Open Writing

My fears are confirmed when two uniformed police officers walk across the back of the hall while I'm leading assembly, the following day. Oliver's mum had gone straight to the child protection unit. She wants me crucified.

Over a hundred small children and a handful of adults watch me, as my heart thunders but words keep coming out of my stiffly smiling mouth. I know God is with me and wildly wonder what He has in store for me in prison.

The police speak briefly to my headteacher, Judith, and satisfied that I am not a danger to anyone, they quietly leave. Judith is fantastic. She makes endless phone calls, registers complaints that the parents hadn't followed procedure, as they'd been advised, and insists that a decision be made within a week so that the nightmare won't be hanging over our heads throughout the upcoming half term holiday. The other members of staff give me their unqualified support, even the ones I'd had prickly encounters with previously.

I hear, 'There but for the grace of God...' float down the stairs, followed by heartfelt murmurs of agreement. We'd all seen teachers hounded through the media, heard about careers and lives destroyed in a moment of snapped temper, a careless action or an error of judgement.

It's been a very long day. At home, I phone Jill. She left our school a few months earlier for a different job.

Jill listens carefully and offers no platitudes.

'Shall we pray?'

'Over the phone?' It's such an unexpected response. A giddy giggle bubbles through me.

'Why not?'

Smiling, I close my eyes and let Jill's words soothe me. It feels as if a balloon full of liquid peace has burst on top of my head and the warm contents flow over me.

I thank God for the revelation of the respect people have and the support they offer me. It seems a very long week and I know that for many other teachers caught in this situation it can drag on for months or even years.

On Friday, we're informed that neither the police nor social services will be pursuing the case. It'll be up to the parents to make a formal complaint to the school.

Although I'm exonerated, the parents keep their son at home for some weeks after the incident until they receive an official warning that he has to attend school. Each morning I can feel a ball of anxiety swell in my gut, as I wonder what will happen when we meet again. Having prayed for the family and myself, I'm relieved to find that, when they finally appear, I'm able to behave quite normally, smiling and welcoming Oliver back. I feel no animosity for the boy, just pity for the lessons he's being taught at home.

I'm not surprised to learn later that they're still pursuing a case for compensation. Nor am I particularly shocked when another child in the class asks me if I'll be going to prison soon. Oliver had apparently been jubilantly telling his friends 'down the pub' that the police would be taking me away.

I can't help but recall the number of children I have reported my fears for, obvious cases of prolonged physical cruelty, abuse and neglect, when nothing seems to be done. Yet a simple accident, witnessed and openly reported, brings down the full weight of the police and social services. A headteacher, in the news at the time, was subjected to eight punches in the face by a parent, angry that her son had been excluded for taking a knife to another child. The parent only received a warning. Children are vulnerable and need our protection, teachers are in a position of huge responsibility and mustn't be allowed to harm the children in their care but sometimes common sense and balance seem to be missing. I thank God that it prevailed in my case.