It was a tradition at my school, as I expect it is in many schools, to celebrate the end of our year six children's time with us with some events at the end of the summer term.
This usually involved their families, too. I remember one year during the annual parents versus children rounders match when the adult team—and let's be honest, it was the dads—took it so seriously that they thrashed the children so badly that the class teacher ended up having to have a strong word with them.
Things were even more interesting a couple of years ago when we were particularly pleased to say goodbye to some of the parents. It wasn't just the relationship between school and parents that had been challenging; we were also aware that some of the parents really didn't get on!
The first event we had to negotiate was the leaver's lunch. This was one of my favourite traditions and involved the children planning and cooking a meal, which was then shared between all the families of the children who were moving on to secondary school. This year was slightly different, though, as it was the first time that we needed to have a seating plan for the parents in order to not only keep certain people apart but also to keep certain people out of each other's eyeline. This included at least two separated couples. We got through it, though, albeit with a few stressful moments and a couple of slightly raised voices.
It was then on to the village hall for our leavers service. This involved the children reciting a speech that they had written about their favourite memories of their time at our school. As the head teacher, I would also speak, as would the class teacher. We would then present the children with gifts to remember the school by. It was usually quite an emotional occasion, and the children regularly failed to finish their speeches due to being overcome by tears.
This year, though, when I arrived at the village hall, there was a different vibe. As the class teacher and I led the children into the hall, the atmosphere was more like a football match than a primary school event. Before we could start, one of the parents approached me and asked to speak to me outside. They then explained that there had been an incident whilst the parents were gathering outside the hall and that two mums had got into a shouting match. They informed me that one of the mums involved was hiding in toilets in tears.
I knew we had a lot to get through, so I asked the class teacher to start the service and decided to go and speak to the parent myself. After some gentle coaxing, she came out of the toilet to chat. She was clearly very upset, and at that point, she informed me that she had called the police and that they were on their way because the other parent had pushed her, which she felt was an assault.
This was going to be interesting! To get into the village hall, you had to walk down a path along its side. There were several large windows next to this path, which meant everyone in the hall could see who was approaching. I could not see a way for us to be able to sort this out without the children and the rest of the parents finding out. I was certainly going to give it a try, though, so I walked up the path and waited for the police. As the name suggested, the village hall was in the middle of a small village, so I had my fingers crossed that the police car did not have its siren on or lights flashing. If it did, the game was truly up.
I waited at the roadside, and around 10 minutes later, a police car pulled up. Thankfully, it did so with very little fuss, and out stepped a serious-looking police officer. I introduced myself and explained what had been going on. Not surprisingly, he wanted to speak to the parent who had called the police. So I politely asked if we could go round the back of the building to avoid being spotted by the families in the hall. He was fine with this, so we entered undetected, where the parent awaited us. We weren't out of the woods, though, as all that separated us from the event that was happening was a curtain pulled across an open door. The usual pattern for events at the hall was for children to keep popping in and out through the curtain to go to the toilet, children being as they are.
At the start of our conversation, the police officer wanted me to go into the hall and bring out the accused person to talk to them. Knowing a little about the volatile character of the individual, I was reluctant. Thankfully, once the parent had explained in a bit more detail what had happened, the police officer agreed. After around twenty minutes, the parent had calmed down, and it had been agreed that the situation would not be taken any further.
The police officer left, again without being noticed, thank goodness, and the parent snuck quietly into the back of a hall to watch the rest of the leavers service. Luckily, it hadn't finished, so I still had time to keep my speech. I did a quick rewrite and then gave the most passive-aggressive speech in history. Although I was talking to the children about the future, in reality, I was addressing this difficult group of parents. The not-so-subtle subtext of what I was saying to the children was, Please don't grow up to be like your parents. To be honest, it was a risky strategy, but it paid off as none of the parents challenged me about what I had said. After the service finished, I scarpered as quickly as I could back to school, fearing that the gathering, would soon be reminiscent of the aftermath of a gypsy wedding!
Luckily, as I did not live near the school, that was the last I saw of some of those parents, and we were able to focus on how lucky we were that things did not get any worse than they did!
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