Thingies that happen to Steve in his other job

[SteveHopwood]

I have taken to going into school on a Wednesday afternoon as well as my usual Monday and Thursday. I can arrange extra lessons for kids that can benefit from them, then I stay behind after school to help Miss out with her so-called, "Senior choir."

Sadly for me, the department is full of teaching on a Wednesday afternoon so I find myself back in The Dungeon. Hey ho.

I leave the door open so that we do not become overcome by heat. I was coming to the end of my first victim's lesson when I sensed a presence behind me - I sit with my back to the door. Lilly was my current victim.

I said to Lilly, "I sense a presence behind me. Am I correct?" The next bit alternates.

"Yes."

"Does it look like my next victim?"

"Yes."

"Does it look terrified?"

"No."

"Tell it to be terrified."

"Sir says you must be terrified."

"Has it worked?"

"No."

Hey ho. Next victim was Bailey and my chances of terrifying her are zero. She had me summed up within moments of meeting me.

------------------

Here comes the best clanger I have dropped in my entire time at the school. I do not expect to outdo this one. Bailey and I were doing our thingies when a lady I do not know appeared at the doorway and asked, "How is she doing?"

Parents do occasionally work at the school their progeny attend. It is a large school. There are many staff. Us peri's apart, I know four of them. I replied, "Bailey is doing brilliantly." Then I asked, "Are you her mum?"

The lady took the question really well as she replied matter of factly, "No. I am this school's Head Teacher."

Oops.

I placed myself in between Bailey's barely suppressed sniggers as me and God briefly discussed my plans for B's progress. God is a busy lady so her interest waned rapidly. She moved on.

Bailey could finally explode. She burst into fits of laughter. She finally managed after a while, "You asked the head teacher of our school if she is my mum," and continued to snigger until my next victim turned up.

I told the story around the department subsequently. It caused a lot of mirth.

---------------

My next victim was Jas for an extra lesson. I launched into my usual round of insults then remembered and exclaimed, "Darling. Sorry. I am supposed to be being kind to you. I promised this last time around."

Came the reply, "You are really bad at that."

"You know why that is, Jas?"

I should have known she was already composing her reply to my reply to what she said next. "No".

"Because I don't like you."

Came the complacent reply that she had already worked out, "No. Of course you don't," and carried on playing.

Jas is correct, of course. I do not like her. I worship her. There is a difference of magnitude.

----------

Then came senior choir. This is a bit of a mis-description because it consists of 7 members at the mo. The term, "Senior" has nothing to do with age. It has everything to do with ability to sing and willingness to turn up to rehearsals each week. Their numbers will grow when the kids in the school come to recognise that Miss is serious about this and is not going to cancel rehearsals for anything other than serious illness on her part. These are wonderful kids and I am happy to devote an hour of my time to them. "Junior" choir meets on a Tuesday and is open to anyone who wants a sing for however long or short they want to do so. I am devoting nothing to them.

Joey should have been there. This is the Joey who led me such a dance last Thursday at the concert. She even had a singing lesson with Miss this afternoon. She was missing.

Miss was not best pleased. Joey faces an unhappy meeting with Miss. Every kid I ever talk to about Miss agrees that she is wonderful until crossed, then there is trouble.............. "Wonderful Miss" she is. Mr Softie Steve she ain't.

Knowing the 12 year olds in the group I announced, "Joey is 12. What if we make it a rule that 12 year olds missing this rehearsal should be horribly punished?"

An aggrieved 12 year old Faith (One Thousand Years last week) cried out, "I am 12 and I never miss. What if I happen to be ill?"

I thought for a few seconds and then announced, "The new rule only applies to those whose first names begin with J."

"OK," she replied happily, "I can go with that."

[SteveHopwood]

Kids performing are prone to doing absolutely anything. Following an instrumental interlude, they will: come in early; come in late; forget what to come in with and need it calling out to them; anything else you care to name.

So the adult accompanying them has to be prepared for this. Often this is me. I am brilliant at accommodating them. I make it look easy - rather like anyone who is expert at anything makes what s/he is doing look simple. People take me for granted.

