“But all you do is teach…”

In no other career – very few anyway – would you encounter then amount of unique events on a day to day basis than in the career we love and adore: teaching children.

Make no mistake, this is a career I love and this affection is, in no small part, down to the things I am writing about today: the variety of unpredictability of our day.

No morning ritual is complete without a mug of the strongest, darkest and sweetest coffee I can find, on this particular day – it was a fresh box of instant filters which ticked that box, a good start. “I’m ready for the day” I thought, as the clock approached 8.40, a mere ten minutes before the swarm of children bellow their way towards my classroom. Ten minutes to make the final checks, hand out the books ready for lesson one and take a quick visit to the bathroom to prepare me for the next hour and a half. No. Wrong: instead I’m required in reception to deal with a parent who wants to know why ‘we’ve allowed’ their child to come home for the third time this term without their P.E. kit, not one to turn down a challenge, child and I turn detectives and spend the next ten minute searching the vast areas of school for a lost P.E which will eventually turn up in the locker next to his. Excellent.

The morning runs with minimal hiccups, break time arrives and I suddenly remember the promise I made to a PGCE student of allowing her to observe a maths lesson, as newly appointed coordinator I pretend I’ve not stopped thinking about the lesson and welcome her down when she’s ready. I utilise the remaining seven minutes of break time doing those extra few bits you do when someone is coming to watch a lesson: altering a few seat arrangements and tidying table baskets to name but a few. The lesson – as of course planned – went without interruption and the very astute PGCE student that asks for ‘just a few minutes’ of my time to go over a few questions – again, with my coordinator halo above my head, I happily agree and spend twenty minutes answering her questions. I genuinely feel like I have helped this student today so bear no grudge. What I didn’t tell her was that I was expected in the head’s office to go over some data we’ve received from last year’s cohort and to look at how we can use that to impact on this year’s provision. A worthwhile meeting concludes with just 14 minutes of lunch remaining – with hunger in my stomach I head to the staffroom to collect last night’s leftover sausages but not before I catch sight of a year 3 child with 2 knees covered in a lovely shade of coral red – latex gloves on, anti-bacterial wipes out, plasters applied, first aid form filled in, clear instruction not to go sliding on his knees on the yard and he is on his way back outside, 11 minutes of lunch remaining.

Once again, the afternoon passes by with an eerie sense of normality, home time soon arrives and I take my place on the playground to watch my children off at the end of the day, conversing with colleagues about the proverbial week-long day we have just completed.

Heading back inside to gather yet another hit of caffeine, I feel a sense of satisfaction, knowing I have earn my pounds today, I arrive back in class to begin my marking when I see a parent stood outside my classroom door, a lovely parent of an equally lovely child so I welcome her in to discuss whatever it is which has already brought tears to her eyes: fifteen minutes later and I have employed my best councillor skills to comfort her about the job she is doing as a parent and the impact it is having on her child. Where was that part of my PGCE training? After reassuring her that ‘it’s what we’re here for’ I return to my marking which seems like one of the only consistent of this job. An hour or so later I make my way to the staffroom to catch hold of a colleague I need to speak to before she heads home, realising that she – and the vast majority of other staff –have now gone home I begin to contemplate bringing my own day to close. No. Wrong: the piercing buzz of the school telephone rings and I lift the receiver with an ounce of will that the voice on the other end is that of a misdialled caller – of course not – it’s that of a parent who is desperate to find out the balance of her child’s school dinner account and who certainly does not want to wait till tomorrow to find out. Scrambling through the ‘school dinners’ booklet I can see attached to the wall, and feeling well out of my depth, I do my very best to provide the necessary information and hang the phone up, once again questioning whether or not I was absent for the ‘receptionist’ training day during my PGCE.

I make my escape before yet another bullet point can be added to my job description. I do so with a sense of pride: detective, first aided, data analyser, counsellor, and receptionist – and last yet arguably most importantly – teacher. Today hasn’t been ‘one of those days’, in other lines of work it would be, but not this career, in this career a day like today is the norm. We don’t do this for an easy ride, we do it because each and every day we are genuinely doing what we signed up to do: make a difference to children, classroom and beyond.

When does a big cohort become too much?

You know you have a large class when you get bored taking the register. It seems to take forever to get through all the names. Last year I had a year 6 class of 34 children, in what was my first year of full time teaching, 34 bodies who depended upon me to get them through their (new curriculum) KS2 assessments, when you factor in that the only adult support was a 1:1 TA for a disabled child, the odds were quite heavily stacked against me.

