Teacher – Middle Age Fanclub

Teaching: Back once again for the renegade (school) master…

So here we are again. Summer now feels like a distant memory as I’ve been back at work and into a new academic year for the last couple of weeks.

It’s my 26th year of teaching and I’ve reached the grand age of 53, so as I’m sure you’ll understand, regardless of holidays I’m permanently knackered. For me there’s no longer that fresh feel to every September. Not only will I still be tired, but I’ll have seen and heard more or less everything that’s going to be thrown at me between now and late July many times before. It’ll just have been given a new trendy name. And be delivered by someone with way more enthusiasm than me…

I wanted to write about a couple of new things though, as well as something that feels like it’s as old and predictable as time.

Neither of the new things are entirely new. One is in the setting that I now work in and the other is an old idea that has now resurfaced with a new name. Both are challenging me in different ways.

As part of our role as teachers, we all get a couple of duties to do per week; supervising on the yard at break, that kind of thing. This year I had to rub my eyes when I saw what my new duties would entail. Even when I looked again, they were still there and a couple of months later when a new rota was sent out, they remained. Let me tell you, I’m not impressed. This year I have toilet duty…twice a week.

Now, I have to say that I’m lucky as our student toilets are in fact very modern. Glass fronted, lots of cubicles, one big hand wash station in the middle and some fancy hand driers off to the side. These boys have never had it so good! But, they’re still toilets. So two of my breaks are now spent managing the queue outside of the toilets, while trying to keep the flow of ‘customers’ going inside and watching out for any suspicious vape activity too.

On my first duty last week I had been there all of 6 seconds when one of the smaller boys was sick near the front of the queue, which really does just typify my luck! While he stood there unable to work out what to do next, the other boys were either pointing it out to me or screaming and squirming about it. Meanwhile, I had to find someone with a radio who could get in touch with a caretaker, while simultaneously getting the boys to not walk straight through the sick as I kept the flow of the queue going! Talk about juggling plates!

It wasn’t long before a caretaker arrived on scene, coned the area off and cleaned everything up, but not before some of the queue had managed to ignore my warnings and walk straight through it all! You could say it was a baptism of puke…

Since then things have been a bit less eventful. Queues are pretty orderly and nothing dramatic has happened. The smell however, well that’s another matter…

Many years ago Year 11 students who we didn’t think had the ability to follow the GCSE English course would do a course called Entry Level Certificate, which concentrated on the basics of written communication and meant that those students would at least leave school with some kind of English qualification. These were kids with complex special educational needs, learning delays and sometimes even those that could barely read or write. It worked really well, doing much for the self esteem of kids who’d never before felt too comfortable with the study of English.

In their wisdom, the education gods took Entry Level away though and so every year we were left with a cohort of students who would really struggle to access the content that they were being given, however it was pitched.

As is the way with education though, it was eventually brought back, revamped and given a new name and now I have a group of Year 10 students who are doing that course, bringing back many happy memories of teaching it before. It’s taking a bit of getting used to and because there’s no existing work for it at our school I’m having to do lots of planning, but I have to say that it’s actually really enjoyable.

One thing that certainly isn’t new is how fussy Year 7 students can be. I’m blessed – sort of – with two Year 7 classes this year, although one is only for one library lesson per week. Regardless, I think I’m already developing a nervous tick.

At time of writing I’m two weeks into the new academic year and so have taught these groups only a handful of times. Still, they are proving to be quite painful! Maybe it’s the grumpy middle aged man in me, but they just seem to be a constant stream of often irrelevant questions, fuss, a lack of listening and a way too much stationary!

Today we did a reading test in a computer room. The instructions were clear as day and repeated by not just me, but our librarian who was running the tests, at least 4 times. And yet still, I found myself drowning under a deluge of the same type of questions – “Sir, what do I do now?”, “Sir, how do I log on?”, “Sir, what do I click on?”. In situations like this I find any kind of professionalism that I may possess being tested to its very limits!

However, the best was saved for later in the lesson, when bored of having to answer questions on the test, one of them asked our librarian “Miss, how many questions are there?” Rather than tell the individual student, she stopped the group and addressed them all, telling them that the programme was measuring their reading age and thus there were no set number of questions; it would end when the program had got a reading age.

Two minutes later came the same question. And again seconds after. And again a few minutes after that.

As we were packing up it was all I could do not to ask the question myself. However, looking at my colleague I decided that I valued my life more than a valued a cheap laugh!

Anyway, only 36 weeks more to go!

Teaching: New year, new job…first week done!

Having written about my nerves and concerns at starting my new job last time out, I’m happy to say that my first week is now officially done. So, I thought I’d let you know how things went.

It’s safe to say that the first week has felt about a month long and that I’m ready for another holiday. That’s a joke for the humourless and also those people who really don’t like teachers and our allegedly ‘easy jobs’! I am tired though! Anyway, here are the highs and lows of that first week.

The Highs.

