Monday We are in the grip of “the virus”. Rehearsals are due to start for the junior play - postponed at Christmas, and now behind schedule due to weeks of absence by the song coach and choreographer. The producer (my deputy) rings in at 8am. The virus has struck again. We get all the juniors in the hall and establish that they know the songs and their lines. We also establish that no surviving member of staff has a clue what the play is about. I take my deputy’s class and send a learning support assistant home with the script of Ocean Commotion, a whimsical tale of environmentally concerned fish.
Tuesday Anna, the assistant, arrives with an annotated script and a head full of ideas. She takes groups from Year 6 to pummel them into shape.
Wednesday My Year 6 teacher panics because the boost to the SATs performance she’s expected to achieve in the next couple of months is being compromised by the theatrical miracle we’re expected to achieve by tomorrow. I overrule, and the children continue. Anna panics because the actors are not Rada material, the dancers are not Billy Elliot and the virus is nibbling at the cast.
Thursday Dress rehearsal. Remarkably, everyone knows what to do, moving around the stage with an assurance that I’d have thought impossible on Monday. It goes down well with the old folks from the local rest homes, and with the infants who find the 55-minute performance so riveting that there are two puddles on the floor as they file out. Even my husband stays awake.
Friday The hall is packed with parents. The inflatable 10ft whale has a slow puncture and must be constantly pumped in the wings to ensure its survival. My Year 4 teacher, who has created inspired fishy costumes out of bin bags, tinsel and cardboard, does repairs throughout. It turns out to be the best show we’ve produced. Anna receives flowers and thinks seriously about my suggestion that she’d make a good teacher. No doubt, I’ll get the virus next week.
Kath Coyle is head of St John’s C of E primary school in Burscough, Lancashire