We did it, not I did, we – the children, staff, parents, cleaners, whoever else had any form of impact within that class, we did, we got through the year and achieved some impressive results. I didn’t grumble too much at the class size, after all, as it was my first year in my own class I didn’t really know much different, I just did the very best I could for the children in my class.

Fast forward a year, and I am currently writing reports for a class of 26, 26 children, 8 children less than last year, 16 books (minimum) less to mark every night, it’s wonderful. I have loved having what I now class as a tiny class, not for the workload benefit (although that has certainly helped) but because I truly feel that it has been a more successful year. Let me explain:

1. I know each of my 26 children inside out: I know these children so much better than last year, state the obvious but there is simply less of them, this means I have a greater chance to interact within them all on an individual basis.

2. They are a much tighter knit class: of course they have fall out, someone choses the wrong person for a game of back to base and all hell breaks lose, as it will in every primary school – but on the most part, they all get a long and know each well.

3. Narrower spread of ability: I can very much split my class between those who will take an activity and fly with it, and those who will need guiding and continuous support. It is very black and white. Very helpful when it comes to adding value through guided support.

4. Space: I can move. No exaggeration, last year I had to shimmy around my children, we have a wheelchair uses and that required a larger table so space was at a premium in, what is already a small classroom. I have managed to get rid of 4 tables and 8 chairs, I can literally run around the room – if I had the energy!

5. Workload: Purposefully left till last, of course it is a bonus, of course I rub it in to my partner who is currently teaching a class of 34, but ultimately workload comes with the territory of teaching.

As you can see, the benefits are obvious. Next year however I am not so lucky, I am inheriting a class of 35 children with 3 more already going through the process of submitting an application form to join my new year 6 class. Our current year 5 classes began the year on 30 and will be ending it with 35 a piece. If that trend continues this year I will be teaching a class of at least 40 (as will my year partner)  Looking past the obvious enormous increase in workload, where does this leave the value I can add to each of those (potential) 40 children? Having not taught such a large class before, I ask that anyone who has done so kindly gives some advice on how they found it. Do I just put up and accept that this year is going to be hell, kiss goodbye to evenings and most of the weekends due to increase workloads, or is it not as bad as people make out?

My current feelings is mixed – I am due to inherit a fairly nice cohort, mixed ability, no behaviour issues and a few real characters, I am looking forward to having a real vast demographic of children in my class, but I am also very aware of the increase in value added this year, and how difficult it could be the achieve with 14 more children.

Any advice, stories or memoirs would be greatly appreciated.

 

Can you ever be ahead in this profession?

At the risk of sounding like a generically cynical school teacher: this half term has shown me one thing – no matter how much time you spend working, you will never be ahead.

During my first year of teaching, a fellow teacher told me that “you could work 25 hours a day, 8 days a week and there would still be something you needed to do..” at the time I took the statement with a pinch of salt, however the longer I am in the profession, the greater relevance I see within those words. As mentioned, I do not despise education, far from it, I openly admit to being a geek when it comes to pedagogy and do all I can to immerse myself in the education world; reading, CPD, networking etc – I really do enjoy being a teacher and all the extra that comes with it.

My day as ‘that child’

We have all spoken about them in the staff room, we have all spent hours upon hours metaphorically banging our heads against the proverbial brick wall – that child. That child who just doesn’t get it, no matter how easy you think the question is, how much gesticulating towards the answer on the board you do, or how many sounds of the letters which make up the answers you whisper aloud to them, they just don’t get it. 

Today, I had a very vivid insight as to what this feels like.

Today my school held its ‘Inter-School Music Day’ for those who aren’t familiar – this is a chance for the children to immerse  in all areas of a foundation subjects curriculum across the course of a day (otherwise known as a good way to meet all those curriculum statements not met during the normal day…) Classes spend 30 minutes with each teacher throughout the school covering various aspects of the subject’s core standards, today was music day and I was teaching contemporary rock and pop (1970 – 1999) to 5 different classes, one after the other. Now I will openly admit to being one of the least musically talented teachers you will come across, not a string in my body is tuned, rhythm, tempo, pitch and any other piece of musical vocabulary you can think of just do not resonate in my brain. I am lucky that my year partner is very gifted musically and for 2 of the 3 terms, music is picked up as a PPA activity – I know some would say this is not right as the teacher should be delivering it, but in my book – if there is someone within school who is capable and enthusiastic about teaching music, the children will learn a lot more than if their class teacher – with limited knowledge – is preaching to them.