We got the band back together. I’m now working with (counts on fingers) 9 people that I’ve worked with before, several of whom are cherished friends and people that I’ve worked with on and off for quite some time now. It’s been lovely, but also surreal at times and I’ve done countless double takes at them walking into my room or just seeing them in corridors and genuinely having the feeling of ‘Hang on, what are you doing here?’ I don’t know when that’ll stop, but it doesn’t lessen the feeling that I’m very lucky to be back in the band. As the frontman, of course before you ask. Me, Ruth, Gemma, Debbie and Emily Smellybumpoo (not her real name, but not far off), it’s great to be back together!

Everyone is so nice. Now, people have been nice before by the way, but having moved from somewhere where I knew everything and everyone really well, it’s been comforting to come somewhere new and meet so many people who have been nothing but friendly and happy to see me. I’ve lost count of the number of visitors to my classroom coming in just to ask me how my day was or how I’m settling in. I mean, sometimes I can walk in my own house and 100% of the people here aren’t particularly moved by my presence, so seeing so many smiling faces pointing in my direction has been a real boost.

No surprises with the students. Kids are just kids, aren’t they? Never an opinion nor a reaction in common and despite my nerves about being at a boy’s school, it turns out that they’re much of a muchness with all the other children I’ve taught before. Probably the best moment of the week in terms of students actually came outside the classroom while I was on duty on the field on Friday. Two students approached me, asking ‘Are you new, sir?’ When I confirmed that I was, one of them told me that he was in my interview lesson months ago and that he was pleased I’d got the job, before wishing me the best of luck and leaving telling me, ‘Yeah, you’re sound, sir’. Praise indeed!

It takes me 7 minutes to get to work. My commute is just 7 minutes. That’s the high, right there.

Fridays are amazing. On Fridays I have a free period and my afternoon consists of a class of lovely Year 7s followed by the final lesson of the week in the library with my Year 8s. For the final part of each library lesson I get to read our class reader to my class, while they just sit and follow. I absolutely love reading aloud in class, always have done, and now I get to end every week of the year doing just that!

The Lows.

Training Days. With the dawn of corporate style academy trusts came many things to complain about. One of the worst is the first day back conference. It doesn’t seem to matter where you go; you can’t escape. And it doesn’t matter what training you choose to do, or who’s speaking because it all adds up to a 7 or 8 hour day of being talked at. This is not my strong point and I’d say that usually at around 7 or 8 minutes in, I’ve stopped listening. My eyes are open, I’m breathing, but frankly, I’m on auto pilot. The lights are definitely on, but it’s not really me that’s at home; I’m more a combination of Elmer Fudd, some sparkly lighting and a bowl of custard, which is useful. This year, there was a motivational speaker. He spoke for over 90 minutes which served to destroy my back and leave me with numb buttocks that may never regain full sensitivity. I’ll also never forget his name or achievements because he mentioned them in almost every other sentence. By the end of it all I felt like I’d done 3 rounds with a UFC fighter! That said, it was still more fun than my old place where I was once asked to contribute to a round of applause the lead school’s GCSE results! Reader, I sat on my hands and grimaced.

There’s always that one class. Let’s just say that they were testing out the new bloke. It was no great surprise, but for a whole lesson one of my classes just would not behave, would not be quiet and would not listen. They were relentless. I felt like a student teacher again, helpless and useless. I was flustered, frustrated and boy, was I sweaty! This cloud had a lovely silver lining though. Senior staff were angered, concerned for me and apologetic, even though there was no need. Boys will be boys, will be boys. The reaction helped show me the strength of the team I’ve joined though. My head of department asked jokingly, would I be back tomorrow. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, as some bloke with a pointy beard and a dodgy earring once wrote.

The lack of sleep. I haven’t made it to my alarm all week. Every morning, I’ve been out of bed before it’s gone off, having been awake for a while beforehand. I’m happy to have made the change, but definitely unsettled by it all. I know I’ll be ok in a few weeks when there’s a lot less newness, but for now, I’m shattered!

Hall, Oates and…Bedingfield? Starting something new can clearly do something strange to your mind. True to form, for some reason I’ve had ‘You Make My Dreams Come True’ by Hall and Oates and ‘Unwritten’ by Natasha Bedingfield relentlessly running round my head all week. Now, I love Hall and Oates and always have done, but Bedingfield is just a mystery. And a massive pain in the arse.

No goats. Believe it or not my new school not only has a forest school, but also a kind of allotment style arrangement for our more vulnerable learners known as the barnyard. Among the animals there we have goats and I bloody love goats! Sadly though, despite keeping an eagle eye out whenever I’ve been in the vicinity I’ve not seen even a hair of a goat. I’m gutted, but hopeful that my first goat encounter isn’t far off! Maybe next week…

I never thought I’d leave my old place. I loved the place, the people and the students. But then life got in the way, as it has a habit of doing and just when I was about as low as I could get, another opportunity presented itself and I was lucky enough to be able to take it.

