The head of my infants' school, in Sydney in the 1950s, was a formidable, eccentric woman called Miss Campbell. She scared the parents and pupils, but we loved her for her mad ideas and crazy schemes.
At the end of assemblies, she would inspire our imaginations by saying:
"Now, go to your classrooms as giants."
And we would walk on tiptoe, stretching as high as we could. The next day it might be:
".....as frogs" or ".....as elephants" or "....as trumpet players" etc.
She often performed Punch & Judy shows, with other puppet characters - in a genuine, striped, beach tent. These performances quite often interrupted lessons, just because she suddenly felt the urge to put on a show for us.
When she hauled me out of class to play Joseph in the Nativity Scene, I went whiter than the sheet she wrapped me in.
When the mothers gathered in the playground just before the end of the school day, Miss Campbell warned them to 'stay outside the gates until the last bell sounds'. Many mothers ignored this warning, and so Miss Campbell walked into the playground one afternoon, turned on the hose and soaked all those recalcitrant mothers. Today, that would no doubt cause an uproar, but back then, nothing happened - except that all the mothers remained outside the gates from then on.
My own mother had an altercation with Miss Campbell, with me as an onlooker, over the issue of school uniform. All I recall now is that my mother terminated the argument with the words:
"Miss Campbell! You educate Lindsay. I'll dress him!"
Incredibly enough, my brother met Miss Campbell in the 1990s, when she was in her 90s. She remembered our mother, John and me.
That kind of crazy but imaginative teacher is now in an ever-decreasing minority. I don't agree with drenching parents, but I do wish that there were more inspired teachers around.
OFSTED's 'ideal teacher' is the opposite of Miss Campbell - a box-ticking automaton.
May the new year see the demise of the OFSTED ideal.
Sunday 28 December 2014
Sunday 21 December 2014
The human rewards of teaching are supposed to offset the pressure, responsibility and relatively low pay of the job. Fortunately, they do, even within a rotten system.
Occasionally, a pupil will do or say something that makes the whole thing seem worthwhile. Teachers yearn for these moments.
When I taught English at secondary level, I was keen to improve the pupils' oral skills, so I implemented a 5 minute slot at the end of most lessons, devoted to impromptu speaking. Each pupil would select a card at random, on which was written a single word, e.g. Money, Television, Music, Food, Cars etc. They then had to speak on the topic for at least one minute, without pausing longer than five seconds. The more they practised speaking off the cuff, the easier it became and helped increase their self-confidence. The exercise was voluntary, some enjoyed performing, while others feared it.
One boy, Jacob, would attempt the exercise again and again, without much success. He usually dried up after half a minute. On one occasion, as he returned to his seat, he looked at me and said:
"I hate doing this, but I want to get better".
I gasped with delight. This is the kind of comment every teacher wants to hear - an expression of determination and self-motivation, the only worthwhile motivation in human existence. The 'carrot and stick' approach might be motivating, but it is self-motivation that is the gold key to learning.
I wish my readers a very Merry Christmas, and may 2015 be a splendid year for you all.
Occasionally, a pupil will do or say something that makes the whole thing seem worthwhile. Teachers yearn for these moments.
When I taught English at secondary level, I was keen to improve the pupils' oral skills, so I implemented a 5 minute slot at the end of most lessons, devoted to impromptu speaking. Each pupil would select a card at random, on which was written a single word, e.g. Money, Television, Music, Food, Cars etc. They then had to speak on the topic for at least one minute, without pausing longer than five seconds. The more they practised speaking off the cuff, the easier it became and helped increase their self-confidence. The exercise was voluntary, some enjoyed performing, while others feared it.
One boy, Jacob, would attempt the exercise again and again, without much success. He usually dried up after half a minute. On one occasion, as he returned to his seat, he looked at me and said:
"I hate doing this, but I want to get better".
I gasped with delight. This is the kind of comment every teacher wants to hear - an expression of determination and self-motivation, the only worthwhile motivation in human existence. The 'carrot and stick' approach might be motivating, but it is self-motivation that is the gold key to learning.