Back to music day, having looked over the power point slides I would be teaching from (thank you google) I was feeling a tad uneasy about teaching children about rhythm and tempo, I had a basic understanding what they were but no real depth of understanding about what the children needed to be able to do by the time they leave my room.

That is when I was realised that I was ‘that child.’ No matter how many times I listened to Hey Jude by the Beatles and looked at the words  “identify the tempo against the given scale”, or Eye of the Tiger rang out from the SMART board I just could not get the hang of it. Yes, I knew the first song was a slow tempo and the latter was a fast tempo, but when it came to answering questions about the notes being used to build rhythm – I was sweating. I pride myself on professionalism and felt uncomfortable that I could not masterfully answer the questions posed to me by 10-year-old children.

We often ask children – so what have you learned today? My response – I have learned that the child who we begrudge because they can’t answer that easy question we are asking them, despite the answer being in front of them – they are human. They are trying and more than anything they want to answer it, they want to be right and they want to feel successful, but they can’t. It is not a nice feeling and I know for certain that next time a child in my class can not produce an answer for a seemingly simple question , I will think back to my time teaching contemporary rock and pop and remember what it is like. I think it does us all good to feel this way at times, a way of grounding us and reminding us what it is like to sit on the other side of the classroom.  

We often ask children – so what have you learned today? My response – I have learned that the child who we begrudge because they can’t answer that easy question we are asking them, despite the answer being in front of them – they are human. They are trying and more than anything they want to answer it, they want to be right and they want to feel successful, but they can’t. It is not a nice feeling and I know for certain that next time a child in my class can not produce an answer for a seemingly simple question , I will think back to my time teaching contemporary rock and pop and remember what it is like. I think it does us all good to feel this way at times, a way of grounding us and reminding us what it is like to sit on the other side of the classroom.  

Pre SAT anxiety

SATs. A primary teacher’s least favourite acronym. Of all the pointless education based acronyms which have come and gone in their fads over the years, this is one which has stuck! During my first year of teaching in Year 6 I can only describe my relationship with SATs as an obsessions – and not a healthy one. Everyday I would find a way to remind my class that everything we were doing was to prepare for SATs, I would drum home to children how important these tests were and what implications they would have on their time at secondary school, and god forbid someone dared to mention that they weren’t that important… I remember a girl who came in one day and told me that her mum said there was no reason to worry because “sats don’t really matter anyway, they’re just for the school to be judged on..!!” Like a red rag to a bull will suffice in explaining my response. 

Thankfully, I have now hold (and demonstrate) a high-contrasting viewpoint. I now realise the error of my ways and the needless pressure and expectations I placed on myself and the poor children, having often found myself comparing my view of SATs back then to the much more objective approach I now foster, I found myself asking why – why was I that SAt robot who saw these assessment as a genuine measure of my own competence. I truly believe the reason lay in moderation process, be that Ofsted, Local Authority, Cluster moderations, any form of moderation was – I believe – a large factor behind the reason I was determined to dot ever I and cross every T. 

How does that picture look now? I still have children in tears, crying over a poor score in their practise papers, feeling rubbish about themselves because of a number written on the cover of the SPaG, Spelling, Reasoning, Reading or Arithmetic assessment. I recently had a conversation with a colleague about such an incident and explained how it feels like we are torturing these poor children, evaluating their intelligence in 5 areas of their brain – I would like to point out, I think my school has a wonderful approach to SATs prep and we certainly do not forced feed children papers and scrutinise each individual child’s score. Yes, we take scores in to ensure progress but we never make children feel bad about a poor score. No matter which way we, as teachers, play it to our children, assessment will always have one fundamental aim: to judge how well you are able to remember something which you have been taught. Not how well you can apply it, not how secure that understanding is or to what extent you can use it in everyday life, but how well your memory works on the day of the paper. 

The bottom line is that children are not stupid, no matter how much we try to hide it or to put on a front, they know how important the SATs are for us as teachers, and as a result they shoulder a large percentage of that burden, as admirable as it is, it is no way for an 11 year old child to spend their last few months at primary school. Until the day comes that success is widely measured across a range of attributes, these pre SAT anxiety posts will continue to be pertinent. As Albert Einstein once pointed out, ” everybody is a genius, but if you judge a fish by it’s ability to climb a tree, it will spend it’s whole life thinking it is stupid..”