remember remember

Do you wear a poppy? Did you ever consider your reasons as to why or why not wear one? My earliest memory of poppies go back to school where I'd jump at the chance to avoid lessons to visit other classrooms offering the tray of paper flowers, hopefully co-joined by a good buddy or two. 

Then years pass and history becomes meaningful. Moving through the decades to parenthood, teaching war poetry to student troops, watching the news irrevocably filled with conflict and death; my views about wearing the poppy changed. It seemed irrelevant that I had no family members who had lost their lives or were serving in the armed forces, as far as I knew, I felt that people had died in wars that were defending the country I had been born, educated, lived, worked and was raising my family in.

Maybe it was teaching and discussing the poetry of Wilfred Owen or novels such as Private Peaceful with classes of diverse students that enabled me to realise the importance of understanding how these wars affected families. I pointed out the weary war memorials we blindly walk past in our home-towns bear the names of real people who died real deaths in a real war. We explored the tale of young men who signed up for service years before they were legally allowed in order to do their duty; which then in turn opened a discussion for what duty means and entails. In this time of 'holy' wars it's imperative we understand what drives a person to kill for their beliefs - even if we don't agree.

Amidst youthful protestations of 'it was their choice' or 'English soldiers should defend England' and  a sense of apathy about these wars, I explained conscription and which countries were part of the Empire, meaning that men and women from far-flung nations were also in service. I don't romanticise their involvement and clearly by the fact that most media images of this time erase Indian, African or Caribbean soldiers, it's obvious that they were not given equal status to white soldiers despite dying on the same battlefields.  I have read an account of a Grenadian officer during WW1 being refused permission to command his own troops after the voyage overseas purely because of his colour - he could remain in charge only on the ship but not on land as white soldiers would not accept themselves as a subordinate to a man of colour. Or the recounts of soldiers in British West Indies Regiment being mistreated and ignored regardless of the service they were providing

In researching a novel set in the Caribbean I came across an old Ministry of Information video entitled 'West Indies calling' telling of the Caribbean people actively involved in the Second World War. The crisp-clipped English accents and pristine uniforms place black service men and women alongside their white counterparts working hard and doing their bit for Britain. On a programme about a white supremacist group, their march was proudly led by an aged man wearing his wartime medals with supporters claiming how men like him and served and died in the war.  Yes this is true. And each to their own belief. But there were also men not like him who died for this country.

At this time every year, in class, I show clips and images of soldiers of all ages, nationalities and colour to the future generations that need to remember and remonstrate about the wars that have come before us, are still with us now and unfortunately will probably be with us in the future. 

I was compelled to write this post when I came across The Royal British Legion's charity poster for this year's poppy campaign featuring a black soldier who had recently served alongside a white soldier from WW1. The message simply evoking how war straddles generations and colour.

So it is my choice to observe the silence and wear a poppy.

This post also appeared on post40bloggers.com : Education

never-ending story

Before I tell you all about our visit to the 60untold exhibition at Goldsmiths University - the most important thing after reading this is that you go and witness it if you can, if you can't listen to the stories of the people in profile on the website.

The 60untold exhibition shares the memoirs of 60 black men and women who were the first generation of Caribbean children to experience the British education system on British shores. This event leapt out from twitter trails as I immediately thought of my Dad and his peers, who are part of that generation. I was raised on the stories of 1960's Shepherd's Bush and how my Dad found himself ripped from his home in Grenada to be submerged and survive in the 'mother country'. Often when hearing the anecdotes or reading novels set at this time we can become accustomed to the weary tales of brutal, daily racism in the education system and the workplace. But what we don't hear is what else happened next? When children and grandchildren have been raised, when careers have been chosen, when (most) struggles have passed this generation still have their stories to share.

Surrounded by monochrome images of sixty people who have positively contributed to our society in a plethora of ways, we walked the small basement of Professor Stuart Hall, Goldsmiths University reading names and discussing the range of employment amongst the names. Luckily for us, curator and teacher Beverley Campbell was on hand to embellish the photographs with some back in the day tales and also to share her views about education then and now. 

