Making a Difference

I am an infrequent and largely unwilling user of social media – namely Facebook. But, as those who use it will know, once you are signed up then you cannot generally ignore it. With regularity one will receive some kind of communication from the site – a “friend” request, a comment about what someone is doing or how they are feeling, a link to another web site, or some long lost friend, neighbour, work colleague or acquaintance who has “found” you on the system and wants to rekindle the past. For me it is not unusual to have a contact from a past pupil that I have taught – now a parent themselves, or in some cases, a grandparent! When a contact like this occurs I often have to rack my brain trying to remember this name from the past. Fortunately, I have a pretty good memory for my past pupils so I can usually put the bits of the jigsaw back together and respond to the contact in some meaningful way. Equally, I’m pleased to say,  those who do contact me seem to have done so with mostly fond memories of their time in my class or school – so it is rewarding for me to receive their, usually, good wishes,  recall school memories and especially gratifying to learn of what they are doing as adults.

A slimmer me with one of my past classes - quite a few of these

past pupils keep in contact and are parents of teenagers themselves

Whenever I receive a communication from an ex-pupil I often reflect upon how our whole lives are made up of millions (billions?) of events and experiences that consciously or sub consciously make us what we are. And this is a reciprocal arrangement – we are not only the receivers of these experiences that make us what we are but also the givers – what we do and how we respond to others in a small way makes them what they are. It is an unavoidable consequence of social interaction. It is also true, I believe that it is often the unplanned and unexpected that have the greatest effect. As a teacher when I faced a class or taught a lesson I hoped that every child would benefit and be the better for my carefully planned lesson or programme of study but all too often in the communications that I receive from ex-pupils it is the unplanned and unexpected that is remembered most and which has perhaps had the longer lasting effect; the actual facts of the lesson(s) long forgotten but the overall impact still there, imprinted upon the subconscious. I’m sure that this is right – that in our daily dealings with we often retain little of the detail but much more of the overall and often unplanned effect.

As an example of this I received a communication some months ago from a young man who I had taught as a 10 year old. He was a bright lad but sadly there were problems at home and he found school discipline and expectations a trial – he was frequently in trouble, stubborn and not making the best of the opportunities. I spent  much of my time each day trying to keep him on the straight and narrow – and usually feeling that I had failed. I feared that he would increasingly find himself in trouble as he grew up so it was gratifying when I received a Facebook contact from him after more than twenty years to find that he was now successful in both his work and his personal life. He acknowledged his school days problems in a follow up email to me after making the initial Facebook contact:

“I'm so pleased that you still remember me after all this time Mr Beale! You are correct in remembering  that I was with you during the early 90's, probably the best years of my school life! I always remembered you because I used to love your assemblies, I have in my mind you used to tell the school stories about Preston North End.......as you probably remember my upbringing wasn't always ideal and unfortunately probably reflected in my behaviour at times. However I do feel that I have come out well.....I have been lucky enough to travel to some amazing countries and cities through the company and I am currently working in the South of France...... I'm so pleased that you 5 healthy grandchildren and you see them often..... they are lucky to have you as a grandparent! You were an amazing teacher and a great person to all of us at school so I know they are very lucky children!......”

He was right – I often used to joke with the boys about the best football teams – they always supported the big name teams like Liverpool or Manchester United so it came as a bit of a shock when they realised that Mr Beale supported an unknown team like Preston North End. He was right, too, about the assemblies – as soon as he mentioned it I remembered well how he would often walk around the playground with me asking about the story that I had told in assembly that day. My assemblies had obviously had an impact, although I never imagined or realised that almost 30 years later he would still be able to recall the pleasure and happy memories that they had given him. It was both humbling and very gratifying to hear from this young man who had had a rough time when he was a child – and now was settled and doing well in another part of the country – and that deep down he had good memories of times past.

It was not as dissimilar story with a girl that I taught as an 11 year old who wrote to me:

“......I often think to myself I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t had you as my teacher all those years ago. Before your class I was a school avoider, and used to protest when my mum would try to drag me in each morning. But something changed that year in your classroom, I began to not only enjoy school, but I began to believe in myself and my capabilities. I wasn't the prettiest child, or the most agile, but through your investment in me as an individual, like all the individual pupils you have ever taught, I found my niche as more of an academic than athlete!