I’m at the very start of that opportunity. It’s been a ridiculously busy week and stressful too. But then, I expected that it would be. I have to say though, I’m really enjoying my work. I miss lots of things and people at my old place and it’s been strange being in a new classroom, not knowing my way around the school – I’ve got lost at least 5 times – and not seeing some of my favourite people. But you know what? I think I’m going to love working at my new place. One week down of a new school year…only 190 more days to go

Teaching: New school year, new job…help!

This September I start a new job. This shouldn’t be a big problem for me, yet I’m more than a little anxious about the change.

As I said, it shouldn’t be something that’s too alarming. I mean for a start, this was my choice. Furthermore, I’m entering my 25th year of teaching – what’s that, you wouldn’t know it to look at me and I should get out of town, you say? It’s true though and in my head that should mean that I’ve seen it all before and that a change like this shouldn’t really have an effect. But it is and there’s quite a lot that’s bothering me. But rather than write about it in a “pick me” as my kids say, kind of way, I thought I’d try to make people smile a bit. Let’s play this for laughs, not for sympathy.

Let’s start with how it all came about. I’d been at my last place for 9 years, most of them blissfully happy ones too. I was appointed as a Lead Practitioner and although at first it felt like the school might not know what to do with me, it was thoroughly enjoyable and I felt like I was contributing a lot. Over the years I felt like I was really helping out at the school and affecting change in my own small way. I’d occasionally run whole school or departmental training. I’d do morning briefings about various things, taking the lead on reading and oracy in particular with the emphasis on getting my ideas across while also giving people a bit of fun at the start of their day. I’d also do fairly regular assemblies. In short, I felt like I was good at my job. Apart from mentoring; I was shit at that.

Three years ago though, I was told that my role was no longer viable for whatever reason and that was that. Unless I wanted to apply to be in charge of KS4 English, I’d be back as a teacher of English only. The KS4 role just wasn’t for me and so I went about my business as a teacher. Sure, I sulked a bit but overall I was professional and did my job to the very best of my ability. The cut in wages and lack of challenge never left me though and I decided that I’d be leaving, as much as it would hurt.

Then, two years ago, I got ill. My heart decided not to bother working properly anymore and it resulted in me having 4 months off work. When I returned, nothing felt the same and I spent large parts of last year feeling really unhappy. Now, I’ll be honest, I probably look unhappy most of the time anyway, but this was different. Inwardly and outwardly, I just wasn’t smiling.

Luckily for me another chance presented itself and with a touch more luck, I got the job. So, just what is it that’s worrying me then?

I’m someone who likes to have fun at work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a professional first and foremost, but I’ve loved being class clown for a long time too. For me, teaching is largely just showing off.

One of the ways that I like to have fun is via email. Childish, I know, but I love a daft email. Now though, I find myself worrying about how that first email will go down. At my last place, my first really silly one involved asking everyone in the department what music they’d have as their walk on music, if we could bring in such a thing. It’s the kind of thing that I daydream about in meetings. If you must know, I’d have a burst ‘No Limits’ by 2Unlimited, followed by a bit of ‘The Power’ by Snap before finishing with the drama of ‘One Voice’ by Barry Manilow. Genius, I know. I’d look fabulous as well, by the way.

Anyway, after 9 years at my old place everyone was more than used to this type of thing and most seemed to enjoy it. But how will it all go down in a new setting? I’m heartened by the fact that I know some of the people in my department, but still, I don’t want people to think of me as a complete knobhead. Not until they get to know me, anyway.

On a much more serious note, I’m anxious about creating relationships with my classes. It’s always hard and having been at the same school for 9 years, it’s not something I’m used to any more. Sure, I had new classes every year, but this year barely a pupil at the school knows me. I know that after a few weeks they’ll be used to me and I’ll be used to them, but the fact that it can be such a gruelling process is still a little daunting. I’ve never been one of the ‘don’t smile ’til Christmas’ brigade and want students to enjoy being in my lessons so for me relationships are key.

It’s a similar story where relationships with colleagues are concerned. As I said earlier, I already know some of my department having worked with them before, but as for the others, I don’t even think I’ve met them all. I’m really quite a shy person. In my recent leaving speech I joked that probably only 40% of the people present actually knew who I was, but I might not have been too far wide of the mark! Hopefully though, I’m able to come across as far less of a tool than I actually am. I might even try to chip in with some useful comments in meetings, just to smooth the way! Best to get some brownie points in the bag before that first email, I guess!

Learning names is also something to fret about. I’ve never been the best in this area of my job. With students I’m usually quite good, just because I see the same names on a register time and time again, although there’ll always be one or two that slip the net. However, it’s staff names that I really struggle with. There are already a couple of people that I’ve met where I’m unsure of their name. It’s a particular blind spot with me and although there’s always ‘Miss’ and ‘Sir’ to rely on, I always feel guilty about this particular flaw. A whole fresh start with an entirely new staff suddenly feels like an accident waiting to happen. I’m never far off an ‘alright Dave’ situation when I’m talking to a Mike or a Paul and it’s inevitable that I’m only weeks ago from a misnaming faux pas!