Our school musical next term is, "Matilda." I have viewed a few clips on Youtube and it looks like fun. Last week was audition time. I was not required but was in school and so stuck around for the entertainment. I was not disappointed.

Miss may be a rubbish pianist (masterly understatement) but she can, "Bash out a few chords," whilst accompanying singers. Miss understands harmony. There were a wonderful gathering of about 40 kids for the audition. The audition song was, "When I grow up." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96JDkI2tBhI should you be masochistic enough to want to imagine sitting through 40 performances of the first verse of the song.

Some of the kids could sing. Most could not. Some of them could keep in time. Most could not. After Miss shot at me her look of despair after trying to keep up with about the 15th of them I offered, "Welcome to my world."

The reason Miss was doing the accompaniment? Members of the senior choir (all auditioning and going to get major pats) know me and so can work with me fearlessly. The other 30 do not and so would be even more terrified than normal. Miss had my total support.

I could not resist some reinforcement of my skills. Having valliently managed to keep up with the latest miscreant for whom the printed score was merely a basis for negotiation, Miss looked at me in despair. "Welcome to my world again," I offered back, evilly. It does no harm to reinforce from time to time, the skill I bring to this stuff.

Come the end of the auditions and an exhausted Miss said to me, "That was soooooo tiring. I was reduced to banging out a chord and hoping for the best."

Sometimes that is all we can do for the kids we accompany so I replied, "You were fantastic. You did just what they needed."

--------------------------

Miss is fantastic. She can make mistakes. Who amongst us does not?

Imagine one of my pupils, Bailey. Quiet. Shy. 12 years old but Y8, so rising 13 this year. Polite. Studious. A joy to teach. I am more likely to get a detention in school than her. Considerably more likely.

One of the joys of modern technology is that everything a teacher thinks about a child is recorded on the database and communicated to the parents.

Which happened to be highly useful here. Miss is Bailey's year group tutor - along with Jas and Ethan.

So when Miss received a polite email from Bailey's mum asking, "Why has Bailey been given a detention for repeated disruption in class?" Trust me folks, mum wanted to nip problems at the bud not be the 'middle class parent from hell'.

The idea that Bailey would be a disruption in class was ridiculous. It just could not happen. Ever.

So Miss investigated. Here is what happened. Bailey came to me for a piano lesson during the last third of her music class with Miss. A few of the kids deserved a 'merit' mark during the lesson, including Bailey. Because Baily was missing, she did not receive her computerised merit mark. Instead, she received a detention.

Miss attempted to add Bailey's merit mark later on but after she had added names for detentions for persistent misbehaviour and which somehow Bailey's name had become added to.

All sorted out later. Phew.

Do we bless modern technology, or what?

Bailey really should take GCSE music. She is an ideal candidate. Mum and Mis
sorted it out between themselves.

[SteveHopwood]

Not a funny this time. One for lovers of music rather than teen lunacy. Our UK Classic FM presented me with this gem earlier that I found later on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bl_JCByVVRE

Those Baroque composers sure new how to write for the Oboe. Fantastic.

I wonder how much more there is to discover of the output of these unknown composers. Lots, I hope.

[SteveHopwood]

I sat as I often do a few minutes ago, reviewing the week gone by and that which is to come. Starting with Bailey, for a freebie starting 20 minutes before my paid for time in a few hours. B needs an extra lesson and has earned it big time.

I have complained about the heat in the school often. Bailey suffers also and usually starts her lessons with me by asking, "Can I take my jacket off please, Sir?"

Given that any attempt to make me wear my jacket permanently would result in my instant resignation, my reply has always been, "Of course darling. You do not need to ask me for permission. Look at me."

Going sans jacket is a hanging offence in the school, hence B's always asking me for permission to alleviate her suffering from heat.

Last week though, she came for her second lesson of the week, shrugged off her jacket and threw it onto a table. Not a second thought. I was thrilled.

