Four Yorkshire Teachers

 

Our Christmas Eve Blog! For light entertainment in the form of a script. Please read in a Northern accent with a hearty amount of tongue in cheek.

With apologies to Monty Python. For those too young to know who Monty Python was, here is the original!

 

 

Mr Hutton:                   End of t’ school day! There is something magical about seeing all those little kiddies with smiles on their faces, rushing out to their mams and dads isn’t there Mr Boycott.

Mr Boycott:                 Aye Mr Hutton. That and t’ looks of abject horror on t’ parents faces when they see all the reading, and times tables, and words in French, parlez-vous Francais, that they have to learn by the end of t’ week.

Mr Hutton:                   I asked mine to learn ‘clairvoyant’.

Mr Boycott:                 They didn’t see that one coming.

Mr Hutton:                   I’m just making a brew. Would you like one?

Mr Boycott:                 Aye Mr Hutton. Best drink of t’ day! Very gracious of you! I said very gracious of you.

Mrs Close:                   And if you’re doing a pot, don’t forget me and Miss Trueman.

Mr Hutton:                   Will do Mrs Close, will do!

Mr Boycott:                 You’re looking glum lass! What’s bothering ye?

Miss Trueman:            I’ve been trolled on Twitter. I posted a picture of some lovely creative work in groups and some triple marking in green, pink and purple. I had thirty people I don’t know telling me they should be sat in rows while I imparted t’knowledge and mared everything with a big tick.

Mr Hutton:                  Folk with too much time on their hands lass!

Miss Trueman:           At least I didn’t send that picture of us hugging trees. That would have sent them apoplectic!

Mr Boycott:                 In my day we had to troll by pigeon!

Mr Hutton:                  Carrier pigeon?

Mr Boycott:                 Aye!

Mr Hutton:                 Luxury! We had to read t’message, slaughter t’pigeon in cold blood, roast it over an open fire and carry on trolling with smoke signals!

Mrs Close:                   A real fire! We had to send our smoke signals with damp matches and a rolled up Daily Mirror.

Miss Trueman:           What’s really getting me down is t’work. Having to get this class to Expecting t’expected standard just to get my pay rise.

Mrs Close:                   Fair play lass! You don’t get owt for nowt in this game.

Miss Trueman:            I know that Mrs Close, but I’m already working 21 hours a day and paying t’ Head teacher for t’ privilege.

Mr Hutton:                   I was reading that we are only going to get more cash if t’ whole school results improve.

Mrs Close:                   Not a problem Mr Hutton. I haven’t got any more of those ‘Working towards Working up to Developing of the Expected Standards’ in my class this year!

Mr Boycott:                 What have ye done with them? Locked them in t’ cupboards like t’ last time?

Mrs Close:                   No! I’ve moved them?

Miss Trueman:            Moved them! What on earth do you mean?

Mrs Close:                   Not actually physically moved them per se! My youngest son Richard the third (pause) of my children is a genius on t ‘interweb. He hacked int’ t’ database of t’ local authority and gave them all a new post code. They’ve all had to leave, and all get bussed of to Manchester!

Mr Hutton:                   Best place for them I say! I said best place for them.

Mr Boycott:                 But your class is full Mrs Close.

Mrs Close:                   Aye Mr Boycott it is. Of ‘Exceeding t’Development of ‘Greatest Depth’ children. Our Richard hacked t’ details of t’ posh school up t’ road. All those kids from t’ private estate at top of hill have got to come here now.

Miss Trueman:             You mean with t’ dads who speak like William Hague and t’ mums who sound like Dame Judi Dench.

Mrs Close:                   That’s them pet. All in my class now. Boosting standards and meeting targets. My pay rise is in t’ bag lass.

Mr Hutton:                   You’re a canny one Mrs Close! I said you’re a canny one! Wouldn’t you agree Mr Boycott?

Mr Boycott:                 Aye you’re right there Mr Hutton. Is that why we haven’t been turned into an academy yet?

Miss Trueman:            Has teaching always been like this Mr Hutton?

Mr Hutton:                   No lass! I remember when we didn’t have to set a target for t’ number of times a child used the –oo- sound in a book.

Mr Boycott:                 That’s nothing! I recall when there wasn’t a National Curriculum and we could teach whatever we wanted. I remember teaching nothing but the works of The Brontes and Alan Bennett for a whole year.

Mrs Close:                   In them days I would keep a field trip on t’ moors for two weeks without a worry for risk assessments or Health and Safety.

Mr Hutton:                  In a tent!

Mrs Close:                   Aye!

Mr Hutton:                   You were lucky! I once re-enacted t’ Battle of Marston Moor on the playground in a force 9 gale, in full battle dress and with replica weaponry.

Mr Boycott:                 Me too. Battle of Wakefield! Wooden replicas?

Mr Hutton:                   Aye!

Mr Boycott:                 Luxury! We had original axe heads! And a pot of glue to stick t’kids ears back on!

Mrs Close:                   Right! I remember when I could get in here at 9 o’clock just as t’ kids were arriving, have a fag in t’ staffroom, meet t’ inspectors for a pie, a pint and a game of darts, not fear for your job, give t’ kids a clip round t’ ear for being cheeky, just give a big tick for your marking, and go home at the same time as your class.

Mr Hutton:                   Aye! Them were the days!

Mr Boycott:                 And you try and tell the young teachers of today that ….. they won’t believe you.

 

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