Almost a quarter of a century of teaching has seen me acquire quite a lot of ‘stuff’. And finding it a home makes me anxious too. I’m yet to see my classroom and so don’t know if there’s space for all I’ll bring. Further to that is the fact that it’s going to take loads of trips back and forth from my car to get it all in too. I deliberately left quite a lot behind and have even culled some of the stuff I brought home. I mean, I took around half a box of spare worksheets and paper resources that I had knocking around in my old room before looking at them in my front room and realising that, having not probably used any of it for the best part of a decade I’d probably have no need for it anyway! It’s odd the things that you cling on to. Luckily, there are probably only around 7 boxes worth to transport. And then some bags too! Someone help me!

My new job is at a boys school. The first same sex school I’ll have taught in and although I know exactly what to expect (lads, lads, lads, I suppose), it unnerves me a bit. I know it’ll take a bit of getting used to. I know that I’ll spend the first few weeks looking at my class thinking stuff like, ‘There’s something not quite right here’ and doing comedy double takes at the fact that ‘THEY’RE ALL BOYS’!

And then, and by no means finally but I have to end somewhere, there are the little things. The ones that will probably turn out to be nothing, but will almost certainly keep me awake the night before it all begins.

Firstly, I haven’t got my pass yet. And what are we without a lanyard, eh? I mean, a chair of governors once wrongly accused me and a couple of others of turning ours around deliberately at an open evening in order to avoid parental questions, so I’m envisaging a horde of riot police charging at me when I turn up without one. But also, how do I get in to the building? What if no one comes to get me? And then, when I finally get it what do I do if the picture is one of those where my smile is on the wane, so to speak? You know, like it’s sliding off your face? What do I do then?

There’s also the bit where you have to introduce yourself to the whole staff. Sure, it’s just a stand up and wave thing, but if anyone’s going to trip over his own feet on the way up or miss his chair on the way back down, it’s me. My brain has a terrible habit of either making me say stupid stuff or do something even stupider. So, I’m really looking forward to winking at a hall full of people while pointing my fingers or doing a peace sign like some cheeseball gameshow host and all the while not having a clue how any of it happened.

Furthermore, I’ve never parked in the actual car park. I’ve always been in a handy visitor’s space. So what if I park in the wrong place? It’d be just like me to park in Big Tony’s space (the bloke who everyone fears and no one knows what he actually teaches – every school’s got one). I’m not a young man anymore; I could do without all of this!

All this is running round my mind and I haven’t even got to the usual expected raft of IT problems that have haunted me for years. The board that only works on days with an ‘e’ in their name, the forgetting of my own password, wrestling with a more advanced version of ClassCharts than I’m used to and then of course, my nemesis…the bloody visualiser! We still used a telly on a trolley when I first started, so it doesn’t take much in terms of IT to put me in a flap!

Changing jobs has made me feel ludicrously inexperienced again, before I’ve even started. I’m finding myself worrying about things that bothered me as a newly qualified teacher back in the late 1800s. Anyone that knows me will also know that none of this is an exaggeration either! Luckily, I know that really it’s just a case of getting the first month out of the way before I’m into some kind of routine and things are pretty much falling into place. Give it a year or two and they’ll have stopped talking about the amount of times I locked myself out of a building, the ridiculous resources I brought or even my inevitably ill fitting high viz for duties too.

Wish me luck! I think I’m going to need it!

No planner, a chimp, naps and IT problems: It’s Back to School ’23/24

September is not my favourite month, it’s safe to say. It’s the end of one generally lovely part of my life and the beginning of something very different. Time for a lot of us to turn what has become a rather pleasant routine on its head. Time again for early starts and rainy commutes. Time for what seems like constant noise where there had been solitude for much of the days that had spread out in front of us. Yep, these last couple of weeks have meant that it’s been time to go back to school.

For once, I didn’t get the full treatment in terms of ‘The Fear’. Of course, I didn’t want to go back and thoughts of chaos in the classroom seemed to permeate almost everything I was trying to concentrate on. My mood worsened and I was ranting and grumbling even more than usual. As usual, I tried to turn the return to work into a positive by doing stuff like taking the occasional trip to the shops to search out some new shirts, as even if I may not actually look good, I think it’s important to at least try and kid myself that I do. However, for once, I didn’t suffer with back to school nightmares where I’m standing in front of a class who simply aren’t listening and are talking over me, whatever I say or threaten them with. So that was a blessed relief and a nice change.

However, when I realised on the afternoon of the last day of the summer holidays that I still hadn’t ordered a planner, it became clear that I just wasn’t really that organised or even slightly ready for what was to come. Still though, despite their attempts to take over the world, Amazon proved its worth and with a few clicks I had exactly the same planner as last year on order. It wouldn’t arrive until the Tuesday, but I’d muddle on through…

If you’re a teacher reading this I’m sure you’ll share my absolute hatred and horror at the first INSET day. If you’re SLT reading this, then that last sentence was for comedic effect; we’re all delighted to be there and hanging on your every word. But maybe, on that particular high note, you should stop reading now.

