This being the summer term, there were also exams to mark. The breaks in the timetable as students sat school and national examinations each threw up another batch of papers to mark. GCSE external marking arrived first, over half term. I was torn between the sheer pleasure of a week off and the painful urgency of GCSE marking. In a masochistic way, I enjoy the intensity of marking: each paper represents the culmination of secondary work for a child whose ability, teaching and aptitude for the subject has been tested at last by an hour and three quarters of application. Marking must always be accurate and consistent, because a trivial error on my part could affect the future career of a child. It can't be rushed, but the deadlines are tight in order to get the results out by mid-August.
Once that was underway, the school exam papers started flowing in, each set needing to be turned around within a week, ready to feed back to the students as lessons resumed. Common Entrance papers arrived for marking with a short deadline as well. By dint of some early mornings, later than usual nights and a few skipped lunches, I managed to get all of those clear before the A level papers arrived.
In between the exam frenzy, there were occasions both delightful and sad. Social activities, school plays and a staffroom sweepstake on the football world cup all provided a welcome complement to the busy-ness. The various ways the school and boarding houses said goodbye to those students and staff who were leaving reminded me of how close-knit a community we are. Although I've known my own students for such a short time, I'll miss this year's Upper Sixth.
The hot summer weather persisted through the term with
only odd breaks, with the result that my new car has had plenty of outings with the lid down, sun glinting off shiny paintwork and wind blowing through my hair. After years of vehicles that deserved nothing more than the odd trip through a car wash, I find myself looking forward to a sunny weekend morning when I can spend a couple of hours with a bucket and a chamois tarting up my car. The crowning glory was to fix on the personalised number plates that proclaim my ownership of it to all who pass.
Summer here has produced other pleasures, too. I had a bumper crop of strawberries from a patch in the back garden which would have been a slug fast-food joint in Sheffield, but which in the less clay-bound Oxfordshire soil produced pounds of strawberries a day at its peak. I plan to be
prepared next year with a jamming pan and preserving sugar at the ready: this year I merely gorged on the ripest fruit each time I went into the garden. The local farm shop sold asparagus so fresh and young it could be used raw in salads. Barbecues at school and chez friends are always made from locally produced specialist sausages, burgers, steak and chops. One memorable evening during exams, I took an hour away from marking to join friends in their garden, and all the local folk musicians turned up with instruments and fiddled, whistled and bongo-ed as the meat sizzled.
Now, term is over, the final batch of A level marking has gone back to the exam board and summer stretches away ahead of me. A week's city break with my lover marked the start of the holiday, and I plan a few days in France in the car, camping and visiting friends in Brittany, towards the end. Of course I have work-related things to do: planning for next term, reviewing the past six months, writing notes for my A level sets. But these are trivial tasks in comparison with the time available. Nothing can possibly spoil the sheer joy of school summer hols shimmering towards distant autumn.
