Atomic Number 79

Mary was nearer the end of her career than the beginning. She had taught generations of young people. Mary was respected by her peers. Definitely old school, she was formidable. There was a hard shell with quite a few prickles but warmth, generosity and kindness for anyone who took the time to seek it out. She had a glare that would blister paint and a whisper that was deadly. Learners in her primary seven classroom rarely stepped out of line. Yet it was a calm, productive working environment not a fearful, silent prison yard. When it came to experience, Mary had been there, seen it, and passed up many opportunities to purchase the T-shirt (informal, amorphous, casual and therefore unsuitable items of clothing). Mary never had clothes on: she was always “dressed”.

Although I was not exactly wet behind the ears when I joined her for a week’s observation on my first teaching practice, I may have been a little damp. I like to think it was because my granny had trained me to scrub behind them rather than a pitiful naïvety on my part. I was not fresh out of school: I’d lived a bit before uni. (Another reason among many to be glad I grew up before social media.) Photos of the time show a serious young man. I tend not to smile in photos lest I look an idiot. (Much childhood evidence shows it took a while to learn this particular lesson.) I can never really decide if I’m a geek or a nerd but I have a preference for the latter since it was coined by Dr Seuss and I’ve always had a penchant for neologisms (see - I can’t help it).

As well as teaching me to be very careful about turning my back on the blighters, it was Mary who told me to hold on to the golden moments no matter how small. She said that there would be days when only the gold I had stored up would keep me going. How right she was. Actively noticing the good things has become a habit thanks to her, and it’s one of the best pieces of teaching advice I ever received.

Seeing David’s grin when he finally believed in big proud capitals for every single sentence, as well as his own name. Robbie, who was a phenomenal skier but in the bottom set for everything, getting a 4 at Standard Grade. Doing a talk assessment outside, standing on the sidelines at a football game because a candidate had such a terrible stammer - however, the same young man could shout advice, tactics (and streams of profanity) at his teammates.

Sometimes the gold is massive, jaw-dropping and glorious; sometimes the gold is a tiny speck. Size doesn’t matter; gold matters. Everyone knows what spilled glitter looks like. Little points of light everywhere.  I grab pocketfuls of the stuff every chance  I get. The tiniest bit of sparkle can make an otherwise awful day bearable. In recent months I’ve needed more of the stored treasure than before. But, you know the wonderful thing about teacher’s gold? It never, ever loses its lustre!

And, as Mary Montgomery told me years ago, if you notice it and grab it, it’s yours forever.

There’s something wonderful about hearing from a former student who’s doing well. Knowing that Gray is working as a classroom assistant and pursuing an increasingly successful career as a poet and performer makes me very happy. That Danny got a First and is now embarking on a PhD, is magic. Adam’s increasing profile on Twitter as an advocate is satisfying. Becca continuing the tradition (admittedly, probably not begun by me if Robin Williams is to be believed) of standing on her desk as she teaches tricky points of language makes me smile whenever I think of it. Even more pleasing was the fact that - as happened to me without fail - someone from the senior leadership team wandered by with perfect timing for full effect. (I need to stand on my desk more often; I haven’t felt much like it lately.) I loved watching Emma’s video presentation on UCAS and how it works; my former student is now a Guidance Teacher. Yay! It’s joyful that Stephen has a wife and child. He thanked me once for giving him the courage to speak to the girl he really liked. The rest is not history; it is the life they are leading.

There’s also a story about double sided sticky tape and swear words and shocked colleagues that makes me grin like an idiot. Thanks for the gold, Kirst. Your fabulous husband, Richard, and magical daughter, Sophia, are treasures too. Thanks for being gold, Kirst.

I have so much gold. I have great big hulking nuggets like Gray. And I have tiny sparkles like Bradley saying thank you after the lesson on Thursday.

Thank you, too, Mary, for showing me the wonders of the prospecting life.