‘Most of us find the child buried within to get through the intense Christmas period on goodwill - plus a fair intake of Prosecco and mulled wine, perhaps’

Drag the old manger out of the stock cupboard and don’t be embarrassed to shed a tear of nostalgia, affection, relief, or just plain knackerdom, writes one celebrated head
10th December 2016, 2:02pm

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‘Most of us find the child buried within to get through the intense Christmas period on goodwill - plus a fair intake of Prosecco and mulled wine, perhaps’

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I’m writing this as I move between handing out Christmas crackers and, burdened by rubbish bags, picking up the debris they create on the dining-tables. You know what this is: the day of the school Christmas lunch.

No one in school is too old or grown-up to enjoy that crazy annual mealtime which overruns into the lessons after lunch and lends a sense of benign seasonal chaos to the school as a whole. This applies to the staff too.

There seem to be many Christmas jumpers around already, teachers indulging in a bit of festive eccentricity.

It makes a break from the relentless pressure of the approaching end of term.

I’ve never been a fan of the idea of going for a four or five-term school year, not for any sensible or proportionate reason: I’ve always acknowledged the logic of spreading terms and holidays more evenly (and possibly discouraging holiday companies from doubling prices at peak times - though I doubt that will ever change).

It’s simply that I’ve always found three manic ends of term in a year as much as I can stand: the thought of adding a further one or two strikes me as unbearable.

These festivities have to fit around all the other things we have yet to accomplish by the end of term: those meetings we haven’t quite fixed yet but must happen before we close; the endless reports for parents to be signed off; replies to government consultations; and, finally, all the things we are desperate to plan for next term.

We still have carol services to come: three of them in my case, since we’re an all-through school.

There’s no pantomime this year: but we’ve only just finished a huge and busy charities week from which we are still recovering.

It’s tough going. But is it actually an ordeal?

Of course not! The child in us all can enjoy the bubbling excitement among staff as well as children (notwithstanding the incipient exhaustion) as Christmas approaches.

So the final hockey practices of term are played in Santa hats: takeaway pizzas magically appear at the end; sport/games becomes fun and games.

How many teachers are also dealing with that essential Nativity play? Not I.

We start at Year 3, and I guess the Nativity play is particularly connected to what we used to call infants’ school. My colleagues with young families have been doing deals on cover so they can slip out and see their offspring perform.

They return with marvellous tales of the way their children’s schools bust a gut to ensure the whole procedure is inclusive. One colleague’s daughter was cast as third innkeeper: third, you ask?

Yes, apparently Mary and Joseph went round no fewer than four innkeepers before they were offered a stable to stay in. Let’s be fair: Bethlehem has always been busy at Christmas time.

Seriously, you have to multiply the characters in order to give every child a go.

Hence that wonderful line in the now-perennial Christmas film Love Actually: “You’re fourth lobster?” asks the mother figure, Emma Thompson. “I didn’t know there were lobsters present at the birth of Jesus.”

Her daughter gives her a pitying look: “Duh!”

As we totter from one school Christmas function to the next, the Scrooge in us is inevitably tempted to exclaim: “Bah! Humbug!” But the teacher in most of us still manages to find the child buried within our hearts, and we get through the intense period on goodwill (plus a fair intake of Prosecco and mulled wine, perhaps).

So don’t stop now. Drag the old manger out of the back of the stock cupboard and dust it off: glue the head back on the Baby Jesus; iron those tea towels for the shepherds’ heads; tart up the Kings’ crowns and the angels’ wings with a bit of glitter; and don’t be embarrassed to shed a tear of - what? Nostalgia? Affection? Relief? Or just plain knackerdom?

It doesn’t matter, really: it’s Christmas! Have a great one!

Dr Bernard Trafford is headteacher of the Royal Grammar School, Newcastle upon Tyne, and a former chair of the Headmasters’ and Headmistresses’ Conference. The views expressed here are personal. He tweets at @bernardtrafford

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