Have you ever had a teacher who went out of their way to help you?
I had two.
One manufactured a school weekend away with the whole class just for me. Another kept me accountable my whole life.
Mr. Coughlan possessed a calm authority that made you listen when he spoke. In his class there was equality. You were free to give your opinion; he didn’t speak down to you like some other teachers. Never him against us. When he asked you a question, your answer interested him. He didn’t need to roar at thirty girls to settle them. All he had to do was lower his eyes and grimace, and that would be it. We would quieten and hang our heads and wait for him to speak.
Because he set the bar.
The worst thing we could do was disappoint him. To avoid that, we reached higher. He made me want to reach higher. I skipped to his class; he taught me both History and English, my favourite subjects along with Art. As he read Steinbeck and Golding and Shakespeare, his passion relighted my enthusiasm for English. I always loved reading, but he got behind the words of a story or poem and dragged out its real meaning. He showed me the hidden layers and structure of the books we read, which felt like I was discovering a secret world. Because of him I saw the magic. He planted a wish in me to one day write a novel.
I’ve met him many times in my adult life, when my sole intention was to make enough money to get by. In that moment I would understand – that I should do more. Each time he looked me straight in the eye and asked in his soft-spoken tone.
‘What are your plans, Natasha?’
His silence after I gave some excuse told me everything. It implied I’d wasted my talents. Each time he looked to the floor, I sensed that dreaded, unwanted disappointment. His grimace put a spotlight and full-length mirror in front of me. The truth was unavoidable in his presence.
I understand now I just wasn’t there yet.
My belief in myself didn’t match his. Years later when I put pen to paper, there were many occasions self-doubt would plague me; that I was a fantasist and a charlatan and would never finish the novel. On those times, even though I didn’t trust my ability, I would remember the belief Mr Coughlan had in me and it would push me on.
Miss Hannon appeared at the lowest point in my young life. At eleven I arrived in Ireland from England. Everything had changed; I’d left my school, my home, my friends, and all I viewed as normal behind. Then I was thrown into a new school with strangers being taught a foreign language I couldn’t decipher. Miss Hannon came along and held my hand. She worked out my strengths early on. While the class spoke in Irish, she suggested I drew or painted. Not little pictures – she gave me the coveted task of designing the back wall of the class with a mural. I went to town with it. It was such a clever move because it showed my talent to the rest of the class and gave a reason to interact. It gave me a subject to talk about and the project distracted me from my fears. There was such joy in that class. Miss Hannon made everything exciting. She bribed us with good behaviour, talking often about the highlight of the year – the school tour, offered as a reward if we worked hard.
Several months before the prized day out, I fainted. Not once, but on many random occasions. Even one time in the bath. We waited for a consultant’s appointment for ages and when we received the date; it devastated me. It was the same day as the school tour. Neither could be rescheduled. After finding out, Miss Hannon asked me to stay behind at lunch. She told me it upset her I would miss the tour. To make up for it, she would organise another trip, a better one. This time an overnighter; unheard of in our school. Now, as an adult, my logic says she must have needed to get permission months before that day, but the eleven-year-old me is convinced that she orchestrated that trip for me. That was the wonder of Miss Hannon – she had a way of making everyone feel special. I loved her. She left Cork to live in another part of Ireland, but she has stayed in my thoughts. In my third novel, which is still in draft, I used another story from my time with her as inspiration.
These two people taught me so much, more than the required curriculum but about life as well. The Initiates is my homage to them.