I wish my readers a very Merry Christmas, and may 2015 be a splendid year for you all.
Sunday 14 December 2014
As a teacher, I occasionally told the pupils the story of the remarkable Helen Keller.
Born in 1888, in Alabama in the USA, she went blind and deaf at 18 months, because of a virus, probably meningitis.
Fortunately her parents were wealthy enough to afford a teacher for their 7 year old daughter. Annie Sullivan was employed to care for and teach Helen. It didn't take long before Annie realised that this child was highly intelligent, and fiercely wilful.
Because of her condition, Helen's parents let her roam freely, take food from plates, and more or less let her do as she wished. Annie also realised that unless Helen could communicate with the world, she would never escape the darkness and silence she lived in.
Annie and Helen fought many battles, some quite violent, but the day came when Helen suddenly understood that the water she could feel from the tap was what Annie had been trying to spell on her hand. From the early recesses of Helen's memory, when she could see and hear, the word 'water' came to mind. From then on, Annie taught her to spell, to write, to read and even make speeches. Helen earned a university degree, wrote 12 books, and befriended such people as Mark Twain and Alexander Graham Bell. She learned to read Latin, Greek, German and French in braille.
Of course I told this story to emphasise the moral of the tale - if Helen Keller, blind and deaf, could achieve so much, then we, with all our senses, can achieve anything.
I even got the pupils to close their eyes in a very quiet room for 5 minutes, but most couldn't bear more than a minute, to which I'd say:
"Imagine 86 years like that".
However, there is a deeper dimension to the Helen Keller story. In her superb autobiography of her first 22 years, she says:
"Don't feel sorry for me. If anything, I feel sorry for you. Everything I touch, or smell, or taste is an adventure, whereas those who have all their senses tend to take everything for granted".
When I told this story, I would add that when Annie Sullivan died, having been with Helen for almost 50 years, Helen Keller was at her bedside, holding her hand. On one occasion, in mock self-pity, I asked the class:
"How many of you will be at my bedside when I'm dying, holding my hand?"
The boys sneered, but one girl looked at me and said, sincerely:
"I will".
To contain my emotions, I assured her that it would probably be the number 38 bus that flattened my future.
Born in 1888, in Alabama in the USA, she went blind and deaf at 18 months, because of a virus, probably meningitis.
Fortunately her parents were wealthy enough to afford a teacher for their 7 year old daughter. Annie Sullivan was employed to care for and teach Helen. It didn't take long before Annie realised that this child was highly intelligent, and fiercely wilful.
Because of her condition, Helen's parents let her roam freely, take food from plates, and more or less let her do as she wished. Annie also realised that unless Helen could communicate with the world, she would never escape the darkness and silence she lived in.
Annie and Helen fought many battles, some quite violent, but the day came when Helen suddenly understood that the water she could feel from the tap was what Annie had been trying to spell on her hand. From the early recesses of Helen's memory, when she could see and hear, the word 'water' came to mind. From then on, Annie taught her to spell, to write, to read and even make speeches. Helen earned a university degree, wrote 12 books, and befriended such people as Mark Twain and Alexander Graham Bell. She learned to read Latin, Greek, German and French in braille.
Of course I told this story to emphasise the moral of the tale - if Helen Keller, blind and deaf, could achieve so much, then we, with all our senses, can achieve anything.
I even got the pupils to close their eyes in a very quiet room for 5 minutes, but most couldn't bear more than a minute, to which I'd say:
"Imagine 86 years like that".
However, there is a deeper dimension to the Helen Keller story. In her superb autobiography of her first 22 years, she says:
"Don't feel sorry for me. If anything, I feel sorry for you. Everything I touch, or smell, or taste is an adventure, whereas those who have all their senses tend to take everything for granted".
When I told this story, I would add that when Annie Sullivan died, having been with Helen for almost 50 years, Helen Keller was at her bedside, holding her hand. On one occasion, in mock self-pity, I asked the class:
"How many of you will be at my bedside when I'm dying, holding my hand?"