From that point I always wanted to be a teacher, as I loved being in a classroom. And that's what I did. I went to the University to study Sociology and have been teaching in secondary schools in and around Nottingham before settling into my current role as a Department Head of Sociology at a local college.

So I must thank you, so very much. I don't know what would have happened if I had not had you as my teacher all those years ago. I can only hope that I might have even half the impact you have had on my own students......”

It was, of course, very touching to read this – like the first mail it really did bring a tear to my eye – and as I read it I realised how little we really know of other people. I remember this young lady well; as an 11 year old she was hard working, quiet and unassuming but I never once realised what was going on in the background to her school life, never suspected the disenchantment that she had with school and never knew what an impact I had unwittingly had upon her. It was, as a say, humbling and at the same time more than a little daunting to realise that such is the impact that we can, for good or ill, have upon the lives of others – even when we do not suspect it. Of course, as a teacher it is maybe easier to cite these examples. I’m sure that every teacher can quote similar cases – dealing with people is the stock in trade of a teacher so it is not unreasonable to assume that we will have  a personal effect on those we deal with. For others it may not be so easy, but, I believe it is still true – that everyone, no matter what their job, position or role in society will be impacted by and impact upon others in ways they might never imagine. I have been reminded of this in the past day or so.

Perhaps my most enduring and still haunting memory of my childhood is of myself sitting, late at night, at the top of the stairs, tears streaming down my face, as I listened to increasingly acrimonious arguments taking place downstairs. This was not infrequent – it was part of the weekly ritual of my childhood. Although I loved my mother dearly, I knew (even as a child) that she was not the easiest of women and my father, a mild man seemed to take these verbal assaults by my mother as a fact of life. Whatever my father did it seemed (and still seems) to me he could not win; in her eyes he was always to blame for the family’s trials and tribulations. One of the frequent causes of arguments was about the family car. We were not well off and each car we owned was long past its best. Fortunately dad was knowledgeable about cars and engines and could always manage to keep the "old banger" on the road. If, however there were problems then it was always dad’s fault; if the car was off the road and so not available to take mother shopping or to work then it was his fault “for always messing about with it” or if he had to buy a new part to repair it he was “wasting money that we can’t afford on your toy” . He couldn’t win whatever he did.

These arguments, and the way in which the car was so often a touchstone for anger and bitterness, had an impact upon me which lasts to this day. I will always shy away from angry disputes - preferring to withdraw into myself and back off before things escalate into an argument. And since those childhood days, I have always had a huge anxiety about cars and their maintenance. When Pat and I married and got our first car – and every car since – having the car serviced or doing some repair work on it has always been a concern: how much will it cost, will the job be bigger than I anticipated, will the car be alright when the repair is done? If I took my car to the garage for a service then my heart would be in my mouth as I waited for the phone call to say that the work had been carried out and that all was well. Often, when we were younger I would do the work myself to save money, but then spend the next few days and weeks worrying that I had done it properly and that the car was working properly and would not let us down. And all the time, over all the years when I took my car to the garage for its service or repair, deep in the dark recesses of my mind I could still hear my mother’s angry voice hectoring my father for the time and money that he spent on the old cars that we owned in the 1950s and 60s. Even now when I have two new cars sitting on my drive those unpleasant childhood memories still gnaw away at the back of my mind – are the cars running well, will they need work done on them, how much will it cost, how long will they be off the road? All totally irrational and unnecessary but, never the less, an ever present anxiety.

But, about thirty five years ago my anxieties were lessened considerably. I needed a repair done on a car that we owned at the time and I was recommended by a neighbour to take it to the local village garage rather than use bigger garages in the area. I did so and a mechanic came onto the forecourt to look at the old mini while I began to explain what was wrong. Before I could complete my explanation the mechanic smiled and told me what the problem was. a common one that he had seen many times before. He switched on the engine and anticipating what I was going to say confirmed what needed to be done. Yes, he could fix it easily within an hour or so – it was no problem to him. Barrie was about my age, his overalls covered in oil and an oily flat cap perched upon his head. “Bring the car round tomorrow and I’ll do it for you” he smiled. “How much will it cost”? I asked nervously. He gave me a rough estimate and promised that it wouldn’t be more. The next day I took my car in – anxious about what would happen. It would be ready early in the afternoon I was informed and so for the rest of that morning I worried that it would cost more than anticipated or that the repair would fail. Early in the afternoon I returned and as I turned the corner where the garage stood there was my little mini waiting for me. Barrie took me out to the car explained that he done the work and then listed several other minor adjustments that he had made and which needed doing – and all for the price he had quoted. This might seem an everyday thing, but at the time it was important to me – for some reason I felt that I could trust this man and the work that he did.

