A good headteacher knows when to stay in the background and let people get on with their jobs, just like a famous, perpetually stoned, animated bunny, says Carl Smith.

Leadership magic

I am old enough to remember The Magic Roundabout, a psychedelic kids’ TV show with more drug references than Sgt. Pepper and a hippy rabbit called Dylan (as in Bob) who slept most of the time and ate suspicious-looking carrots. 

The opposite of Dylan was Zebedee, a bizarre mix of that bloke on a tube of Pringles and a Slinky, who manically teleported himself by bouncing into mid-air before finishing every episode by saying, “Time for bed.” 

Different times, different times. 

Drug-induced or not, Zebedee was your classic hyperactive school leader whose favourite party trick was to be simultaneously everywhere, filling the entire garden with a sense of urgency and purpose. He was certainly visible, though whether everyone wanted him to be was a different matter. 

That’s probably you. 

Reassuringly boring 

Dylan, in contrast, was reassuringly boring. You sort of knew he was there when you needed him, but not when you didn’t. In other words, he didn’t feel the need to get in the way. 

Visible, but not too visible, Dylan was like the Holy Ghost in that he was everywhere but nowhere, though it is arguable whether he knew where he was most of the time. However, I suspect, the other characters liked Dylan more than Zebedee, though I have no proof, you understand. 

I often joke to parents that my job is to not get in the way, though it’s easier said than done. After all, what does a good headteacher do if not bounce around all day long? Being ‘busy’ is not leading, however; it’s just occupying your time and that’s not quite the same thing. Sometimes, you just need to let people get on with it. Of course, if they don’t, that’s a different matter, but providing they do, a good leader doesn’t get in their way. They might be there, visible, and hopefully awake, but not bouncing around the building like Zebedee might. 

Which is all very well until a parent says that, unless you reply to their complaint in the next ten minutes, they’re going to Ofsted or the head of year asks to see you ‘urgently’ (which is about ten times a day). 

Or, indeed, you get ‘the call’ from the real Ofsted who tell you there is nothing to worry about even though your entire 30-year career will be on the line over the next 24 hours. 

Special carrots? 

What would Dylan do then, eh? Reach for one of his special carrots? Well, no. 

Dylan would know the difference between a real emergency and an imagined one. Even in his comatose state you get the impression he would become a little more animated, despite being an animation in the first place when, for example, being chased by Ermintrude the cow, a character who had a penchant for singing opera badly. 

One thing’s for sure, if Dylan thought it was an emergency, it probably was. Emergency or not, Dylan spent a lot of time thinking, so he probably already had a plan for such an eventuality. All that sleeping meant he would be ready when needed, as opposed to acting, er, like a rabbit in the headlights. 

The Magic Roundabout lasted just five minutes each day but it made a big impact on children’s minds at the time. Perhaps we ought to do the same.

Carl Smith is Principal of Casterton College, Rutland. 

Want the last word? 

Last Word always welcomes contributions from members. If you’d like to share your humorous observations of school life, email Permjit Mann at leader@ascl.org.uk ASCL offers a modest honorarium.

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