Few things in teaching can feel as futile as the first INSET day. A friend tells me that he’s rarely listening that day and that he often finds himself hating three quarters of the people in every room that he enters. Apart from his own department, who are all wonderful. I’ll keep him anonymous, because that’s quite a bold statement, but just so that we’re clear, he’s definitely not me, but a friend.

Our set up dictates that we all head over to the lead school in our academies trust for the morning and so, on the first Monday back, I was in a car share chatting to a pal, while listening to The Smiths and wondering why the people in the back had definitely just mentioned that someone they knew might just be a swinger. It’s the kind of 20 minute journey that feels like it takes 4 hours and almost every road is about 6ft wide and undulating. And this year someone was talking about swingers.

On arrival at our INSET day, it’s a bit like being a pilot as numerous ‘important’ people in high viz jackets attempt to steer you into exactly the right parking space, as if parking where you want would represent a level 9 security breach, whatever that is.

Then, it’s breakfast with staff from every other school in the trust – I estimate that we have 804 schools by the state of the canteen as we walk in – and my compliments to the chef have to go to the individual who served up my orange juice and pain au chocolate as it made me feel like I’d just arrived at a luxury spa in rural France…sort of.

I’ll spare you anymore great detail of the morning, but suffice to say it was a delight to share reading strategies that I introduced to the staff of my own school around 4 years ago as well as those from partner schools and see them greeted with the kind of enthusiasm that indicated that no one had been listening four years ago. I’ll look forward to see someone else introducing them as their own some time soon and resolve to try very, very hard not to scream or shout obscenities.

There was also mention of Steve Peters, the psychiatrist made famous for his work with many of the UK’s top athletes. It reminded me that it’s entirely possible that I only have the chimp part of my brain that functions. And if you haven’t read the book, that won’t mean anything to you. Basically , Dr Steve says that it’s the chimp part of your brain that makes you do stupid stuff. Don’t worry though; it’s not a real chimp.

Looking round at lunch I noticed that one of our new starters didn’t get the casual dress memo; a lone young man in shirt and tie while everyone else in in jeans, t-shirts and the like, which is always brilliant and I also spotted the worst deputy head I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with, as he now seems to be employed by our trust. A number of years back I had to be restrained by a friend to prevent me having ‘a chat’ with said deputy after he simply forgot to turn up for an observation I’d spent untold hours preparing for. So, it was lovely to see him again.

At the end of that first day, I left work late feeling exactly the same way as I do every year – unprepared for the rest of the week and wishing that someone would grasp the importance of giving teachers time on these kinds of days rather than just workshops and speeches.

The rest of the week actually wasn’t that bad though, although I’m teaching three different subjects this year and would relish the chance to warmly thank our government for their assistance with this development. Without your ineptitude and inability to fund the creation of attractive working environments that might attract and keep new staff year in year out, I wouldn’t get to challenge myself with bottom set Year 9 PHSCE, so thanks for that. It wouldn’t be the same just being an experienced English teacher tasked with just teaching English.

One irritation about the rest of the week was that it was conducted through a heatwave, which if you’re a teacher you’ll know is exactly the same thing that happens every year, without fail. Five and a half weeks of rain followed by weather that would be more at home in the outback. My classroom is air-conditioned, so it’s quite nice, but it’s never fun when every class that comes in gives you a weather report, then points out that my room is lovely and cool before giving it ten minutes and informing me that they’re too cold.

It felt like a long week and I must admit it was a struggle in terms of tiredness – I nearly wrote fatigue there, but it was 5 days, for goodness sakes – and as I adapted to my routine for the 24th year, there were a few late finishes.

Happily, I managed to fit in two impromptu naps – don’t worry they were at home, not at work – so perhaps it’s right what they say about every cloud as it was a joy to re-discover my ability to fall asleep while reading. It may not be a skill to add to a CV any time soon, but it’s definitely something that I excel at and am really quite passionate about.

More joy came with the number of students who pointed out that I now had a beard. It was great to be reminded of this fact, especially as I’ve had said beard for around 9 months now and would have paraded it in front of almost all of them for several of those months last year. So, if anyone wonders of it’s a problem for teachers to get students to retain information on any number of complex subjects from Shakespeare to trigonometry, that might just help with the answer.

There have been the usual snags over the last couple of weeks. Every teacher surely knows that every photocopier in the building will break within 24 hours. And we’ll all still try to fix them or use them, despite the sign telling us they’re knackered.

In further technology news, my board is still making the same noise (it literally goes ‘doodly doo’ loudly and repeatedly) at random points of every lesson as it did in July. A temporary fix was put in place then; so temporary that it just never worked and the noise just continued. I was promised it’d be fixed. I was also promised that the wire that runs from my computer to my board would be replaced as it meant I had to hurdle it to get around that part of my classroom. Reader, I’m still hurdling.

