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He described in measured and enthusiastic terms how he would liaise with pupils' previous schools to get their records and assess their levels of maths and literacy.

He gave off an air of solid dependability, depicting himself as a bridge between the education system and the cultural melting pot in the streets around. He appeared to be a successful product of multi-cultural Britain. He seemed earnest, intelligent and committed.

He would sit with the head teacher in interviews with new families, many of whom had suffered domestic violence or attacks in their home countries.

But there was certainly a radical aspect to Khan. He was dismissive of regeneration schemes and suggested Beeston had been abandoned by the politicians.

"I can't see it changing round here any time soon. They don't realise the extent of the problems," he told me.

It was then that I caught a glimpse of another Mohammad Sidique Khan; a man with radical views, but not dangerously so. His views struck me as products of the normal alienation I encountered in teachers in their late 20s, working in inner-city Britain.

At the end of the interview, he turned to me again, flashed me a white smile and patted me on the shoulder. I went away liking him, believing he was an unsung hero.