This is story #43 in the series “Where Exactly is Home?”. The author recommends you read them in order.
Introduction:
“Where Exactly is Home?” follows the story of my parents, my two younger brothers and me, Susan, who emigrated from war-battered Britain, in the mid-late 1950’s, to Southern Rhodesia, Africa.
The effects of this move on our family were huge, as we struggled to adapt to such a different way of life. Only after further upheaval, and more long-distance travelling, did our family eventually settle in the city of Salisbury, Rhodesia.
However, we did not know then that we would not remain there for the rest of our lives, either.
When the family first went to Africa, I, Susan, was 9 years old. My two brothers, John and Peter, were almost 7 and 4, respectively.
Nowadays, as seniors, John and Peter live in England. I live in Canada. Throughout our lives, we have both benefitted from, and suffered because of, our somewhat unusual childhood.
I, for one, still sometimes ask myself which country represents home to me.
This is a series of stories under the title “Where Exactly is Home?” – I recommend you read them in order, starting with story #1.
43. Post-Graduate Confusion and My First Teaching Practicum
What was I going to do now that I had my Honours Degree in French? What was I going to do with my Subsidiary Subject of Latin?! Had taking Latin been a crazy choice on my part? Not, really, I decided, because it would be my second teaching subject, and it was still offered in schools, albeit only to the most academic students.
My university professors were urging me to take a Master’s degree, to be followed by a Doctorate, with a view to becoming a university lecturer or professor. However, I didn’t want to spend another three or more years studying. I had long since realized that I wanted to be a high school teacher. So, instead, as I had always intended, I enrolled for a Post-Graduate Certificate of Education (PGCE), a one-year course which would qualify me as a high school teacher.
This year would be very different from my previous years at university. I was not going to live in residence, since I knew that the course consisted of two parts: Theory (lectures, seminars, written assignments) and Practical Teaching. This latter involved two placements, several weeks in duration, in different high schools in Salisbury, where I would practise teaching under the watchful eye of an established teacher. He or she would be grading me for my performance and reporting back to my university professors.
So, I decided not to live in the university residence. I could cut down on my expenses by living at home. I could rely on my parents to take me to university in the morning when I was attending lectures, and to bring me back home at the end of their working day. For my teaching practice positions, I could get a ride in and out of Salisbury either with my parents, or with my brother Peter who had the use of my father’s motorbike. Since the school day ended much earlier than the workday, and Peter, at almost 17, was in his last year at school, he could collect me on the motorbike and bring me home.
So began my fourth year at university, with more studying and more assignments. My first practicum was assigned. I found myself teaching at Prince Edward High School at the very school in which Peter was a student, in his final year, the Upper Sixth. I was going to be teaching at all levels, so I would soon be standing in front of his class!
I loved every second of teaching and did all sorts of fun things with the students, teaching them in different ways, often with an element of drama involved. I enjoyed turning the classroom for the younger students, boys aged 13, into a Parisian café/restaurant. Normally, the classroom in this very old school, with its equally old, creaky, wooden floorboards, was a pretty bleak place. Rows of old wooden desks all faced a raised wooden dais with a large desk, behind which the teacher stood.