There have been the delights of shared classes too. This year it feels like I share 94 groups, although it’s only three. But this still means the need to locate your books when needed as well as the sheer nightmare of working out where each class has got to while they’re with the other teacher. Often, this is just solved with an email, but it never fails to make things awkward! It also means that for the umpteenth year running, I’m an entire class’s least favourite English teacher and I get to hear that ‘Miss doesn’t do this’ or ‘Miss is nice’ at least 14 times a lesson.

Finally came a personal snag highlight in that where I park there are a few trees and it’s at this time of year that they seems to shed some kind of white sap. So, for the last two weeks, I’ve been possibly quite unique in being the only bloke driving a black and white polka dotted Mazda through West Yorkshire for the last two weeks.

As we edge towards the end of the second week I at least have reason for some optimism. My desk is roughly two metres wide and 1 metre deep. As I type, I think you can still see actual desk over approximately half of that area. Knowing that the piles of paper and books will inevitably grow, that 50% of desk is very much a reason to be cheerful!

Poetry Blog: Fledglings

This is a poem that I wrote about the transition to high school. It’s something that is very much at the forefront of my mind at the moment as for only the second time in a decade, I have a Year 7 form again. Not only this, but I start again on the merry-go-round of teaching English to a new Year 7 class too. So, this year I will see a Year 7 class at least once a day every day.

As one of the people most responsible for these new students, you tend to find that they’re on your mind quite a bit. So, a few days ago I found myself discussing a particular student in my new form with a colleague and it got me to thinking about this stage of their school careers. I began to think about my role, but also what I’d compare the Year 7s with and the image of fledgling birds in a nest came to mind. It’s not the most original thing, but I ended up writing the following poem from the idea.

Fledglings

(A poem best read in your best David Attenborough voice...)

Safely incubated over the course of a carefree six week summer,
now is the time for parents to let go of
one more downy feather,
as their latest fledgling ventures out into another brave new world.

Shielded up to this point by everything familiar
and much the same routine for the last 6 years,
now almost everything will change.
Another journey is about to be made,
new lessons learned and, with a tear of trepidation,
they are pushed from the nest.

Pushing through a door, a portal to a new life of possibility and potential,
some upright, confident, ready, while others seem still to lack
the confidence that will see them take flight.
Gathering in groups or shuffling into corners where adult eyes
are immediately alerted to the potential for danger
or a plan being hatched.

Already, lines are being drawn...

From here, a steep learning curve will be climbed
by choosing haphazardly from a list including
bravado, belligerence and bewilderment.
There will be casualties along the way,
tears and tantrums, but eventually all will thrive in one way or another
as confidence grows, feathers are earned and flight, however cautiously,
is taken, and however long it may take,
is embarked upon in order to begin yet another grueling journey.

With this poem – as with lots of the others that I write – it started with a few lines just arriving in my head after a little bit of thought. Usually, from there I’ll scribble them down and try to write more, before I decide what goes together…and sometimes even what it’s about!

The difference with Fledglings was that when forming those few lines in my head I could ‘hear’ the voice of David Attenborough reading them! As I wrote more, this just seemed to keep happening until, in the end, I just decided to try and write the whole thing as if it part of the narration of a show like Planet Earth. I really liked the idea of having a bit of fun with the poem. After all, it’s a very simple metaphor, so there had to be something else that anyone reading might find interesting! I hope that it’s a ‘twist’ that other people like. And I really hope that it’s not just me that sees or hears the poem this way. Maybe, if you find yourself a quiet space, you could try to read it in your best David Attenborough voice…

As ever, feel free to leave a comment as I always enjoy people’s thoughts about what I write, especially the poems!

Teaching: At times it’s just like riding a bike…

Last week I posted a blog about that difficult first week back as a teacher. The anxiety, the new classes, the lottery that can be a timetable, building relationships and even just having to get out of bed a couple of hours earlier. Having spent 6 weeks living life at a slower pace, it can all be a bit much.

However, every year I tell myself the same thing. I tell colleagues too. And I tell my long suffering family, who have had to live with this ‘even grumpier in September’ bloke for far too long: get the first two weeks out of the way and it’ll be alright.

That first two weeks essentially allows me to find my feet and reminds me that I can in fact do my job effectively, having spent the previous two weeks – without fail, every year – feeling like I’m going to stand at the front of the classroom, trying to teach, but just not remembering how to do it anymore. My students will talk over me until it all gets out of control and I end up in a tearful heap on the floor! It never happens that way though.

My first two weeks have been incredibly busy, hectic at times, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Really, it’s been OK. I feel like I’ve found my feet quite quickly and that the confidence that is needed at the front of that classroom has returned and allowed me to jus do my job without too much stress at all. I’m back in the old routine, using the same skills, adapting to different texts and techniques, learning some of the new names that I have to learn (this always takes me a while) and even managing to get through meetings without too many thoughts of simply throwing myself out of the nearest window. I knw that will come though!

