Leaving....

This is my last week in my current job - my contract runs out on Friday. It's been an eye-opening year, and one that's left me very wary of the education system in the UK. To update my new friends, I work in an inner city high school, providing trips, extra curricular activities and inspirational visits for our kids.

My husband and I made the decision that I wouldn't apply for the contract to be renewed. The stress that this role has caused has affected our family too, and I find myself unable to switch off at night. I've never known an organisation so disinterested in the welfare of its pupils and its staff. Sir, lessa and M:e have all heard my horror stories of working there and I know that they'll understand my decision. But I'm finding it hard to cope with kids who I've worked with for the last year coming up to me in tears because they've heard that this is my last week. Those children who work on the 'TV station' (a room with a video camera) have wanted to get a petition up to keep me. I had to explain that I really wouldn't be staying, and make sure that they knew that it wasn't because of them.

I have never had so many hurdles to climb as I have in this job. Every time I clear one, the head mistress puts another one twice as high before me. Internal politics have destroyed any goodwill that was ever in the school, and staff are resigning at a phenomenal rate - at least two a week. Every facility we ever had is being lost - the swimming pool needs a fortune spending on it before it can be used, the 'state of the art' gymnasium needs a new floor so won't be in use until after Christmas, the sports hall is inadequate and often closed and our football pitches have been replaced by mud pits. And we're a sports college.

I'm masochistic, but not even I can keep banging my head on a brick wall the way I have with this job. It hurts too damn much. But it's hurting even more seeing how upset the kids are when they hear that I'm going.

I will miss some of my colleagues enormously, some of the kids even more so. I know there will be tears on Friday (mine) but I also know the huge sense of relief that I'll feel when I lock my office door for the last time.

I'm planning a quiet week next week, catching up on doctor's appointments etc that are so very hard to organise with the hours I work. However, I know I'll spend quite a bit of that time in 'quiet reflection'. I feel as if I've failed. My sensible head says that no - I haven't failed. The system failed me by preventing so many of the activities I tried. The system let me be assaulted the other week. The system left me alone in a corridor surrounded by twelve big lads, taunting me and calling me every name under the sun. The system has left me with scars on my breasts from where I was pushed into doors and onto metal poles sticking out of doors. I tried my best, and as Sir always says, that's what counts.

So think of me on Friday night - I'l be raising an extremely large glass of Baileys and toasting the staff and kids at that school. I will thank them for thelearning experiences that they've provided for me, and wish them every luck for the future.

Because sadly, they'll need it.

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