Mrs Brontosaurus

 

There is a lovely hum in the room, children are spelling out to each other the words that they need, three children are busy with their RM maths on the computer, and one child is reading their reading book to me. There is a lovely atmosphere in the room. It has to be too good to be true.

It is.

One chap sidles up to next to me.

‘Can I go next door to Mrs Brontosaurus’ classroom to get a pen?’ he asks.

(Mrs Brontosaurus is not the teacher next door’s real name, but it’s not far off, and I’m afraid it will have to do)

I’m puzzled. I can’t understand why he should need to go next door to get a handwriting pen. All the time I’m talking to him the child sitting on my right hand side continues to read her reading book.

‘Why do you need to go to Mrs Brontosaurus’ classroom?’ I ask.

The boy sighs with mild exasperation as if he is dealing with someone who is none too bright, ‘Well, if you expect me to do the work I need a handwriting pen!’ he explains simply so that even I will understand.

‘But don’t you have pens in here?’ I ask.

‘They are kept in Mrs Brontosaurus’ classroom,’ he explains with world weary wisdom.

‘Oh?’ I say. ‘So is that where you usually go when you need a pen?’ I ask.

‘Usually,’ he replies. ‘They are kept there.’

I’m thinking to myself that it is an odd arrangement. If it was my classroom I would have a supply to hand, but this is not my classroom.

With a sixth sense knowing I’m about to let myself in for trouble, I say, ‘Yes, all right. But could you get three pens, please.’

‘Three,’ he asks puzzled.

‘Well yes. If your pen has run out someone else’s is bound to run out soon too; and I don’t want to have to disturb Mrs Brontosaurus any more than we have to,’ I say though my logic seems lost on him.

The boy leaves, and I can now concentrate on the child who is still reading to me.

I have never had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Brontosaurus but within a few moments I do.

She lumbers heavily into the classroom following behind the boy. She sees me sitting with the child who is reading but she ignores me and instead she speaks directly to the class.

‘Year 5 what’s all this about you needing handwriting pens?’ she asks them sharply.

The peaceful working atmosphere is instantly broken. The children have gone into detective mode. They are now policing the handwriting pens that are in hands and are glancing at fingers. They are looking for likely suspects and victims for the show that is about to start.

Mrs Brontosaurus goes on a long tedious tirade about handwriting pens effectively ruining the atmosphere and putting all the children on edge. I can see one girl has already burst into tears.

‘Thank you,’ I say to Mrs Brontosaurus as she turns to leave. I go to the side of the sobbing girl.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

‘They said’…sob…‘that I…shouldn’t’ …sob… ‘have written’ …sob… ‘on my hand… but I have to or I’ …sob…‘can’t remember.’

Mrs Brontosaurus notices me comforting the crying girl and shakes her head dismissively as if she is just a silly thing.

‘Take no notice,’ I say. ‘You’re not in trouble. There’s nothing wrong with writing on your hand. I do it all the time.’

I spend an age with her until somehow she begins to brighten.

‘Go and wipe your eyes,’ I say. ‘And take no notice of them. You’ve done nothing wrong.’

I go back to the child who has continued to read in my absence and has read another six pages all alone to herself; the boy who needed the handwriting pen is now looking miserably around the room; the children on the RM maths computers have lost their train of thought, the helpful spelling out of words atmosphere has gone, and has been replaced by an accusatory edgy atmosphere with everyone now watching everyone else; the girl returns and settles half-heartedly to her work, and I’m left wondering why Mrs Brontosaurus felt she had to use her lumbering weight in such a manner when the class was obviously with a supply teacher who hadn’t got the faintest idea where the handwriting pens were kept.

How much more helpful it would have been if she’d just said something like, ‘Handwriting pens? Oh, they are over there. Help yourself! Oh my goodness, you must be doing such a lot of writing to get through so many pens. Well done you!’