There have been some minor challenges as well. Sadly, I’ve noticed that my eyesight has got a bit worse, meaning that I can’t read the register without my glasses and that certain texts have been a little more difficult to read through than they were a year ago. In vanity news, I have had to come to work for 9 days with hair that has looked like a hedge left to its own devices for a number of years until it has just become untamed. This, courtesy of my hairdresser who had the audacity to go off on holiday without warning…for a month. Until last night I hadn’t had a haircut for over 10 weeks, which was beginning to cause me some trouble!

In one of my classes I have a student with a hearing impairment, which requires me to were a kind of digital microphone that hangs round my neck like a lanyard. Much to the student’s delight, I forget about it, without fail, every lesson and she has to remind me. But even this is good in a way as it allows me to overact, like some kind of pantomime dame, and really ham it up about how useless I am and what a great helper she is. Sometimes, even the simplest of things can make a student smile!

So, while it’s been as difficult a couple of weeks as I’d imagined, it’s not been too bad and it’s funny how old habits die hard. As the headline suggests, it really is like riding a bike…provided you could ride one in the first place!

Teaching: The Worst Things About Christmas Half Term

Recently, I wrote an article about the fact that this time of year is nothing short of arduous and painful for us teachers. I know it’s difficult for a lot of people at this time of year, but having done other jobs in my time, I’d definitely say it’s tougher than most places in education. I haven’t worked down a pit or anything, but I’d hope you take my point. With this point in mind, I got to thinking about the kind of things I dislike the most about my job at this time of year. And so, in no particular order and with more than a hint of sarcasm and tongue firmly tucked in cheek, here you go!

The constant question – “Can we just watch a movie?” For starters, we call them films where I’m from, so no, we can’t. However, from week 1 right the way up until the last week before Christmas, at least one of your classes will think that the time is just right for watching a film. They’ll cite the number of days until Christmas, the terrible weather and tout the blatant lie that all the other classes are watching films…anything that might just make you budge. And the cherry on top of this particular cake is that when you finally do put on a DVD – on the last day, bosses – your students will generally sit and talk through it! Well my wonderful students, I’m afraid you’ve just met DVD Scrooge and instead we’ll be doing that far more traditional English Christmas half term activity of writing lots and reading a bit. Bah humbug indeed!

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com

The other popular question – simply because the first question wasn’t annoying enough, students will then turn to another, genuinely more offensive question. And all in the name of Christmas. And it’ll often be the first thing they ask as they walk through the door. In fact, sometimes, as a Christmas treat, they might ask you it before lesson as you’re passing on a corridor. The question? ‘Are we doing anything fun today?’ Now there are several levels of offensiveness to this question. Firstly, is there a veiled accusation here that our lessons aren’t fun? Task-wise, I might take their point here at times. Maybe writing an analysis of how a writer creates tension isn’t that much fun in a world where we have the internet, X-Box, Love Island and erm…fidget spinners (look it’s spinning on my finger…), but we’re in an English class; what did you expect? Secondly, I try to run a relaxed ship. I like a little bit of a lighter atmosphere and a bit of a joke now and again (a bit of ‘daft carry on’ we’d call it where I’m from), so the suggestion that my lessons aren’t fun is actually a personal affront. Or maybe I’m just not that entertaining? *Dismisses such a ridiculous notion with a smug little chuckle and moves on.* And of course there’s the fact that the study of English has been pretty much a constant in my life. It was an important GCSE for me, then an A-Level, then I did it as my degree! Fun? Bloody fun? Bollocks to fun, pal. Appreciate my expertise! Feel my love for the subject! Then get your 18th analysis of the half term written up! And look forward to re-writing it, in PURPLE PEN no less once it’s marked and I’ve demanded improvements! Then, if you’re really lucky, you’ll get to write a diary entry from the point of view of one of the characters in the play we’ve been studying! Don’t worry though, I might just dress up as a clown and do some juggling for you if the fun’s really getting ramped up as well. (I won’t. Ever.)

Christmas Cards – it’s not that I don’t love getting them; I do. I think it’s a lovely traditional gesture and I always enjoy taking them home to put up round the house. However, I am utterly rotten at remembering to write my own and send them/bring them in to school to give out. Cue a cringeworthy few moments every time I get one while I meekly explain that I keep meaning to write mine, but I’m an utter shambles of a man. Cue also me rushing around on the final morning of the half term delivering my cards – if I’ve remembered to get them out, write them up and then put them in my bag – like some kind of apologetic, pathetic Christmas loser. Oh, the yearly shame!

The final lessons before the Christmas break – it’s not the lessons themselves. They’re fine. Granted, I’m practically on my knees by this point, exhausted and steeling myself for finishing work and heading home to face the onslaught of pre-Christmas jobs that will inevitably only get finished some time mid morning on the 25th. No, it’s the fact that even though I’ve finally relented on the film question, my classes are still not satisfied with such wonderful Christmas benevolence. And why? Because my colleagues – God bless them, every one of them (to paraphrase Dickens) – have brought in snacks – snacks I tell you! – and are holding some kind of bloody party in their rooms! Well sorry kids, but ‘The Ghost of that Shit Christmas When All You Got Was Socks and Pants’ here didn’t get that memo. You know the drill…altogether now…Bah Humbug!

