I have recently completed a quest. This quest took several years and led me from the panic-stricken landscape of the newly-qualified teacher (NQT), through the fraught and often terrifying forests of achievement as head of department, to the ivory tower of the senior leadership team (SLT).

Once I stepped inside, the doors closed behind me; I was swept away from the camaraderie of my colleagues and enveloped in a world of administration and posturing. I lived in the darkness there for more than four years, until I had no choice but to escape. Driven mad by bureaucracy, vain nobility and shadowy villains who sought to protect only themselves, I opted to fall upon my sword and return to the chalkface, where I would be reunited with my own morality. And so here I am – older and wiser.

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OK, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I actually enjoyed being on the SLT most of the time, but some dramatic life events taught me that data, progression and status are not everything. My mother died within weeks of being diagnosed with a terminal illness and I realised life is for living. So I stepped away from the SLT and return to the classroom, thinking that I would have space to pursue my interests and improve my quality of life in the face of such sadness. I was in for a surprise.

I was certain that my move would buy me more time; no more endless piles of admin, no more mind-numbing meetings until 7pm, no more grim governors’ reports to write, no more dour disciplinary panels to attend. But I had forgotten that the windows in the ivory tower are obscured by pot plants so tall that you can’t see the stressed faces of the teachers as they race past. If you do chance to look up from your paperwork, your rose-tinted glasses made their lives look quite romantic. Oh, how the students adored them! How much fun they had together in their teams! I remembered those days …

I had forgotten that my multitudinous leadership tasks were generously accommodated by my timetable. Yes, I had a lot to do, but I was given a lot of time to do it. How did I forget that it’s impossible to plan adequate lessons in five non-contact periods a week? How did I forget that as I reluctantly sat in meetings, angry that I had failed to see any daylight for the majority of winter, my main-scale colleagues were marking and planning in their classrooms or at their dining tables? How did I think that I had it harder than them?

I had also forgotten how differently you are treated when you are not on the SLT; new staff failed to acknowledge me on the first day in the classroom and even the students seemed to think they could try it on now that my power was diminished. As my fingers hover over reporting Jimmy’s fifth instance of insolence in a week, I wonder if my former SLT colleagues are going to pass the blame on to me, as they so often did to others.

My mistake was not in giving it all up, but in forgetting how hard all teachers work and allowing myself to be sucked in to the dark world of judgment that the SLT inhabits.

Life in the tower is reminiscent of The Emperor’s New Clothes. The headteacher would suggest a crazy idea and every single member of the leadership team would nod in agreement and smile. Meanwhile, the minor failures of main-scale teachers would be aired in evening briefing, upon which each member would shake their heads and tut, obstinately refusing to remember the difficulty of full-time teaching.

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The doors close on accountability, too; as one of the accepted few you become the judge, not the accused. Steely-eyed SLT members brandish clipboards and conduct clinical learning walks and observations for dissection later, but are only observed by each other, allowing weak teaching to be dismissed by close colleagues. In fact, the only time the SLT is truly accountable is when the inspectors call, and that’s when the panic arises. But once they have gone, the “inadequate” teachers only have themselves to blame and the “outstanding” ratings are all thanks to us.

On reflection, I’m not sorry that I left. I never really managed to bridge the gap that so obviously exists between the SLT and other staff. The ridiculous and impossible demands on normal teachers’ time are an enigma to most SLT members. Perhaps an enforced main-scale sabbatical would teach many SLT members an important lesson? My own reminder has certainly made me a better person, even if I am denied the time to be a better teacher.

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