While i was waiting to enter university, i saw in a newspaper a teachini job

While I was waiting to enter university,I saw a teaching post advertised in a local newspaper at a school in a suburb of London about ten miles from where I lived.Being very short of money and wanting to do something useful.

I applied, fearing as I do so, that without a degree and with no experience in teaching my chances of getting the job were slim.

However, three days later a letter arrived, asking me to go to Croydon for an interview. It proved an awkward journey: a train to Croydon station; a ten-minute bus ride and then a walk at least a quarter of a mile.As a result I arrived on a hot June morning too depressed to feel nervous.

The school was a red brick house with big windows. The front garden was a gravel square; four evergreen shrubs stood at each corner, where they struggled to survive the dust and fumes from a busy main road.

It was clearly the headmaster himself that opened the door. He was short and fat. He had a sandy-colored moustache, a wrinkled forehead and hardly any hair.

He looked at me with an air of surprised disapproval, as a colonel might look at a private whose bootlaces were undone.

“ Ah yes,” he grunted.“ You'd better come inside.” The narrow, sunless hall smelled unpleasantly of stale cabbage; the walls were dirty with ink marks; it was all silent.His study ,judging by the crumbs on the carpet,was also his dining-room.

“You’d better sit down,” he said, and proceeded to ask me a number of questions: what subjects I had taken in my General School Certificate; how old I was.

what games I played; then fixing me suddenly with his bloodshot eyes,he asked me whether I thought games were a vital part of a boy's education.I mumbled something about not attaching too much importance to them.He grunted.I had said the wrong thing.The headmaster and I obviously had very little in common.

While I was waiting to get into university, I saw an advert in the local newspaper for a teacher at a school in a London suburb about 10 miles from where I lived. Being very short of money and wanting to do something useful, I applied because I was worried that since I had no degree and no teaching experience, my chances of getting the job were slim.

However, three days later a letter arrived asking me to come to Croydon for an interview. It turned out to be an awkward journey: a train to Croydon station; a ten-minute bus ride and then at least a quarter-mile walk. As a result, I arrived on a hot June morning too frustrated to feel nervous.

The school is a red brick house with large windows. The front garden is a gravel square; four species of evergreen shrubs. The person who opened the door was obviously the principal himself. He is short and fat. He has a sandy mustache, a wrinkled forehead and almost no hair.

He looked at me with an air of surprised disapproval, like a colonel looking at a soldier with his shoelaces untied.

"Ah, yes," he hummed. "You'd better come in.

" The narrow, sunless hall smelled unpleasantly of stale cabbage; the walls were stained with ink; there was silence. Judging from the crumbs on the carpet, his study was also his dining room. You'd better sit down," he said, and then asked me some questions: What subjects did I take for my General School Certificate?

How old was I and what games did I play; then he suddenly used his bloodshot He stared at me and asked me if I thought games were an important part of a boy's education. I mumbled that I was wrong. The principal and I clearly had nothing in common.