Farewell: The last way of Queen Elizabeth II. Pall Mall in London decorated with British flags for the funeral ceremony (image: Adobe Stock)
I remember it well, it was 161 days after my successful interview, 154 days after I returned the signed job offer, 9 days after I was handed the keys to “my” school, 7 days after I welcomed “my” brand new staff team to INSET day, 5 days after I stood on the school gate in the morning greeting “my” new pupils with their oversized blazers…
That was the day I became a headteacher.
All the other things were important milestones, and indeed I thought of myself as a headteacher after each one of them. But at the time little did I know the real meaning of what it is to be a headteacher.
The events that led up to this realisation started the evening before, at precisely 6:30pm.
It had been an ordinary day, not that there is such a thing as ordinary when you are a new headteacher on the fourth day of term.
I returned home with my tie askew (the first thing I do when I get in the car to drive home is undo my top button), I dropped my bag at the bottom of the stairs ready to be taken up for my evening shift of catching up on emails.
I had barely opened the living room door when accosted by a chorus of “have you seen the news?” – I stood, open-mouthed as the black-tied news presenter was hosting a conversation with a panel of people I recognised but couldn’t place.
“It’s the Queen, she’s poorly,” shouted my youngest, not really understanding what he was saying but somehow knowing that I would want to know, somehow sensing the gravity of his words.
I stood for what could have been five seconds or five minutes – but somehow, I ended up on the sofa, still with my shoes on and still with my jacket over my arm.
And then the announcement came.
It was 6:30pm on September 8, 2022. The historical context of what I heard overpowered me.
Wall to wall coverage on every channel was absorbed like a sponge – I don’t remember eating but I must have. Then my thoughts turned to the school, “my” school – the “Royal” School for the Deaf Derby.
It was mid-evening – but I needed my senior leadership team and so the emails began. Four days into a new post, what would be the impact of calling an unexpected whole-school assembly? How do I do that? Have we got enough chairs for all the staff and students?
Like thousands of other teachers and headteachers around the country I began work on my presentation and searched online for appropriate images as well as facts and figures.
The day I became a headteacher had subdued beginnings. Everything was sombre and the mood reflective. As I went into school to think about the assembly, I saw that the chairs were being set up diligently by the deputy headteacher without fuss and without being asked.
The next person I saw offered to take on my gate duty because of how busy they saw I was going to be. The flowers I had requested be bought (6:30am plate-spinning moment and subsequent text) were on my desk.
Like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, a magical Fantasia symphony of things appeared – a vase, tablecloth, signed and framed picture of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. My inbox received a grainy video from 1997 when the Queen had visited the school, a YouTube clip of a local performer BSL signing God Save the Queen was shown to me, and a staff member brought in 10 old photographs taken by her father on the day of the Queen’s visit.
Finally, in pride of place, we had the school’s visitor book opened at the page showing not just a signature, but an ornate powerful bold regal autograph written large across the whole page announcing the visit to all.
My planned assembly quickly changed so I could include the more personal images and recollections for the school staff and wider school community.
Within the hour it was ready to go. The school hall was full of students and staff not knowing how to feel, how to react, how to comprehend. But it was full nonetheless. It was an expectant audience yet not exactly knowing what to expect.
I don’t get especially nervous anymore doing assemblies as I generally know what I am saying and, while not over-rehearsing, I do run through things a few times in my head first.
This day was different though. It was my first time in front of all the students and staff and the assembly had only been conceived less than 12 hours earlier (and had been totally revised within the last hour).
The assembly was poignant, reflective, celebratory, and sometimes humourous (thank you Paddington!) – and it turned me into a headteacher.
The whole school takes it lead from the headteacher. You are responsible for setting the tone, the correct tone, the permitted tone.
You stage-manage huge moments in time. You model how to behave, act, respond and feel. You have to touch people with your words.
You take people’s emotions, form them, look after them for a while before carefully handing them back. You are their leader, their teacher, their Headteacher.
That was the day that I became a headteacher, no pomp nor ceremony, no meeting nor decision – but when I looked up and saw the students and staff all fixed and focused on me looking for guidance, well that was the day I understood what it meant.
- Paul Burrows is headteacher of the Royal School for the Deaf Derby.