By

Craig Ennew

—

Twenty-Eight: Schools for Thought

This week: Craig gets back on the interview treadmill

Reader, it has been a couple of weeks since I’ve posted an update on All Going South regarding my family’s move to Dorset. This necessitates a brief précis of all things that have passed.

The story so far

April 2024: We decide upon living in West Lulworth, Dorset, having confirmed that a land-based education in nearby Dorchester is the right one for The Boy’s transition to secondary education.

June 2024: We put our house in Kings Road, Salisbury on the market, deciding that, if The Boy schools in Dorset, we’re all in Dorset.

September 2024: The Boy starts at his new school. My wife begins a new job in Blandford, to be nearer to The Boy.

January 2025: Our purchase of The Shack in West Lulworth completes (see One: Funky Little Shack and Three: Bland Designs) to accommodate our Dorset-bound dreams. The sale of Kings Road in Salisbury also goes through. Acts of kindness bring temporary accommodation in Worth Matravers, while The Shack gets a much-deserved makeover.

So. To pick up…

…The last piece of the jigsaw

Until recently, I have been the last piece of the jigsaw (albeit a piece lodged down the back of the sofa) commuting between Salisbury and South Dorset on a daily basis. This is unsustainable: while the commute is tolerable – a lot more so now that there is daylight either end – the need for the three of us to be closer becomes apparent with the passing of each week.

But change won’t be easy. I have been in the same job for 33 years. Subsequently, I had written off being accepted by another school a good ten years ago. The upside of this is imagining I never have to face another job interview before finally retiring.

All the World’s a Classroom

Shakespeare famously writes about the “Seven Ages of Man”. Similarly, popular opinion dictates that there are Five Ages of Teachers. As the self-proclaimed Purbeck Bard, I have penned my own version. You might imagine where I’d place myself in this model.

All the world’s a classroom,
And all the men and women merely teachers;
They have their bells and their whistles;
And each teacher in their career has one term,
That term being five lessons. At first the Newbie,
A-feared and cowering on the morning chime;
And then the Climber, with their planner
And shiny Moss Bross suit, stomping with Starbucks Over the aspirations of others. And then the Cynic,
Sighing in the back row of eternal INSETs,
Patch’d of elbow, mocking those more wet behind the ear. Then a counsellor,
Full of strange advice, friend of the Cotton Trader,
Seeking the next holiday
Beyond each endless term. The fifth age slinks
Into the lean and slipper’d retiree,
With spectacles on nose and walking poles,
Poised to enter Oblivion. Sans bells, sans marking, sans everything.

It seems, then, that Fate has challenged me to divert from this path; She will not let me see out the final stages at a sedentary pace.

The interviews

Pouring over the last flurry of the year’s ‘Head of English’ jobs advertised in the Times Educational Supplement, I circle suitable positions and, for the first time in decades, prepare for interviews. Three interviews in three very different schools.

Sitting in the headteacher’s office in said patched jacket, looking across at two people 20 years my junior dressed in sharp suits, I realise I am never going to get the “Lead Practitioner” job at the Multi-Academy Trust school. Asked what I think of the Year 10 classes I’ve just observed, I mutter, somewhat unwisely, that “I’d like to see a few more smiles on the kids’ faces.” Taxi for Ennew.

Things fare better at a small comprehensive in Swanage. Celebrating individuality and diversity, the school’s ethos is more about well-being than results. They may not get the superb GCSE results of the MAT, but the place sings. I’ve never visited a more joyful school and it’s one I’d happily send The Boy to if things didn’t work out where he is. Sadly for me, though, they’re not quite as happy with me as I am with them.

My third interview is in one of the largest independent schools in the south west. It is hugely impressive on every level and it’s difficult not to feel slightly in awe as I drive through the impressive grounds. Thankfully, this place accepts my tweed attire and green Doc Marten shoes. The observed lesson goes well and, at interview, I seem to strike a rapport with the various members of staff I meet. I’m offered the position and gratefully accept.

So the daily commute will be halved. My mum and sister live in Salisbury still, so I shall be returning on a regular basis. But our home and working lives are now to be firmly Dorset-based. Three-decade old ties with a cathedral city are finally to be severed.

The final piece of the jigsaw is now in situ.

©Craig Ennew 2025

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