Not a great story, I know but isn't it great to read about a shy pupil coming to trust a teacher? In this case, it does my heart good.

[SteveHopwood]

I am coming to adore the kids ever more.

I pitched up at school for my freebie afternoon and waited fruitlessly for first victim, Julia. Julia of the wobbly eyes and fingers.

I decided to make sure she has some time with me by cutting into next victim Megan's lesson, so wandered down to Miss to ask her to make a call for Julia.

I am confined to The Dungeon on Wednesday afternoons and so met Julia on my way back to it. "I didn't know I had a lesson today," explained a confused Julia. Given that Julia does confusion to intergalactic standards, I was unimpressed.

I scowled and growled, "Yes, you did." Julia understood early in our relationship that the more ferocious my scowl and deeper my growl, the less trouble she is actually in. The time to worry is when I intone mildly, "I am not happy with you, young lady."

So she trotted alongside me happily defending her position. "No I didn't Sir."

We arrived at The Dungeon and I demanded sternly, "Give me your music pass." Knowing she was absolutely in the right, she handed it to me cheerfully.

I opened the pass and saw the time and date without my signature appended and showed it to her with an air of triumph.

Julia said, "It says the 17th."

"Quite, " I replied.

"But today is the 20th."

Given that the 17th was Sunday, the date I had written in the pass was ludicrous. Game, set and match to a very smug Julia.

It gets worse.

There was a brief tussle when I was insisting that I had discussed the extra lesson with J and her insisting that I had not. A guy has to know when he is beaten, so I gave up just in case she was correct. Good thing really.

I told J that we would eat into some of Megan's lesson - these are freebies after all so I will do what I want - and use all of her time if she did not turn up. She did not, so I continued with Julia.

A bit later on I realised what I had done. This blasted timetable confusion again. Julia and Megan have their timetables lessons on Thursday. The extras happen on Wednesday. I had booked the extras after their Thursday lessons but omitted to tell them.

I explained this to Julia and described my distinct memory of discussing it with her as a false memory from a previous occasion. She probably put it down to me being in the final stages of dementia but is far, far too kind to say.

Julia is one of those searingly bright kids who love to park their brains in the playground/garden whenever playing the piano is concerned. I have whined about them before. Miss had already described some spectacularly gormless moments in J's previous GCSE music class when I asked her to put out a call, so I was prepared.

J had not parked her brain in the playground this afternoon. She had hired a delivery truck and had it taken to the opposite side of the country.

Eventually I described the syndrome and explained how much easier she would find everything if she brought her brain in with her, and engaged it. We established that she also had a 'wobbly brain'.

Ever after, whenever she was gormless I would say, "You remember that discussion about bringing your brain with you? How about applying it now?"

The message sunk home eventually. She drew breath to say something idiotic, paused, raised her hand to the side of her head and made a switch-clicking movement. "Brain activated," she announced triumphantly. It was, too.

I do not remember how, but the thingy about false memories came up again, so I told her the story of the time my car was 'stolen'. Julia loved it.

I said, "So we have: you with your wobbly fingers, eyes and (when you remember to bring it) brain; me with my inability to organise a timetable and remember where I last put my car. You know what our problem is?"

Brief pause and then from me, "We are both idiots."

Julia agreed.

Gwenyth appeared in the doorway. I briefly explained the above and our conclusion. G shook her head slowly and I could see her thinking, "Why me? What have I done to deserve these two?"

---------------

Gwenyth was awesome. Nothing funny to report, just a really sweet child achieving monumental heights with regard to the number of lessons she has had. It takes a lot of kids 5-6 years to get where she is in a few brief months.

--------------

Then we had senior choir. Oh boy folks, but I wish you could see these kids. Singing their heads off as though their lives depended upon it.

It helps that Miss is a genius. She has taken, "I Won't Say" from some rubbish Disney film and transformed it for the kids in our school. Gorgi is singing the solo part, beautifully. Miss has arranged harmonies for the rest of the choir that the kids are loving. It is a perfect balance between challenge and impossible that blows me away. I could not have made this arrangement.