I fully believe that if you want to know where you are going you have to know where you come from, and this exhibition opens us the discussion about what came before the generations who were born here in the 1970s onward. It is very easy to gripe and theorize about our situation in society today but it's imperative that younger generations hear and learn from their predecessors. In my attempts to piece together my Grenadian family tree whilst researching for a novel I am constantly getting stuck, struggling to find the documentation or evidence that will reveal the paths my ancestors took. It would be a travesty if this trait continues - if future generations don't have the opportunity to understand where their families have been before them.

The exhibition elevated Dad's past tales to the fore which is always precious time and  I was pleasantly surprised to see names that were authors I had come across during  my Caribbean Studies course. I was eager to hear more from the people we had 'met' on canvas and since visiting I have listened to the documentary of some of the noted faces in the exhibition: women who were incredibly successful in the education sector; Tulse Hill Boys School alumni; and the creators of the TWJ soundsystem. Alongside this there are short soundscapes of each person who relive their journey through the education system and into their professions. I often get frustrated with students who have complained to me about how there is nothing for them to do; to achieve because school or society is against them - and whilst I will not renounce their anxieties I wish they would hear the tales I have heard from this project. I trust that it will give them perspective and drive on what has been accomplished before them in order to grasp the mantle of Black British achievement.

A poignant comment from Trevor Russell (of TWJ) regarding the question of legacy which for me, sums up the importance of this exhibition:

"A legacy has to be recorded and passed on... (it is) only beneficial to those who are coming up... (to) use it as a guidance"

Researching for the novel I'm writing set in the Caribbean I find I am struggling at times to find the historical references that I need because as Russell also noted, there is so little recorded out there. I am thankful to Beverley for this wonderful archive which will exist for our childrens' children's generation.

This post first appeared on post40bloggers.com : Education

checkin' out some poetry

Youthful memories of poetry take me back to my FantasticoDad painfully trying to get me to memorise Macavity the Mystery Cat by TS Eliot and reciting Ozymandias by Shelley. Gove may be a fan of the learning by rote but back then I couldn't see the point. Until I came across Michael Rosen, Jackie Kay and Roger McGough. Poets that didn't drill dull words onto the page making my eyes swim or search for meaning on subjects that I didn't understand. Rosen and McGough wrote hilarious, naughty, outrageous poems about parents and schools and Kay was the first poet that enabled me to deal with my feelings as a black kid in an all white town.

Fast forward a gazillion years and this year has seen me passing the wonder (yes I succumbed)  of Macavity to my girls - which they loved it, took it school and everything - and sharing the beauty of Ozymandias with a bottom set in year 11 who not only explored the poetic techniques of this 19th century poem but argued with each other about the message within the poem. Year 11s - they'll argue about anything but what a buzz in the classroom!

With nearly twenty years of teaching English to teens and within that a stack of poetry, the one poet that always creates excitement, laughter and pupil participation to the classroom is John Agard. His poems leap off the page and bring a multitude of subjects and issues to enjoy and discuss. But the best way to experience his work is aloud, whilst I can offer a passable Caribbean accent, there is nothing better than listening to the poet himself. Either online or even better still on stage Guyanese, Agard's tone dances and explodes with rhythm and rhyme and minute pauses where we have to fill the gaps. My first experience of seeing Agard with GCSE students at the yearly Poetry Live was akin to witnessing what I expect it was like at the Smash Hits Poll Winners party back in the 80s. This poet is an absolute legend for these kids. They sat enthralled, repeated lines back at him on cue and buzz-talked about him all the way home.

Over the years the syllabus has allowed me to teach 'half-caste' and 'checkin' out me history' where we discuss the role of British history and what culture and identity meant to the students. But the one that resonates with me is 'Flag': a poem which, everytime I teach it, makes me lose track of time and throw lesson plans out of the window as students discuss the pros of cons of patriotism. A poem that's certainly not just for Black History Month as its relevance arises on Remembrance Day or any major sporting event for that matter. A poem that I often use alongside Owen and Sassoon.