The boys sneered, but one girl looked at me and said, sincerely:
"I will".
To contain my emotions, I assured her that it would probably be the number 38 bus that flattened my future.
Sunday 7 December 2014
I once heard a boy say to a teacher in a school corridor:
"I'm not lying, sir. I just have a vivid imagination".
This spin spurred the teacher's wrath to shouting point. That kind of lying is part of the games pupils play with teachers, to wind them up mercilessly.
However, when a child lies to a parent or teacher, the first question asked should be:
"Why is the child lying?"
The answer is more damning of the adult than the child:
"Because they are afraid to tell you the truth". To simply punish the act of lying is shifting the blame.
The best story I ever heard about lying and how to curb it, comes from the school Summerhill, in Suffolk.
The school had a 15 year old boy who was an inveterate liar. He lied needlessly about all sorts of things, and Neill, the head, was concerned about this habit.
One Friday morning, Neill received a phone call from the boy's father, asking Neill if he could accompany his son to Saxmundham Station that afternoon, for the train to London. He then reassured Neill that he would return his son on the Sunday evening, along with the fare for the return journey - £5. Neill agreed to this arrangement, went to the boy during lunch and repeated his father's wishes, handing the boy £5.
However, after a conversation with his wife, Neill realised that the phone call had been made from a local phone box, the boy impersonating his father to get a weekend in London.
Most heads would summon the boy, force him to confess and then punish him for lying.
Not Neill! He waited until after lunch and then took the boy aside and said:
"Your father just phoned back. He made a mistake with the fare. It's £6, not £5."
And he proceeded to give the boy an extra £1.
Neill walked back to his office. It took about 10 minutes before the boy appeared, slammed the £6 on Neill's desk and said:
"You're a better bloody actor than I am!".
As a sad footnote, I have to report the death of John Morris, the wonderful teacher I gave a birthday tribute to on this blog, on June 29th. I am honoured that his son has included my post on the tributes online.
Following on from last week's post about good teachers, if anyone wants to see just how effective an excellent teacher can be, please click on the following website:
http://www.johnsmorris.net/tributes.php#top
"I'm not lying, sir. I just have a vivid imagination".
This spin spurred the teacher's wrath to shouting point. That kind of lying is part of the games pupils play with teachers, to wind them up mercilessly.
However, when a child lies to a parent or teacher, the first question asked should be:
"Why is the child lying?"
The answer is more damning of the adult than the child:
"Because they are afraid to tell you the truth". To simply punish the act of lying is shifting the blame.
The best story I ever heard about lying and how to curb it, comes from the school Summerhill, in Suffolk.
The school had a 15 year old boy who was an inveterate liar. He lied needlessly about all sorts of things, and Neill, the head, was concerned about this habit.
One Friday morning, Neill received a phone call from the boy's father, asking Neill if he could accompany his son to Saxmundham Station that afternoon, for the train to London. He then reassured Neill that he would return his son on the Sunday evening, along with the fare for the return journey - £5. Neill agreed to this arrangement, went to the boy during lunch and repeated his father's wishes, handing the boy £5.
However, after a conversation with his wife, Neill realised that the phone call had been made from a local phone box, the boy impersonating his father to get a weekend in London.
Most heads would summon the boy, force him to confess and then punish him for lying.
Not Neill! He waited until after lunch and then took the boy aside and said:
"Your father just phoned back. He made a mistake with the fare. It's £6, not £5."
And he proceeded to give the boy an extra £1.
Neill walked back to his office. It took about 10 minutes before the boy appeared, slammed the £6 on Neill's desk and said:
"You're a better bloody actor than I am!".
As a sad footnote, I have to report the death of John Morris, the wonderful teacher I gave a birthday tribute to on this blog, on June 29th. I am honoured that his son has included my post on the tributes online.
Following on from last week's post about good teachers, if anyone wants to see just how effective an excellent teacher can be, please click on the following website:
http://www.johnsmorris.net/tributes.php#top
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)