Kevin Murphy
Bit of a long one this folks.

I hate to think how I must have come across when I turned up to my Sixth Form College on enrollment day. I'd just gotten my GCSE results and had managed a flunk of epic proportions. I have no excuse, I was more preoccupied with my burgeoning social life than my exams, I considered coursework to be an imposition on my time and frankly I had absolutely no pride or self esteem in my academic abilities whatsoever.

If I had one asset at sixteen, it was politeness and I managed to get myself signed up for a year's resit course. The experience was a tad humuliating, the words of Lenny Henry's nazi postman from The Young Ones rang in my ears; "You haf come bottom in ze whole world!". In many ways, I was at a rock bottom academically, I simply had no plan B in place.

Instead of signing up to study Physics, Maths and Computing at A Level (I had an ambition of being an engineer), I found myself negotiating for a sought after place so that I could resit. After a considerable form filling exercise I was duly sent to meet my prospective form tutor; a chap called Kevin Murphy and found a stereotypical English teacher in his early thirties, complete with large, red rimmed glasses and a guitar case tucked away innocuously underneath his desk.

"I gather that your results weren't exactly what you were hoping for?" he asked, somehow managing to avoid jarring my sensitivities about my results.

"Okay, let's see what we can work out for you. You've got your sciences, if I put you down for English and Maths, then I'll need you to pick three other subjects. You know you've got to fill a minimum of 22 hours a week lesson time? Okay, I see no reason why we can't go with this". With that I was signed up. I'd been given a second chance, which frankly I didn't deserve.

Kevin was well liked amongst the student community. Although he was a stickler for some rules, his door was always open and he made a point of engaging with everyone in his tutor group. Despite the rules stating that a twenty two hour week of lesson time was a bare minimum, Kevin quietly dropped my requirement down to twenty hours on the proviso that I spent two hours a week in the library keeping on top of my coursework. In spite of my frequent insolence, disruptiveness, ill-considered sarcasm and utter bone-headed stupidity, he'd cut me some slack that frankly I did not deserve.

It paid dividends though. Within three months I'd resat my GCSE maths and passed with flying colours. I was doing well in my other subjects too, however I was still managing to be a right pain in the arse to the teaching staff. So much so that Kevin regularly asked me me to be a little more considerate toward Tim & Linda Harrison, the husband and wife IT/Computing teaching team, whom I must have been the most unsufferable oaf toward. The recollection of my lesson shenanigans is cringe inducing today.

Sure enough, with some inspiring mock exam results behind my belt I reapplied to study A Levels for the next two years. Kevin took my application and discussed it with several heads of department, none of whom were particularly keen on me (my regular Friday habit of turning up hung over and dozing off during morning lectures earned me notoriety). Tim & Linda said an outright "No", however undeterred, Kevin fought my corner and I duly returned to the college the following September for my A Level courses.

I had been having some personal difficulties for some months by this time and it was beginning to show. I'd turn up some mornings so disillusioned with life and full of anger and bitterness that I was taking it out on all around me. My business studies tutors actually took me aside to quiz me on my home life, while poor Tim & Linda continued to bear the brunt of me. I quickly found myself out of my depth studying physics, a subject that I know I should excel at. I berated myself for the fact that I ought to be doing a hell of a lot better than scraping an E for every assignment I turned in, usually late and poorly written.

My barely contained self destructiveness threatened to ruin my education once again. At my six weekly review, Kevin bit the bullet and sat me down.

"Physics isn't really working out for you right now. Do you think you'll be able to pass this? Tell you what, don't go to the lessons this week and think it over for a while". Again, Kevin's disarming manner meant that I didn't feel pushed into dropping the subject. I thought it over and made a decision.

"Kevin, I've had a long think about this. Do you think I'd be any good at English Lit?" I asked, a week later. Kevin himself taught A Level English and had a good handle on the type of students taking the subject. My reputation around the teaching staff wasn't the best.

"Hmm... Well, from what I've seen of your written work there is potential there. Tell you what, I want you to do an essay, 1500 words on anything you want. If you give it to me by Monday we'll take it from there".

I spent the next three days spending lunchtimes and free periods sat in the library making notes. I'd never bothered to put any more than token effort into any assignment until now, however Kevin showed absolutely no surprise at all when I handed him my assignment on Friday lunchtime. By Friday afternoon Kevin came back to me.

"If that were being submitted to me as a piece of coursework, I'd have given you a straight C" he exclaimed. “Not bad at all”.

I was thrilled. I hadn't gained a C since I sat my GCSEs, the prospect of a decent seemed as distant as the moon up until now. The difference it made to me was decisive, instead of becoming demoralized with my academic life, I began to revel in it. The Friday morning hangovers and Business Studies sleeps stopped as I put my new found enthusiasm to good use. I found a way to apply myself and as a result my grades climbed steadily and election to the College Council helped my confidence no end.

Eighteen months later, I’d sat my A Levels and while the grades didn’t set the world alight I was pleased with the results. Indeed, Linda Harrison actually sought me out behind the till at my Saturday McJob and congratulated me on my A Level Computing result, a far cry from the train wreck I’d been a couple of years before.

Kevin, I thank you for not giving up on me and for the benefit of your wisdom.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:07, 5 replies)

Isn't this why teachers teach?
.
( girlinthehole, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:42, closed)

There's teaching
and then there is going above and beyond the normal call of duty. Kevin helped me turn my life around and encouraged a passion in literature that survives to this very day.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:48, closed)

I had a similar situation
at 6th form.

And again, it was English lit that saved me from a downward spiral and gave me something to look towards.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 13:56, closed)

Hurrah for Top Teachers!
Excellent story, as usual! *clicks*


When I went to Juniors, I could barely add 2 and 2 together.

Mr. Richardson, a great teacher, was very patient with me, and ultimately taught me how to add without me feeling like a prize thicky.

Still, a few years ago he was locked up for taking indecent images of children, so every coin has its other side, I suppose!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 14:12, closed)

Really nice story.
I bet he fancied you though.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Tue 7 Oct 2008, 16:39, closed)