Shawn - a teacher's story

Sipping my Starbucks and reading the NYT early this morning about a desperate refugee family made me think of one of my pupils when I was Head of Ibstock Junior School.....

Here's what I wrote about him in my yet-to-be-finished second memoir:

'In October, when the weather turned wet and cold, Shawn, a quiet, withdrawn, skinny nine-year -old,  was absent every Wednesday morning, getting to school just in time for his school dinner. 

One Wednesday afternoon, right after the dinner break, I saw Shawn in the hall eating his meat, potatoes and gravy, and went over, sat down next to him, and asked him what he did every Wednesday morning when he wasn't at school. 

Wide eyed, he looked up at me. “I gotta tell ‘e, Mr. Paull?”

“Course, Shawn, you’re supposed to be at school every day. " I replied, "You never bring a note from your mum, do you? Why’s that? why aren't you at school?”

“No, Mr. Paull.” he said. “Don't.” 

He then said he was helping his widowed mum. “Help her every week, Mr. Paull. Got to, ‘cos the house is cold, freezin'. She ain’t got much money, you know. She’s trying but she can’t get a job. Don’t do nuffink wrong when I ain't 'ere. 'Onest I don't.”

Intrigued, I asked, “What do you do for your Mum, then? You light the fire or something? Help her with the washing? Tell me – what do you do that prevents you coming to school?”

Shawn looked at me, scratched his head, looked at the floor and mumbled, “Can’t tell you……….Mum says I can’t tell nobody.”

I knew it was time for me to back off. “Ok, ok, won’t ask,” I said with a smile. 

But, a growing concern for Shawn – and I must admit, my curiosity - got the better of me. I asked, “But you ok if I go home with you and see your mum? Is she there when you get home?”

“Sometimes she is,“ he said. “Think she is this arternoon. You can come wiv me if you want."

So, after school, we waited for the the school to empty and then we walked Shawn to his home which was just off Ibstock’s High Street. He took me down the side of the house to the back door. Hanging just above the old, weathered  door was a large tin bath, typical of many of the old miners’ houses in Ibstock, all without a bathroom.

When I walked into the small kitchen with Shawn, his mum, her hair in curlers, was standing by the kitchen sink, running her hands under the tap, She stared, surprised to see me. “’Ello, ‘Eadmaster. Whatt you doin’ here? What's happened? Shawn in trouble? He’s a good lad, you know. Never does nowt wrong.” She looked at Shawn standing next to me, wide-eyed and nervous.

“Shawn, go on outside and play and lemme talk to Mr. Paull. There’s a good lad. Don’t do nowt wrong, don’t get in no trouble, you hear me? Leave next door's cat alone.” Shawn, relieved, ran out the kitchen door. “No, Mum. Promise. Won’t. Won’t chase that moggie, 'onest.. Promise. See you, Mr. Paull.”

“See you, Shawn. Be safe, ok?” I replied. “And, hey, DON’T chase the cat, please!”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Paull, I won’t,” he answered, and and off he went.

As Shawn closed the back door, I looked at his mum and said, “He’s not in trouble,” trying to sound and look unconcerned so I could, I thought, help Shawn’s mum relax. “He’s a good lad at school. I just need to know why Shawn misses school every Wednesday morning. Does he help you with some of the housework? He says he keeps the house warm. What does that mean? Does he clean the fireplace or something?” 
Shawn’s mum looked down at the white tiled floor. “No,” she said. Then she looked up at me with half a smile. “Do ‘e want a cuppa?” I smiled, touched by her generosity. 

I replied, “No, thank you. But that was kind of you to ask. You want a fag?”

“Oh, yes, please,” she said. I lit up two cigarettes and sat on the kitchen chair. “Ta. Wednesday’s coal day……………” she said, “can't afford a bag full. Gotta put out a bag........You know, Coop delivers around the village…..comes down the main street around 9, straight from Coop yard. Lorry’s full of coal. Well..............Shawn found some coal on the road coming home from school one Wednesday. He stuffed it in his pockets, so we had a bit of a fire. He asked if he could follow the lorry the next Wednesday 'fore he went to school. . So, since, I give Shawn a few brown bags and he follows the lorry. Road’s bad. Got cracks and stuff. When the lorry hits the potholes, coal drops off back of lorry. Shawn picks it up. When it gets heavy, he brings it home. If we’re quick, I can empty the bag and he can catch up the lorry and get more coal. Keeps us warm for a couple of hours. Get scrap wood from the woodyard. T’ain’t pinching, you know, sir. Coal drops off lorry. Coal’s expensive. Saves me a couple of bob.”  

She looked quizzically at me, checking that I was hearing what she was saying. “Isn’t stealing………..is it? Never moans, you know. Our Shawn. He’s a good lad.”

Taken aback and feeling a bit embarrassed and overwhelmed, I bit my tongue and then heard myself say, “OK, thanks for telling me. Now I know. Good for Shawn. He’s a good lad at school, too. Tell you what. He can have every Wednesday morning off. You tell him, ok? I’ll make sure his teacher knows he will be absent.”

I paused. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything?”

“No, Headmaster” Shawn’s mum said. “But don’t tell nobody, ok? Please?” Without hesitating, I nodded, smiled and looked her straight in the eyes, assuring her I wouldn’t say a word.

As I hurried back to school, I couldn’t get the implications of the conversation out of my head. 
And, Shawn. What a perfect lad. Shawn was so concerned for his mother's well being and the need for a fire and had come up with a solution, the perfect solution. 

No wonder he never did well at school. He had too much to think about.

This experience reminded me of my childhood, when I knew some of my classmates missed days when they were helping their dads unload fish from the fishing boats. 

All children are greatly impacted by their home life, for better, for worse. I wondered how many boys and girls in my school were like Shawn, facing the consequences of poverty each and every day.

Throughout the winter and early spring months, Shawn was absent every Wednesday morning. Just before dinnertime each Wednesday, he’d return to school, come into my office and say,”I’m here, Mr. Paull, I’m here.
Me ma says thank you..........”

“Good, Shawn,” I’d reply. “Go and wash your hands and go and have your dinner, ok?”

Shawn would look at me and smile.“OK, Mr. Paull, see you.”