A head driven by his own deprived youth
THE HEADTEACHER’S office is, more often than not, firmly located in no man’s land, cordoned off far from the daily bustle of pupil activity.
The sorry few who have seen inside his or her gilt-edged hideaway tend only to have done so after being summoned for disciplinary matters. For all others, its whereabouts remain a mystery.
This is why I am, perhaps, a little taken aback to find Charles Dormer’s headquarters nestled amid the busy classrooms of Immanuel College in Bushey, with no intermediary secretary to act as buffer.
What is more, during our chat, there is a casual knock on the door; two sixth-formers have excitedly come to tell their headteacher — who is also their English teacher — that one of their preferred texts just appeared on their mock exam. Metaphorically, his door is open.
But the head of the £16,500-a-year private school will be receiving pupil visits only for a few months more. Last Thursday, the governors and he surprised many parents and pupils with the announcement that he would be leaving next year after five years in the job.
“After a wonderful time,” he told them, “I have decided that it is my time to move on”. Further details have not been forthcoming; but speaking to Mr Dormer, one is left in no doubt that his lifelong passion for teaching, and learning more along the way is constantly pushing him to expand his horizons.
“People often become teachers because they want other children to have what they did not have,” he says. “That is my case. I can’t replace the childhood I didn’t have, or the education I didn’t easily receive but I would like others to have the education I did not.
“One of my aims over the next 20 years or so is to have a more diverse contribution to education.” He hints that moving on to a state school could be on the cards.
Born in the United States, Mr Dormer, 49, spent his early childhood in Miami, where he attended a private school that, although heavily populated by Jewish children, offered no religious education. At home, he was raised by “strong, protective women who feared antisemitism and thought their duty was to keep me safe by downplaying our heritage”.
He came to the UK aged eight and lived in Leyton, east London, where “bullying, racism and antisemitism simply happened”. He remembers being chased with sharp objects down the street, and that his school in Woodford Green failed to erase a two-foot high graffiti message
After a wonderful time, I have decided to move on’
declaring “Clock End skins kill Tottenham yids” from its sports playground.
“Childhood in those days involved a great deal of fear of attack,” he says. “You lived in a permanently guarded state.
“You were constantly reminded you were a Jew and therefore greedy, avaricious, flat-footed, bignosed. Foreigners, immigrants, international people stuck together because we all felt excluded together by that racism and xenophobia.”
This is one of a myriad reasons he feels particularly proud of having stood at the helm of a Jewish school; especially one, he adds, which con- tains “the most ethnically diverse group within the Jewish community that I have ever had the privilege of being in”, with families originating from across the Middle East and north Africa, as well as Europe.
He regrets his own lack of learning in the faith from a young age.
“You do become a teacher to fill in the gaps and to help other people make better choices than those that were available to you.
“I passionately believe you have to give a child what you believe is your best understanding of your heritage and right or wrong, and teach them to think for themselves — and then let them choose.
“We teach them how to be constructive parts of their community; then teach them how to relate with other communities and the rest of the world. To shine their light, they
Childhood involved a great deal of fear of attack’