Christmas Jumper Day – or as I see it, the chance to look like a tw*t for a full day. That might not be everybody, by the way. Some people can look quite cool in their Christmas jumpers. Allegedly.

Can you turn the heating on?/It’s so cold! Another question that makes my internal, scarcely dormant volcano start to rumble. Not a day goes by at this time of year when I don’t have to go through my early morning in-school routine with a class. And they’re always told that the very first thing I do when I unlock the door and come into class is to put the heating on. If only they could remember. They also always fail to notice that the heating is actually on, despite the lit up display which again, is pointed out to them every day. Come in at 7.45am kids, I’ll allow my room to demonstrate cold for you! As for the fact that it’s cold; of course it’s cold. We live in northern England and our school is on the top of a great big hill; of course it’s cold!

So there you have it. The bane of my life at this time of year. Just as I’m feeling like I could sleep for a week, tweens and teens are busily digging the same old ways out in order to make all of our teaching lives just that tiny bit more stressful. Christmas can’t come soon enough!

I hope you enjoyed the blog and if you have any irritations at this time of your work year, whether you’re a teacher or not, feel free to let me know in the comments.

I’ll end on a big thankyou to the friends who got in touch to remind me of some of their own personal lowlights of teaching at this time of year in order to help with this blog. It’s late in the year, I’m tired and was flagging in the ideas department. Not for the first time the English Department at our school helped me out. I work with some truly wonderful people (although they always forget to bring me cakes and biscuits when they’ve been left in the staffroom as a reward for our hard work), so once again, cheers!

Poetry Blog: Library Visit

This is a poem that came into being while I was sitting with my Year 7 group during a library visit. We have a thriving library in the school that I work at and at Key Stage 3, English classes are booked in for regular visits in order to renew loans, browse or take out new books. It was on one such visit that I scribbled down the bones of a poem, putting it together as the finished thing later that day.

What prompted me to write was how amazingly fussy the students were. On top of this it felt like they hadn’t listened to anything they were told in what was obviously a carefully planned presentation. Their behaviour made me smile in part, but also brought out my sarcastic side, which to be fair is never far from the surface anyway.

Library Visit

If you are 11 or 12 it would seem to be impossible
not to fiddle with a plastic wallet when given one.
A temptation surely proven by science as unavoidable.
To crinkle, to flatten, to rustle and crackle,
might as well be written down as law,
with a sub-section of said law regarding the unavoidability
of crinkling, crackling and or flattening when the librarian 
is addressing the room.

The same rule seems to apply when it comes to sitting 
on an assigned chair,
especially if this process involves sitting next to 
a member of the opposite sex.
Those who will take on, for most, the very properties
of a magnet in just a few short years are for now,
strictly persona non grata 
and to park one's arse within a few inches is viewed as
an absolute, unspoken, unwritten non starter.

Silent browsing is now also beyond the wit of
the pre teen human. Instead this almost instantly provokes
inane chatter and a convergence around any available
window in order to gawp longingly at an outdoor PE lesson.
And so, the sanctity and stillness of the library
lies largely ignored, broken; the resistance of an enormous SILENCE sign
is futile and a thing of the past, long discarded and tossed unwanted 
into the depths of a stock room, a relic of a lifetime ago.

What is certainly not impossible is the ability 
to ask ridiculous questions.
Common sense flies out of the window,
somewhere on the corridor on the way here,
having the common sense to know that it will not be needed
in the next half hour.
Even organised, alphabetised shelves full of writer's names
will not reveal where to find the R of Rowling,
the D for Dahl,
and so ordered thinking gives way to questions that,
with a few seconds more thought, need never have been asked.

It’s funny how these library visits regularly pan out in exactly the same way. Our students are more than happy to revert to stereotypes when they’re left to their own devices at these times. So rather than scrutinising the shelves we’ll see groups of boys congregating by the windows in order to either gaze out of them or just stand there whispering.

The stereotypes continue as there are always boys loitering around the non fiction section grabbing books about cars so that they can sit back down and point at the glamour on the pages in front of them with their friends.

Similarly girls will wander around in groups, choosing books before sitting down and dutifully reading them. Because they’re good at doing what they’re asked to do.

It wasn’t a stressful library visit. In fact, if I could have predicted how it would go I’d have been pretty much 100% accurate. But it never fails to amaze me how classes don’t listen when they’re told where to sit, how boys seem almost allergic to sitting next to a girl or how even though someone is addressing them, some kids will fidget with something in their bag or pencil case. And so, I wrote the poem…

I hope you enjoyed what you read. If you work in education you might know exactly what I’m talking about or if you just remember such visits from school, it might have brought back some memories. I’d love to hear what you thought though, so feel free to drop me a line in the comments.