[SteveHopwood]

I pitched up at 146 today to be greeted by a Very Young Group of Motley Musicians. There was: Masie (of Blood Brothers fame) on guitar; Faith from senior choir; two others from senior choir whose names I have yet to learn; one of the guitarists I used to gang up with to tease Mr P (and subsequent in Dec 2021 whose name I have learned, Marsha); Megan, one of my pupils and a pal on the piano.

"Ehup folks," I called out.

"Ehup Sir," came back the cute and chorused response.

This was the first time since late Feb 2020 that a Group of Motley Musicians has been occupying my room when I arrived. It took every ounce of self control in my over emotional body to prevent breaking into floods of tears there and then. Truth to tell, I am blubbing as I write this. It has been a long time coming and these kids are very precious.

Sitting quietly eating her lunch was our Head of Performing Arts. HoPA has about 9 minutes for lunch on Thursdays and has taken to eating it in 146 as this is the one place she knows no one will look for her. I usually arrive a few minutes before her and we have a chat, but I was running a teensy bit behind due to road works.

She gestured towards the Motley Crew and said, "This lot are nothing to do with me." Then she asked me, "What time do you start teaching in here?" I replied with the time about 5 minutes hence.

"Throw this lot out when you need the room," she instructed.

Yeah. Right. Like I was ever going to do that. Given the choice between throwing out a newly formed Group of Motley Musicians and retiring to The Dungeon, then it would be The Dungeon every time. Happily, the start of my first lesson coincides with the start of the GMM first afternoon lesson and the time was coming up, so kids started to leave. HoPA and I called out, "Byeeeeee <name> when we knew them or <darling> when not." We received a lovely, "Byeeeeeee" in return each time.

HoPA is as besotted with the kids as are Miss and I. I hear her calling to a class lining up for a lesson, "Hello my darlings," in greeting. Our Performing Arts departments is a wonderful place to be.

--------------------

Bailey has regressed. Last two lessons and she has asked permission to remove her blazer. Hey ho. I will continue to try to inculcate a sense of rebelliousness in her. I will grind her down eventually.

------------------

Miss wants her huge Y9 GCSE music group to form the, "Trinity Carol Concert Orchestra" for the Christmas concert. I dread to think what they will sound like, but that is not the point.

Julia is involved. Miss gave me the piano parts for all of the 8 Christmas songs they will be playing whilst the audience sings. J is one of those asked to play the top 3 on the list. Others will be playing the bottom 2. The 3 in the middle may or may not happen depending on what happens in what will pass for 'rehearsals.'

And no, I have not offered to join in. Yes, the kids are gorgeous. Yes, I adore them. Yes, there are some sacrifices I am not prepared to make.

I could not resist a Julia wind up. She came for her lesson. I showed her the pamphlet of piano parts for all 8 songs and said, "Miss needs you to learn this little lot for after half-term."

J knows that none of us would really do anything cruel to her but remember feeling young, insecure and thinking, "What if...........?" She trembled gently and replied, "I am scared."

"Good," I replied. "I like scaring young girls."

I let her down quickly. Miss had already asked me to help J join in with whatever she could supply from the piano parts. Anyone who has ever been involved in any kind of musical ensemble knows that the bass (musical spelling of 'base') line is vital. Have a rubbish bass and everything else falls apart. Think of building construction - same principle.

So I showed her how to extract and play the bass line. She left happy in the knowledge that she could do what is required.

------------------

Jas arrived for another extra lesson and arranged two highly coloured purple hands on the piano. She stopped, turned to me and said, "I had better explain the colour of my hands."

One of the many bits of rubbish that still inhabit her blazer is an old and unused pen. The nib of the pen had snapped off and the ink escaped into her inside pocked. The ink covered her hand when she next felt inside it to retrieve a pen.

So, she had a left hand covered in purple ink. A friend told her to wash it off with hand sanitiser, so Jas tried this.

It turns out that hand sanitiser is an excellent spreader of everything it comes into contact with, so Jas ended up with two brightly coloured purple hands.

