, we certainly didn’t have time to enjoy our new found bird-catching skills. A voice was calling from the main office. The photocopier was jammed again and the Nursery toilet was leaking.