I rose from my bed at an unreasonable hour today to spend an interminably long morning interviewing trainee teachers. So keen was I to get the fuck out of there afterwards that I didn't even stick around for the free lunch, and I was starving. But I needed to get away.
For those of you unfortunate enough not to be Irish; a little background. We have two official languages here, Irish and English, and though most everyone speaks English only a minority are fluent in Irish. It is, however, a compulsory subject in both primary and secondary education and as a consequence all primary school teachers in the country are obliged to have a proficiency in Irish (let's not open a can of worms and call it "fluency"). Teachers who have trained abroad must pass an Irish language exam before we let them near the kids and teachers training here study Irish language and literature as part of their course. Which is where I come in. I don't teach them (thankfully) but I am drafted in a couple of times a year to put them through their paces and make sure they've done their homework.
It does not make for an ideal Saturday morning, and it's a good job they pay me an obscene amount of money* to do it. I had the same conversation 19 times over with 19 young women, each of whom broke out in a nervous rash at the sight of me and then did their level best to stay schtum for 10 minutes in order to avoid making any grammatical errors. Eventually most of them twig that I can't/won't let them go until they've spoken to me so that I might assess their language skills but this usually takes about ten minutes of gentle cajoling from me and a lifetime of fucking fidgeting and avoiding eye contact on their part. The conversations are excruciating, banalities exchanged in pidgin Irish** punctuated by uncomfortable silences and nervous laughter. They do, however, give me a valuable insight into the criteria for primary school teachers in Ireland:
Not for me.
*It's probably not an obscene amount of money to anyone who has a real-life grown-up job but when you're a monkey like I am and you're accustomed to being paid in peanuts, it's quite the pot o' gold.
**Occasionally I get a fluent one and the conversation flows. It's still limited to Mullingar/Wexford and Cecelia fucking Ahern though.
For those of you unfortunate enough not to be Irish; a little background. We have two official languages here, Irish and English, and though most everyone speaks English only a minority are fluent in Irish. It is, however, a compulsory subject in both primary and secondary education and as a consequence all primary school teachers in the country are obliged to have a proficiency in Irish (let's not open a can of worms and call it "fluency"). Teachers who have trained abroad must pass an Irish language exam before we let them near the kids and teachers training here study Irish language and literature as part of their course. Which is where I come in. I don't teach them (thankfully) but I am drafted in a couple of times a year to put them through their paces and make sure they've done their homework.
It does not make for an ideal Saturday morning, and it's a good job they pay me an obscene amount of money* to do it. I had the same conversation 19 times over with 19 young women, each of whom broke out in a nervous rash at the sight of me and then did their level best to stay schtum for 10 minutes in order to avoid making any grammatical errors. Eventually most of them twig that I can't/won't let them go until they've spoken to me so that I might assess their language skills but this usually takes about ten minutes of gentle cajoling from me and a lifetime of fucking fidgeting and avoiding eye contact on their part. The conversations are excruciating, banalities exchanged in pidgin Irish** punctuated by uncomfortable silences and nervous laughter. They do, however, give me a valuable insight into the criteria for primary school teachers in Ireland:
- You must be from either Mullingar or Wexford
- If you don't play sports you damn well better play an instrument (preferably brass or woodwind)
- You must express a distaste for all things Dublin and a burning desire to move back to Mullingar/Wexford and Mammy as soon as possible (Mammy is always to be referred to by her full title and with a capital M)
- You must have no interest whatsoever in reading books (bar P.S. I Love You) or watching films (bar P.S. I Love You)
- Your summer holidays will be spend in Santa Ponza.
- Your musical interests will include Pink, Boyzone, Celine Dion and (bizarrely) Meat Loaf.
Not for me.
*It's probably not an obscene amount of money to anyone who has a real-life grown-up job but when you're a monkey like I am and you're accustomed to being paid in peanuts, it's quite the pot o' gold.
**Occasionally I get a fluent one and the conversation flows. It's still limited to Mullingar/Wexford and Cecelia fucking Ahern though.
23 comments:
I was sitting beside two trainee primary school teachers on my flight from Bristol to Dublin a couple of weekends ago and I drew the same conclusion as you: I fear for our nations children. I had to turn up the volume on my ipod full blast to drown their inane chatter out- it was all fake tans and fattening foods. Their reading material for their flight was a selection of those "true story" newspapers.
I probably sound like such a snob now but seriously, they're supposed to be educators. Eek!
Its a sad reflection on our education system that teaching has become an almost entirely feminine occupation. And a fairly vapid collection of females they are too!
^^ Well, when half the parents turn up to your first day and spend the morning peering venomosly at you through the window of the cloakroom to ensure you're not going to molest their kids, you can understand why some men might get a tad off put.
"when you're a monkey like I am you're accustomed to being paid in peanuts"
I just wanted to say that that is a fantastic line. Its almost as good as the one I heard from an ageing clown
"well, I started off with nothing and hopefully I'll still have most of it when I retire"
There were 60 women (about half of them from Ireland) and 4 men on my teacher training course. (This tells you something about how primary teaching is still perceived as women’s work, pretty much cut-price childcare, hence poorly paid, NOT THAT I’M BITTER).
