The Jobless Majority

There are several things they don't tell you in University. That's a whole other blog post, spread over a variety of topics. This is just for one.

Things that they don't tell you in University #63; Teaching is exceptionally difficult to get into. As the jobs market has become tougher for everyone, it feels even more difficult again for those of us who entered our three- and four- year degrees with the idea, and the promise, that we would walk into a job. When I entered training, golden handshakes were still commonplace. Then, the world crashed around us, and the recession begun. Now, less than half of all NQTs secure jobs in their first year (cite).

I found it particularly difficult. I trained in London, but I had grown restless of the city. The things that drew me to London were no longer appealing, and I moved back to be closer to my parents in Peterborough.

I applied for 73 jobs. I was interviewed for 12. I got no offers. Over and over again, I was told that my experience let me down. I know that for at least 3 of those interviews, it was a ruse. That I had made a mistake, or that they were looking for a certain candidate with qualities that I did not possess (in one instance, it was simply that I was not a man!)

I was forced to do supply work, and did so for two solid terms. It was really difficult to get into, I had to badger almost constantly for work until I got a few places, and once I did reports coming back from schools were good. That held me through and kept the money coming in. It also built up a strong reputation for my ability to teach.

Eventually, I got a call from my agent. She had a full time teaching post. It was one term only and I would still work for the agency, but I would have my own class. It was almost perfect. And that has led me to be where I am now, teaching in March and loving my work. But, I knew it was simply a temporary contract, and that in July, it would come to an end.

No more; As of yesterday, I was invited to become part of the teaching team at the school, employed by the school and as a full time member of staff. My NQT year will be completed and I am no longer part of the jobless majority.

It feels so good. But I will never underestimate again just how incredibly difficult it was to get here. My sympathise are with everyone still going through it, including several friends.

Why teach?

I'm often asked, particularly while still jobhunting, why I want to be a teacher.

I could tell you one side of the truth. I could feed off the cliché about how I always wanted to a be a teacher. And, apart from a small stint which led to a desire to be a vet (what can I say? I was the animal hospital generation), it's true. I have always wanted to teach. I was the child who lined her stuffed toys up and took registers. I controlled groups of children during free choice at school. I can't recall ever wanting to be anything else, at least without the influence of Rolf Harris.

However, I can pin my true desire to teach, that lightbulb moment, to one single incident on a school experience. In the middle of a maths lesson, one child in my focus group looked directly at me and asked one simple question;

"What does the number 5 taste like?"

Children are naturally divergent thinkers. They don't just think outside the box, they haven't even developed a box yet. Society does that to them, it builds their box. It's strangely tragic. It's that divergent thinking that I love in children. If I could invite the public to come and sit in my classroom, to talk to my class about what they think about the world and where they think society is heading, I would. Recently, I've discussed the logistics of keeping bear cubs as pets, why dogs don't eat pizza and what would happen if people could literally steal the things you drew. If we all listened to children more, perhaps the world would be a more peaceful, harmonious place.

I think a big part of what is needed in the world is the bravery to ask what a number tastes like. And that is why I'm a teacher.

Oh, and five tastes like strawberries and meringue. Much like eton mess.