I looked to the Heavens and asked in tones of despair, "Why me? What have I done that is soooooo wrong?"

Jas merely giggled and started to play. We had a lovely time together.

[SteveHopwood]

Much entertainment from last week.

Ethan had to isolate for the last two weeks before the half-term break so, including a holiday, it had been a month since he last had a lesson.

Ethan was hopeless at turning up last year. Mostly I had to get Miss to call for him. Being told to look on the peri noticeboard if he was unsure of his lesson time merely caused a blank look. His first two lessons after half-term are doubles to make up for those that he missed. I had no expectation that he would turn up on Monday and caught Miss in the corridor to ask her to send out an APB for him - just as he turned up.

"Ehup Ethan," I said cheerily, "we were about to send for you."

He gave me that look and replied pityingly, "Well obviously I looked up my time on the notice board."
----

Jasmine was dreadful in her first lesson of the week (Monday). She knew what to play and was happy to stop and think about it when unsure - which is good. What made her so slow was the length of time it took her to work out a change of hand position. Yes, it was grim but my job does not include making cute children unhappy, so I called out my usual encouragement as the massacre progressed.

Come the merciful end I intoned kindly, "I called out my usual encouragement darling, because I did not want you feeling you were heading for trouble once you finished. Fact is though, you playing was dire."

Jas is one of the increasing number of kids whose parents have split up by the time they reach 12 or 13 years of age. She explained that she had spent the half-term with her piano-less dad and only went home to mum on Saturday. I replied, "Fair enough. I cannot expect you to progress under the circumstances." We spent the lesson working on the changes of hand position.

A thought occurred to me so I offered to Jas, "Hey poppet, good thingy I am not one of those scary teachers would would blast off without considering anything other than poor performance. Imagine how dreadful I would feel if I had torn you to pieces and made you cry before you managed to explain."

Jas and Gwenyth are cousins and clearly fond of each other. Jas looked at me and replied, "It is hard to imagine you as a scary teacher."

Awwwww. I continued, "Even when threatening you with the sharp end of the pencil?"

Jas replied complacently, "Oh no. I know you never would." Then she brightened, grinned wickedly and finished with, "But you will stab Gwenny, won't you?"
----

It seems as though the size of the room determines whether or not Bailey asks permission to remove her jacket or not. She always asks if we are in one of the large rooms. The extra freebie lessons usually take place in The Dungeon and hers did last week.

She wandered in, took off her jacket and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor. I hate my jacket as well, but I do at least put it on the back of a chair so I did the same for Bailey's. She did not even notice.

----
Then came Jas again for her second lesson of the week, in The Dungeon. Only two days after the previous lesson and a huge improvement, so I lavished praise upon her.

I noticed a highly decorated left hand and lower forearm - a sure sign of a lesson that was boring her rigid. I remarked on this. She explained, "I tried to wash it off with hand sanitizer but it didn't work." "Have you forgotten what happened last time you tried that?" I asked. Came the reply, "Yes but this time was different. I was using a pen on my hand instead of shoving it into a pocket full of ink from a busted pen. It hasn't worked though, so I have to get home before mum so I can wash it off, or she will kill me."

I have some pet hates. One of them is people peppering their speech with, "You know". It is not a genuine question, hence my lack of '?' It is something that idiots habitually say. Making this up: " I you know think that you know poverty is you know a bad you know thing." It makes me want to scream. Happily, none of the kids do it or they would feel my wrath.

I fell into a trap entirely of my own making. I accidentally inserted one into a sentence I was speaking to Jas. I stopped in horror and said, "Angel, I just 'you knowed'." I loathe, hate and despise people who, "you know" and want them to die. She asked why, so I explained. I will not repeat the explanation here - you all know what I mean. Mind, if you are one of the, "You knowers," then lie in a bath and slash your wrists.

Jas flashed an evil grin and replied, "You know you you know, need to you know be more chilled you know about this." I threatened her with the pencil and growled, "Play."

The little minx proceeded to intersperse her speech with, "You know" for the rest of the afternoon.