Three of the men were married, the other one was single. The Irish girls were homesick for Wexford, bored, young, fresh-faced and gorgeous and looking for some distraction from the hideous coursework and the grimness of Mile End. The one single man couldn’t believe his luck. I think he made it his mission to take them all on.
it's funny how as a profession in ireland teaching seems to appeal to a very specific type of woman, and how this particular training college panders to that personality type and magnifies it. they have a very cosseted life there and it does little to challenge their blinkered confidence.
one thing i'll say is that the mature students that i interview for the postgraduate HDip are different animals altogether, genuinely inspired individuals who will make excellent teachers. trite as it sounds, a bit of life experience makes all the difference.
fair dinkum, Davey. apparently it's the kids they should be watching out for though.
(this is something i did come across in my brief time as an "educator"; i left my 17 year old charges in the care of a student teacher for the day and they tried to intimidate her by making to grope her.)
his line probably applies to me too, Rua.
your tale reminds me of one of the young lads i interviewed last term, Annie. he was obviously the stud of the class, brimming with confidence and unable to string a fucking sentence together in Irish for the exam. he sat there rubbing his hands along his thighs, smiling broadly, only short of winking at me, convinced that his charms would carry him as they obviously had for everything else. FAIL. it was funny watching him try, though.
another thing, those fresh-faced Wexford budgies all have boyfriends that they go home to every weekend, it seems (information they volunteer at the first available opportunity). NOT THAT I'M BITTER.
I reckon you've met my little sister so, she is formerly of the nunnery. She doesn't meet any of those criteria, mind. Maybe it's an inside vs. outside the Pale thing, but they're definitely not all vapid budgies.
Your post struck a few chords with me, good and bad. As an older (much older) lady I can remember being one of the thick ones who didn't get "the call to training"! All the bright ones went off to that dreadful place in Dublin to become primary school teachers. I won't diss them. Different times.
What I did learn was when I had my own children was never to trust the school, I made sure that they had everything I thought they needed, books, drawing stuff, trips out, fun, manners. We had some excellent teachers thankfully, but some who should have been taken out and shot.
you're right of course, Catherine. my sweeping generalisations were born out of frustration at having to work on a saturday.
i had a few of those myself, Mary. funnily enough, the two really cool ones i had in primary school have both moved on to other things and have no regrets about leaving teaching behind.
> did their level best to stay schtum for 10 minutes in order to avoid making any grammatical errors.
We had people come into us a few weeks before the LC Irish orals to give us a crash course, and there was lashings of this on my part. We'd just never had to speak any Irish up to that point in secondary school, which is about as backwards as an arse can be without falling over. Turns out I really enjoy the language.
have you seen Paul Mercier's Lipservice, EM? short film about the leaving cert oral, it's very funny.
Judging by some of the degree courses around ("Beckham studies", "The world of Harry Potter in modern society" etc) I'm sure that an indepth knowledge of Celine Dion and Meat Loaf will probably be invaluable to the yoof of tomorrow :)
I haven't seen it, no. I had a wee look for it there but then I realised that sitting in work typing "oral lipservice" into youtube probably isn't the best idea I've ever had.
Tá sé ar fail ar DVD ó Oideas Gael
http://www.oideas-gael.com/gearrscannain_dvd/gearrscannain.html
Tá cinn maithe eile ar an DVD céanna.
An bhfuil a fhios ag éinne cén fáth nach mbíonn fireannaigh ag dhul sa múinteoireacht a thuilleadh?
An mbaineann sé leis an bpá?
Pá, agus stádas, agus nósmhaireacht.
Obair chrua gan mórán buíochais ná urraim.
Deirtear freisin go bhfuil baint ag an C sa Ghaeilge leis - ach tá amhras orm faoi sin.
Ní maith liom múinteoirí, fiú más gligíní bhainiscneacha áilne iad.
Molaim do gach mac léinn an scoil a fhágáil a luath is a bhfuil an teastas cuí agat.
I remember Irish in primary school (started in '89). It was the only subject the teachers hated and they made no effort to hide that.
In secondary school we continued the doing grammar exercises and reading texts without once having a comhrá as Gaoluinn. Oh wait, stupid me, we had to learn one of by heart for the Junior Cert. And the non-Irish-language teachers, class after class, told us the language was a waste of time and resources and delighted in the fact they had forgotten all theirs and reminded us of the day after the Leaving when we'd be free from the cursed tongue.
I'm not saying the education is wholely to blame but how the hell did the department expect the nation to regain Irish when they actually when out of their way to make us dislike it.
bhí mise i mo mhúinteoir tráth, Fearn...
sounds like you had some poxy teachers, Colm. i was very fortunate with all of mine and i appreciate their efforts now.
"bhí mise i mo mhúinteoir tráth"
Déanaim comhbhrón leat! ;-)
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