For the next 30 plus years or so Barrie serviced my cars. This little oil stained man with his flat cap cared for all the vehicles that he serviced like a nurse might tend her patients – knowing every little detail and quirk of each. If he happened to be on the garage forecourt as I drove on he would greet me by telling me what was wrong and what needed to be done to the car before I had the time to get the words out; like Sherlock Holmes he could pick up the tiniest of clues to home in on the facts of the case! And it was always the same as that first visit – when one went collect the car there were always little extras done without asking and all with a very careful explanation of what and how work had been done – and what I should look for in the future. Barrie wasn’t just a skilled mechanic – he was a born communicator: always a ready smile, a man who loved his job, a craftsman and someone who was a perfectionist. Nothing left his care until it was working perfectly. Of course, what I had discovered was what many others already knew – Barrie’s work was legendary in the area. That was why the little back street garage was always busy and so highly thought of. Each time I drove my car off the forecourt I felt that I was sitting in a new car. No longer was getting the car serviced or repaired a thing to be feared.

Where I usually met Barrie - on the garage forecourt

And so the years passed and then about seven or eight years ago Barrie announced his retirement. A collection was made at the garage and I know that many, like me where delighted to contribute something for this man who had served us so well. Many, like me, asked Barrie if he would continue to service our cars privately now that he had left the garage’s employ but he steadfastly and rightly refused – he didn’t want to upset his former employer. But, it came as no surprise to anyone when, a couple of years later, the owner of the garage decided to retire himself and sell the business. Barrie’s retirement had hit the garage hard. It was sad because the garage was a good place; the other mechanics were excellent but Barrie had that little indefinable extra and had almost proved himself irreplaceable. When Barrie left so too did many customers. Gordon, the owner, couldn’t find anyone to quite replace the smiling, chatty, oil covered little man in the flat cap.

For the past few years Barrie and I have occasionally met on the village High Street or on the Village Green – he often walking his little dog. We would pass the time of day, talk about cars or complain about the weather, the wayward youth of the village or about our latest holiday – two grumpy old men setting the world to rights. But recently, as my back pain has increased, I get out less and when I do see him he seems no longer the smiling, chatty man that I once knew, who would talk so enthusiastically and knowledgably about cars and engines and gearboxes. The years, as they have for me, have caught up with him. How quickly the merry-go-round of life turns!

I saw him a day or two ago as I walked home from the doctor's surgery and as I walked up my road I reflected how Barrie would probably never realise how he had, unknowingly and without intention, impacted upon my life and made my life in a small way so different. No longer did I worry in quite the same way about keeping the cars maintained – deep down I knew that the real or perceived problems associated with my cars could and would be fixed by someone who I learned to trust implicitly; an activity that had once been a worry was now less so. Barrie, a gentle, unassuming man would, I know, be embarrassed by me paying him this compliment – for him it was just his job, and a job that he loved, but just his job. He would say that he was just a car mechanic, not clever or special; but he was special and it was how he did his job that made  him so and which made the difference - and in a way that he never anticipated or intended. He wasn’t just repairing my car but by his actions and manner repairing me too! It didn’t make my anxieties and gremlins disappear completely but boy, did it help for I knew now that even though I might still hear my mother’s hectoring words in the middle of the night, car repairs were no longer a thing to dread – Barrie, I knew, would quietly, professionally and enthusiastically solve everything and in doing so give what I can only describe as peace of mind. He had the car mechanic’s equivalent of a doctor’s “bedside manner” – no matter the problem he could allay fears and put it all into a positive perspective. To many that may seem trivial and silly – and I know that my stupid anxieties were, and are, just that, stupid and silly. But what seems to me to be not trivial or silly is the fact that all of us, in our dealings with others can and do have effects and impacts that we never planned or intended and which, whether we like it or not, do make a lasting impression for good or ill on those that we meet. Maybe there is an important life lesson in that for us all.