It gets worse. A little later on and when I was distracted by writing the time of her next lesson in her music pass, Jas asked innocently, "Is there anything else that makes you scream?"

Perfect timing from the child. I replied absently, "Yes. People who intersperse their speech with, 'Err'. Imagine this: I err think that err you err are a err remarkable young err lady."

Staring with Jas and alternating, the subsequent exchange went thus:
- What is wrong with that?
- You just heard me. Imagine half an hour listening to speech like that.
- Why do they do it?
- Their gob is rushing ahead of their teensy weensy brain.
- What should they do instead?
- Speak more slowly or think more quickly. I don't care which.

Jas thought for a few seconds and then asked, "Is that why you sometimes speak quite slowly?" I replied, "Yes sweetheart. Sometimes I am actually struggling for the words; others I need to find a form of words to express a point to a pupil in such a way as not to imply criticism."

What I told Jas next is a true story - it happened in a UK covid briefing on TV early in the pandemic. "Some people even combine these horrors. I once heard our Prime Minister interject 'err, err, you know, err' into a reply he was making to a question."

"Prime Minister," she replied, "Boris Johnson?" "Yep". I was impressed that a 12 year old knows who is our Prime Minister.

This was last thing in the afternoon. Jas had explained the previous week that she hates walking home when the pavements are crowded and so goes to the bathroom for a few minutes to give time for them to clear. The bell went whilst she was playing through the piece so I let her continue and explained why when she finished.

Jas replied, "My best you know friend comes you know with me and we you know walk err home together. She will be err waiting you know and err will kill err you know me if I am err late," and grinned at me.

I sensed revenge and placed myself firmly with my back to the door. "What are you you doing now?" she asked. "Not letting you out for ten minutes. You are imprisoned. The is The Dungeon, after all."

"Why?"

"So you will be late and your friend will kill you."

Jas gave me that look and said, cooly, "Move."

"Yes Jas," I muttered and held the door open for her. She skipped out with a cute, "Bye Sir. Have a lovely weekend."

[SteveHopwood]

I taught Ethan and Jas the Dominic Walk today. Many of you will remember Dommy from a few years ago - a wonderful young man whose piano lesson usually fell during one of his hated class lessons. He would finish his piano lesson with 20 minutes to go until the end of the afternoon, then walk back to his classroom s-o-o s-l-o-w-l-y that he would arrive back just in time for the final bell.

Ethan had two lessons this afternoon, one of them to make up for being in isolation just before half-term. They were interspersed by one with Jas, who was most discombobulated by Ethan having two to her mere one. She went into mega-whinge mode at the end of hers and said, "I am going to walk back to Maths very slowly." We all know how much she hates maths.

I leaped to my feet and said, "I will show you the Dominic walk. Come into the corridor with me. You come as well Ethan, in case this ever comes in handy for you as well."

I described how I once watched Dommy take five minutes to reach the doors at the end of the corridor (perhaps 10 yards), cross the main corridor and into the doors opposite - maybe another 10 yards. I explained how to instantly speed up into a meaningful stride the moment a staff member appeared. I then pointed to the pair of them and said, "If either of you ever tell anyone that I told you this, then you will die a gruesome death - and I am not teasing this time. Capiche?"

"Yes Sir."

Jas set off at a crawl that would have made Dommy look like a speedster.

------

I fully expected Jas to pepper her speech with, "you know err" etc today. Thankfully, she had forgotten. She still managed to 'get' me.

I had teased her dreadfully, so just to make sure I did one of my 'reality checks'. I said, "Quick reality check princess. You know I never mean any of the terrible thingies I say to you, don't you?"

The response came at warp speed. "I do," she replied.

Hey ho.

[SteveHopwood]

I hate Christmas. I may have mentioned this before. I make Ebenezer Scrooge look like an amateur in the scrooging department. I may have mentioned this before. One year apart, I had managed to avoid being involved in the school's Christmas concert for the previous 7 years I have taught there.

