Sister Brendan, the Head teacher, saw my car pull up outside her office window and was at the , door of the school to greet me before I had the chance to straighten my tie and comb my hair. , She beamed so widely that, had she worn lipstick, I would have expected to see traces on her , ears. The small school was sited in the disadvantaged centre of Crompton, a dark and , brooding northern industrial town. Tall black chimneys, great square, featureless warehouses, , and row on row of mean terraces stretched into the valley beyond. The school was adjacent to , a grim and forbidding wasteland of derelict buildings and piles of rubble, surrounded by , half-demolished houses which seemed to grow upwards like great red jagged teeth from , blackened gums. From the grime and dust I walked into an oasis: a calm, bright, welcoming , and orderly building,

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