Newport transporter bridge, Mr B. and Bollocks Bob….
Well, there we were, in summer 2013, having just travelled over the aforementioned Newport transporter bridge, after spending some of our holiday…… looking at transporter bridges. (Yes, really.) (Yes, we are dull.) I rarely get calls on my mobile, but at that moment it rang. That fine colleague of mine (now ex-colleague of course), Mr B. said: “Bollocks Bob has had a heart attack.”
Some background is needed here. Note the narrative device.
Our school had been, to be honest, in trouble. We had fallen from grace. Two strong heads had left their mark and left. We braced ourselves for the new head, who we thought would be a new broom, building on our success and bringing us up to date. We were disappointed. For reasons I will be tactful enough not to detail, it didn’t work. (I suppose I have to take some responsibility, as once upon a time the new head had been a probationer under my year leadership.)
We slid and fell. Inevitably, OFSTED arrived and found us wanting, despite the best efforts of the year leaders, led by Mr B, to convince them otherwise. Inevitably the head left, to be replaced by a new regime. I have summed it up briefly, but the process was prolonged and very unpleasant.
There was one light in the darkness. As the aforementioned new regime could not start for a term, an interim or caretaker head was appointed. Bollocks Bob.
He was a retired head, who had apparently been out on his bike when the call came. He came in tieless- at the time that seemed like a big deal- for the new intake (new parents) evening. I seem to remember that he was bearded, with that slight Father Christmas air some bearded men have. He said hello to everybody and took an interest in everybody, telling me it was important to make everybody feel better about themselves. He came in to our in-service planning day and acquired his nickname when he told us that, in his opinion, “OFSTED is bollocks”. Forever after he was Bollocks Bob. I can’t even remember his surname, even if I think it appropriate to give it.
We very much looked forward to working with him, even just for a term. We felt we would be well prepared for the inevitable changes.
Then came the fateful ‘phone call from Mr B. to say that Bollocks Bob had had a heart attack.
So he never arrived; we never got to work with him; we never got to feel better about ourselves. It was a very trepidacious crew that assembled for the new school year. The new regime arrived and did a very good job rescuing the school, although staff morale did not seem to be a high priority. To be told that “the school seems run more for the benefit of the staff than for the pupils” seemed neither fair or helpful. Nevertheless, OFSTED arrived again and went away as happy as OFSTED ever are. Bollocks Bob, you summed it up.
I am ashamed to say I never found out how Bob was. I don’t even know if he recovered. Perhaps he would have been rubbish, but I somehow think not. I like to imagine that we would have been more upbeat and less frightened with him in charge for a term. OK, I’m not necessarily speaking for anybody except myself. Feel free to substitute “I” for “we”. But for me, he’s the great lost leader.
(To be honest, Newport transporter bridge is quite fun. As the photo shows.)
P.S. After posting this, I looked up “trepidacious”. There is some debate as to whether it should be spelled “trepidatious”, or indeed whether or not it is a real word. It is real, because I just used it and you are so clever that you can understand all the rich nuances of my choice. Or something.