People may theorize about the gap between the respect and understanding of young people and the older generation but every time I have brought his poetry to a classroom, this sexagenarian (the kids love that one!) bridges gaps and awakens minds. And then fun of all funs...they start writing the darn stuff.

Check him out yourself today. Happy National Poetry Day!

This post first appeared on post40bloggers: Education

just like (starting over)

Previously I wrote about the reason why I thought teachers were leavingthe profession. Whilst I was angry that hard-working, brilliant teachers were put in this position I felt a little guilty for damning the career that I have lived and breathed for almost two decades.

I have noticed a backlash from younger, newer teachers querying why teachers moan about the best job in the world.  Whilst I won't negate the trials of more - how can I say this - long in the tooth teachers (I can say that, coz I am one), I acknowledge that in order to protect our profession, we need to look after our newbies.

When a teacher steps foot onto school soil for the first time since they were in uniform themselves, surely support and communication is paramount? What rookies don’t need are grumblies in the corner vomiting unpleasantries about the school, the staff, the students, or the font on the new stationery. And the worse thing we can do is ignore new teachers - is it that they remind us a little too much of the good old days before reality set in? Or is that we just don't have the time to exchange pleasantries any more, what with the marking, planning, reports, detentions? I was lucky: my teaching placement - staff were terrific and although it was the hardest thing I'd ever done, I loved it.  However one teacher ignored me. Every day. Barely managed a smile or hello for a whole term - yet is renowned for their expertise in supporting teachers!

New teachers are, on the whole, superb. I have witnessed a passion and enthusiasm for teaching that has made me recognise why I stayed in this job for so long.  Their energy and desire to improve can be contagious - if we let it. Many new teachers are coming in to schools from different routes now and, yes, it can be a little upsetting and confusing for those of us on the inside. Inexperienced, unqualified and cheaper teachers are being brought in over the heads of accomplished staff, who are then expected to train them - on the job. But if you remove the politics of the situation you have a new person and a new colleague who is looking up to the experts for guidance.  Most schools have structured inductions for new staff to progress, but it's in the staffroom and the classroom where their days can be made or broken.

They shouldn't be ignored or made to feel they can't suggest ideas in meetings, or that they can't enjoy their new roles openly for fear of being ridiculed.  Not all new teachers are inexperienced in the workplace.  The veterans in the classroom should listen and glean as much energy and new ideas from our apprentices. It might do us some good to look at our careers with fresh eyes. Hard as it may be.

This is not to say we paint a rosy picture for new staff. It's tough out there and only the strongest will survive. There are times when a busy middle manager doesn't have time to hear about the wonderful display created out of macaroni and feathers in the corridor..  But this is where experience steps in to take a hand. Sometimes old hands need to tell the new kids on the block when to sit back down.  Gently. 

And to put my cynical firmly back on my head - when those bright young things swoop over us to claim golden thrones of power, maybe they'll fondly remember the wise owls who gave them tidbits of advice back in the day. Before they sack us.

This post was originally published on post40bloggers.com: education

everybody's gotta learn sometime

The topic to kick off my thoughts on education focuses on why there is an exodus of Biblical proportions of teachers from the profession, that most people enter expecting a career for life. Well, look I can only speak for myself - with maybe a little bit of validation from the many teachers I have met over 17 years in the classroom - but that's certainly why I wanted to be a teacher. Inspired by a jolly primary school teacher who greeted us everyday with a smile, an enthralling English teacher, and a Head of Year who regularly took time in his day to ensure the new little black girl in a sea of white faces was enjoying school and being supported when faced with casual racism. Absolutely brilliant - all of them - and so were many more that I met in my 13 years of state education. I'm pretty sure that every teacher can name one of their own teachers who inspired them to go onto this career; or at least such a passion for their subject that they want to pass that on to the students that they meet.

So why are more teachers reaching for resignation letters than signing up?

A Radio 4 programme on Tuesday night about the levels of sickness brought on by stress in teaching was enlightening and frightening at the same time. But I'll be honest - not really a surprise.

read full post here