Mrs O'Shea

The first 5 minutes of every class are always my favourite, for the same reason that, for most teachers, they are like nails on a chalkboard.

Chaos.

The destructive flow of children storming in opposite directions. The deafening excitement of being free from the torture of education, if only till they reach the next room. It’s a sensory overload. One we don’t have the mental space for when attempting to prepare for the next lesson. While we all wait for the stragglers to finally arrive, that is when the class is completely unrestricted. They sit in their assigned seats, stationery out and ready, but it’s as if I do not exist before the lesson begins. They squabble and laugh without a single look in my direction. I always let this excitement play out for about 5 minutes because amidst that chaos are moments of complete insignificance that I can’t help but hear.

Like how my year 9 student Lily has a new baby brother. Or how Harry from 7A has moved house and he is, of course, thrilled as it moves him within walking distance of Jack’s, his best friend from 7B.

So, naturally, I’ve developed the habit of observing. Some would call this eavesdropping, but I think most would agree that it is extremely hard not to hear something when it is being said two feet away from you. So let’s call it observing, it sounds nicer anyway.

I know it's a little pathetic to be so invested in the lives of my students, and I promise I do have a life of my own, but putting the pieces together from the little snippets that I hear in those 5 minutes, it’s almost like a game. And although I feign indifference, I do enjoy this game I have created.

But today, amidst the commotion, a topic arose that made it quite hard to maintain this facade of indifference.

‘Did you have Mrs O’Shea today?’ The question came from Annie in the second row, leaning back to the girls behind her. Her hair cascaded down the back of her chair.

‘I was meant to have her 4th period, but some other teacher took the lesson. Don’t think I’ve seen her here before’

‘Yeah, we were meant to have her last lesson but we had a sub too’.

‘I guess, she’s probably ill’.

‘Wait! No way! Is that the new —’

And that was the end of it. These conversations are happening all at once so the children tend to get distracted and move on swiftly. They have a lot to cover in these 5 minutes, you see.

The teacher in question is one I’d say I’m quite close to and I’d like to think she’d say the same. May, as I call her when not with the children, joined around the same time as me. It was oddly ironic how we clung to one another just like two new girls in a school where everybody knows everybody already. Needless to say, we became quite close over time, which is why this short discussion caught my attention. I met her when she was still Ms Jackson and she got married a year after she joined the school. I told her not to marry him, not because he wasn’t any good, he’s actually quite sweet, but because what kind of name is May O’Shea?!

But we have no time to reminisce. The 5 minutes are up and the game must come to an end.

‘Alright, everyone!’ I always use the same phrase. I know it must drive them crazy but, what can I say, it’s another habit. ‘Let’s get started. We have a lot to cover today.’

I thought that would be the end of it. A teacher being off for a day or two is not cause for much excitement, but it does break the illusion that teachers exist only within school walls. We only had to reach day 3 of no Mrs O’Shea for theories to start forming.

‘I bet she’s on holiday’

‘But I saw her coughing loads last week. So, what if she’s ill? Not like a cold, but, you know, something bad.’

‘I don’t think she’d go on holiday just before our exams.’

‘Miss? Do you know where she is?’

It was Alexander who brought me into the discussion. I usually play my little game of observation while marking some homework so it's hard to keep up with who the speakers are in each overlapping conversation. But I knew it was Alexander before I even looked up from my work. He acts as the spokesperson for my year 7 class. Every set of new year 7s are mostly too scared to ask a single question, so they very quickly and subconsciously elect a leader. Alexander wasn’t loud or popular, but he wasn’t self-conscious either and that’s what got him this unspoken position. I’ve often noticed the collective sigh of relief when Alexander asks the question that everyone was silently thinking and that is exactly what happened here. The children know that I am friends with Mrs O’Shea, but would never dare ask me about my friendship with her. As I said, teachers are simply robots kept there to discipline children and drive them to boredom.

‘Do I know where who is, Alexander?’ I asked, feigning ignorance as is always necessary.

‘Mrs O’Shea, the geography teacher’

‘I don’t know I’m afraid’. I did know and they knew that too.

‘But-’

‘My lips are sealed, Alexander.’

A disgruntled noise came from multiple students. It surprised me how curious they were about the situation. This reaction may give you the impression that Mrs O'Shea is a sweet and gentle creature that all students can't help but fall in love with. But this is not true. Well not during school time anyway. She is witty and caring as a friend but as a teacher? She's brutal. It is said that she hands out the most detentions in the school. So it's safe to say I was not expecting so much interest in her whereabouts.

But by day 5 the rumours started getting out of hand. I was sitting at my desk getting my PowerPoint up and listening to the kids argue about which football team was going to win this weekend, when, from the corner of the room, someone said-

‘I heard that she’s pregnant’.

Once you get to the year 10s and 11s pregnancy is always the first rumour to spread about any situation. It was the go-to answer, so I didn’t think much of it until someone replied -

‘Oh come on. We’d notice a bump or something before she went on maternity leave.’

Were they talking about a teacher? There were no teachers on maternity leave that I was aware of.

‘You could totally tell she’s put on some weight recently.’ Oh Lord, kids are brutal. I thought it would be best the 5 minutes end early this time.

‘Alright everyone…’

--

Now after a whole week off, we have people sure that Mrs O’Shea has cancer. Just like the older kids’ immediate conclusion is pregnancy, the younger kids always assume cancer. Where is the basis for such a conclusion? She wore a hat a couple of times, so that must mean she is losing hair and everyone knows that hair loss = cancer. The drama here is quite entertaining.

And the curiosity only escalated after the weekend.

Day 6 of no Mrs O’Shea.

Coffee in one hand, a requirement after 3 hours of teaching, and phone in the other, I went backwards through the big double doors marking the staff room. They are always heavier than you expect them to be, so after a couple of embarrassing spilt coffees and dropped books, I’ve learnt that this is the best method. Turning into the staff room, I hear -

‘Well, I think she was fired…’

And then silence.

It was fairly clear to me that such a conversation was not meant for my ears, but by stopping so abruptly they had simply brought it to my attention. It seems the teachers are just as bad as the children. I walked to one of the seats in the corner of the room, and sat down, choosing to ignore the questionable stain beneath me. It’s as if it’s a requirement for all school furniture to have physical evidence of their past story. A story you will never want to hear. But after hours of teaching, I’m afraid your standards drop and anything will do if it means you’re off your feet.

I was well aware of all the eyes following me. Waiting to see if I would give them anything, even a morsel of information. But I kept my eyes glued to my phone and continued checking my emails.

Once it was clear that I was not interested in being a part of such gossip, the silence devolved into careful whispers.

‘You know what? I haven’t seen her husband in a while. I think it’s divorce.’

‘Poor thing. She probably needs some time off.’

‘No. She’s definitely gone to St Mary’s. Have you heard how much they are paying their teachers? I might join her.’

Every minute or so, one of them would look in my direction in an attempt to gauge my reaction to each theory. Ms Taylor, the English teacher, would lean forward ever so slightly in my direction. Mr Williams did not try to hide his curiosity. He looked straight at me, chin up as if he had a right to such information and I was keeping it from him.

I simply pulled out my phone and chuckled to myself.

6 days off and the kids think you’re dying

The teachers think you’re getting a divorce.

You better get back soon