One of the thingies I loathe most is the massacre that the 'crooners' make of songs that I never before realised could be beautiful - "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" and, "Have Yourself a Lovely Little Christmas" sort of thingy. These damn things were heard in markets all over the Xmas period for years and have stopped me going into one from mid-November onwards. Should anyone invent a time travelling machine, I will go back in time to massacre the great grand parents of these criminals just to make sure they could not exist.

So, Imagine my joy when Miss announced that the senior choir were to perform, "Have Yourself a Lovely Little Christmas" at this year's Xmas concert. And that she had done a three part harmony arrangement. And written an accompaniment for me to play.

I glared at her and snarled, "Have I really never mentioned how much I loathe and detest that song?"

"Yes, but the kids chose it. Sorry."

Happily, it turns out that one aspect of Miss's genius is a feeling for harmony. She came up with a wonderful arrangement. The piano part was beautiful to play. I was happy to take part.

---------------

Miss announced that she had formed a school, "Orchestra" for the Xmas concert, meeting after school on Thursday.

Here are the thingies: I am 70 at the time of writing; granted, I am hoping for c. 25 years of continued child bothering, but there is no denying that I have less certainty of this than I had 50 years ago; several years ago I made a pact with myself that I would do the very best I could for any child that hove into my view, in whatever active time I have left.

So obviously I instantly said that I would help out in any way I could. Hey ho. Lots more Xmas stuff. My own fault.

Did I love it? You bet I did. The term, "Orchestra" could best be loosely applied to the motley crew of folks gathered together. One of Miss's triumphs is the number of people she gathered together in the run up to the concert. A couple more kids joined the senior choir, which was further augmented by staff at the school. The choir sounded magnificent during the concert.

The, "Orchestra" consisted of: 3 violins; 3 flutes; 3 guitars; 4 recorders; 2 clarinets; 1 saxophone; percussion; 4 of us on 3 pianos (more of that to come).

I dread to think what we must have sounded like. I am thrilled thinking back over the event; this is the first time in my 7 years at the school that any music teacher has created such an ensemble. MIss gets my vote every time. Anything she wants from me, she gets.

------------

More to come folks. For now, I want some tea.

[SteveHopwood]

Some more about the Xmas concert.

Take Julia, one of my piano pupils. The event drew us close together.

The orchestra started out as a year 9 (rising 14) group that gradually expanded into the form it presented on the night. Julia came to me several weeks ago with a sheaf of papers that held all the songs/carols to be performed, announcing, "Miss wants me to play this lot." Impossible for J.

J flies into a panic at the drop of a hat and so had ignored Miss's instruction to, "Play what you can and sit out the rest." So far as J was concerned, she had to climb the equivalent of the Matterhorn in shoeless feet.

Any orchestra is like a building; it depends of a solid base. I explained this to J and said I would 'teach' her to play the base line and risked further panic when reiterating how vital this would make her. There was some panic but we spent several weeks on her learning how to play the stuff. Come a week before the concert, J was happy to tackle the outstanding songs on her own. She had grown in confidence as I hoped she would.

Throughout rehearsals and subsequent performances, Miss had asked me to supply the melody line to all the carols, to help keep everyone in line. Julia was supplying the base line split between her two hands at a pitch low enough that I could play the tune with my left hand, so we shared a piano. There were all the usual carols - Away in a Manger, Hark the Herold Angels Sing etc. I cannot remember a time when I did not know this stuff and so was able to play them always with my gaze on Miss as she was conducting.

Imagine the scene folks. Year 7 (entry year rising 12) are all required to take part as the 'choir'. There are about 300 of them. Then we have the 'orchestra' of a motley crew of (mostly) inexperienced young players. Groups like this tend to rush. "Watch me" was Miss's frequent bellow in rehearsal, as she tried her hardest to keep us all in time.

Which is part of where I came in. It will be a cold day into senility before I need to do anything other than play the tune of your average carol. Without looking. So, I followed Miss's beat to the heartbeat; members of the orchestra followed me. The 'choir' followed us. Even so, from Miss's point of view, it must have been like holding back a juggernaut. She was amazing.

