Aristotle once said, ‘Give me a child until he is seven and l will show you the man.’ In a similar vein, I hazard to suggest that ‘give me a stock cupboard and I’ll show you the school’.
The stock cupboard is the educational equivalent of the Ark of the Covenant, promising rich rewards but not without peril. Some remain mysteriously locked until the stars align, requiring a complicated validation system that no one understands but dare not admit. Until Christmas forces the issue, that is. Others flatter to deceive with their openness. An unlocked stock cupboard is something of an oxymoron; naturally there is no stock. Only second-hand beige manila folders remain. A year’s supply of Pritt Sticks has been lifted faster than you can say Wingardium Leviosa.
Quite what happens to the aforementioned Pritt Sticks is a modern-day conundrum akin to the Big Bang. No-one knows, even when item 16a on the staff meeting agenda brings out the Deputy’s inner Spanish Inquisitor. Regardless, Class 3H usually seem to have their very own portal in space and time through which they materialise (eventually). Naturally, Mrs H has no knowledge of this, yet her epic corridor ‘Victorian Cameo’ display tells a different story.
Mrs H is guilty. Of wanting the very best for her class. I’m not sure that is a crime. If it is, it’s a crime against mediocrity, and she’s not alone. Teachers do what they can, by any means possible to provide for their pupils. It might be Pritt Sticks, it might be breakfast, or maybe love and affection. It isn’t always by the book. Because there isn’t a manual. Teachers don’t teach lessons, they teach children, which means freestyling is essential. You never quite know what the day’s going to bring. Best be prepared – or even over-prepared. Without something in reserve, you’re running on empty; you give it all.
Which is of course, why those who know hold you in the highest stock, cupboard or not.