Part 54: Thursday, 24th March 1960, 9.30p.m.

Have been officially transferred to Divisional Staff. There has been correspondence between MacGowan, the D.I., and the D.O. and myself, they “noting my willingness to teach general subjects,” I insisting that I want to teach French and English among the “general subjects.” I don’t know whether  my new state (teaching “general subjects” in a secondary school) will be better than my present condition, but I feel I can’t carry on another term with my present class. A humiliating experience the other day. Trying to line the class up quietly in the corridor, before going up to Assembly, I “saw red” when young Kenny Storey – one of my nicer kids – carried on talking after I had yelled at them to keep quiet. I smacked him hard on the bare thigh, with an unexpected reaction. He howled and writhed (he’s a tough footballer, from whom I hadn’t expected it). I took the kids up, and then came down to find the bird had flown. Late in the afternoon Mrs S. came up, not abusive, foul-mouthed, as I had feared, but obviously tensed (I was trying to line up my 30+ 3A & 3B boys ready to go down to P.E., perhaps this was of some psychological advantage, as it perhaps showed that conditions were trying). Anyway, I referred her to Burden. He called me up at 4.30 p.m. & very loyally supported me, “leading” me with Q.C.’s skill (” so you were defying Mr Witriol, weren’t you, Kenny?”). Kenny, to his credit, admitted his guilt (though Heaven knows I have passed over more heinous offences innumerable times) and so the incident was closed. Kenny, I omitted to say, had a bruise on his thigh.

The sort of thing one ought to be able to write up; the aggrieved Mum, the assaulted youth, the young Headmaster, the teacher trembling for his job. However, one hasn’t the ability, c’est tout, but what one ought to have learnt from the incident – and what I think I must try to learn, after over ten years’ teaching, is on no account to strike a pupil, unless “regularly,” i.e., entering punishment, by cane or hand in approved manner, in punishment book. Fortunately, with secondary school kids it will be more difficult to slap them (long trousers), one can push their heads if provoked, but one must just try to platz and platz and platz – and then go home and forget about it. One of the women in the staff room mentioned that there was a Civil Service competition for mature (40-50) entrants – would I not find it more congenial? Salary starts at £700. Out, of course (but if allowances are made for approved experience and one could start at £1000, say – with non-contributory pension – one would certainly think about it). Read The Unspeakable Skipton by – forgotten her name – C.P.Snow’s wife – Monica Chapman? – good; the author manqué scrounging in Bruges ( an unusual milieu, which she does well, with touches of authentic-sounding Flemish).

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Part 53: Sunday, 13th March 1960, 8.35p.m.

Mr Balin died, after much suffering and hospitalisation. The internment at Marlow Rd. cemetery. Mick and Sam comported themselves very well; Mick tall, thin, Roman-ascetic, in regulation bowler; Sam more rounded. Newman, the G/G synagogue minister said it was not permitted to deliver a hesped [eulogy] on Purim, but gave a short hesped (a zchiss [honour] which the deceased earned by virtue of Mick’s wardenship of the G/G synagogue.

Dined with E. yesterday at Gennaro’s [?] & saw Irma La Douce; our wedding anniversary celebration. E. enjoyed the lights and the general living it up; Leicester Square on a Saturday night is a fine place to be away from.

Am teaching French Monday evening’s at Church St, English for foreigners (mostly middle-aged Hungarian Jewesses) at Woodberry Down on Tuesday evenings, and E. for F. (mostly German/Austrian domestics) at Southgate on Wednesdays. Will carry on this term, but must drop at least one class for the summer term, when I am due to teach at a secondary school.

Received a letter asking me to do a light article on “Mechutanship” [mechutan =Yiddish term for your child’s parent-in-law] or something similar for a J.C. “Brides and Homes” supplement. Concocted a “Letter to a Baal Simcha” which duly appeared; “rotten she-b’rotten” said my mother. I agree, but I have a family to feed, and cannot afford any never-publish-anything-beneath-his-own-highest-level nonsense.