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Back to Julia. This bonkers, insane, dingbat, gorgeous young lady turns out to have a penchant for organisation. In this respect, she is the anti-Steve.

Sheafs of paper cause me stress. Don't know why; they just do. They are meat and drink to Julia. Given that we were sharing a piano, she took over the organisation of said sheets. I merely sat back, sighed with relief, and let her get on with it. Every time the next song/carol came up, the correct sheet was waiting for us.

J also needs thingies to be neatly lined up. The sheets of songs were at one point on the stand; the order of service next to them. All had to be lined up with exactly the correct distance between them.

This is me, so obviously I could not resist the occasional tease. I would wait until Julia was distracted then gently move one of the sheets to an incorrect position. J would look back, sigh gently and reorganise everything so it was in the correct place. And glare at me. Mind, this gentle little lady did not slap me even once, despite the near overwhelming desire (I am sure) to do so. I would not have blamed her should she have done so.

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I wish you could meet Georgi. Rising 16. Wonderful sense of humour. Searingly bright. Affectionate. Gives me a wonderful wave if she is in the room before me and I enter, or responds back vice versa.

Georgi's rendition of, "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" accompanied by Jeremy on the guitar was something special. I was glad that the orchestra was blacked out at the time so nobody could see me blubbing into a tissue.

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Then we have the star of the whole show. Kiera.

There is a tradition that the first verse of, "Once in Royal's David's City" is sung by a child soloist. This year the soloist was Kiera.

Just spare a thought for a minute, about the miracle that leads me to be able to write this post, and yours to be able to read it. Forget the religious stuff; I am not writing about this.

Instead, think about the ridiculous concatenation of events that led to our conception. Think back over the ridiculous number of events that could have interrupted our birth. Here are a few and you can supply many thousands of others: our parents/grandparents/great grand parents missed a bus and so did not meet; they met but a day earlier/later. Do I really need to continue?

So how tough is it when the miracle that arrives into our world has something seriously wrong? It happens.

Kiera is blind and has been from birth. She walks with a stick. She has a Teaching Assistant with her most times. Kiera is only left without said TA when there are lots of highly protective friends to look after her. I have seen her put her hand into her TA's and skip up the corridor. Imagine the trust you must have to be 11 years old, totally blind, and yet to be able to put your hand into a friend and skip up the corridor.

Yep. Hurts, doesn't it? It is bloody agony for me.

I first met Kiera at the auditions for Matilda, last term. I was horrified and so did not speak as she and TA passed me by. I did better this time. I said, "Ehup Kiera. You are coming to rehearse your first verse of 'Once in Royal's David's City' with me. Your guide will take you into the room."

So happened. It was The Dungeon but I had made sure there was nothing to fall over even if K's guide was not prepared to kill to protect her. She was and is.

I took K's hand and showed her by what she was surrounded and that we would not let her be hurt.

We rehearsed. I checked with K that the speeds were correct. She confirmed this.

Imagine this folks. You depend soooooo much on watching the faces of those with which you are interacting to know what to do/say next. Then imagine you are blind and cannot see said faces. Of someone you are meeting for the first time. And you are 11 years old.

So I knew what to do when K's guide came to me on the day of the concert and explained that the pace at which K and I had rehearsed the previous day was overly fast and that she needed a slower speed. K had not wanted to ask for a slower speed for fear of upsetting me - cannot see my face.

K was sitting in the front row of the Y7 kiddies, being looked after by her friends. I knelt down in front of her and said, "Darling, it is Mr Hopwood. Can I take your hand, please?"

I received a nod.

I said, "Your guide tells me that we rehearsed, "Once in Royal's David's City" too quickly yesterday. Can you sing me your first line as you want it to go?"

She did and I got it right during the performances.

I blubbed through both of them. Not the only thingy I blubbed through, mind.

Both of them? Omicron is hurtling through our nation. The school decided not to hold a live performance of the concert. Instead we recorded it twice and streamed the best out to our parents.