school's out for summer

A relatively large section of the working world will crow at this time about how teachers have it easy, and whilst in my teaching youth I used to prickle at this comment, I now retort with statistics of teaching shortages and how the profession welcomes newcomers from all walks of life - come join us. But be warned because, depending on how long they have been teaching, the summer holidays will hold different cans of worms.

The newbie They are about to embark on teacher training - whether via tried and trusted routes such as the BEd or the PGCE or their sparkly new cousins Teach First/Troops to Teachers/School Direct - so their summer may involve studying directly after finishing their old job or university course. Professors and tutors will drown them in pedagogical directives required to get ready for teaching and learning come September. They,on the other hand, will probably be downloading specials of Grange Hill,Waterloo Road, Gangster's Paradise, School of Rock or even To Sir, With Love in order to become au fait with teacher life on the frontline. As September draws closer the excitement at giving something back or inspiring the next generation makes way to a sickening fear every time they see a group of teenagers standing together speaking their yoofspeak. 

The new recruit They've been in the game a while but they're starting a new school - either for a change or a promotion. Their rational experienced mind will tell them that they have earned the new job, they know what they're doing and kids are kids, right? However their wake up thought for 6 weeks will be mixed with the relief that they have finally left their old school but niggling worries about suppose the kids hate them, suppose the staff do that aloof-you-have-to-earn-your-place-here-thing and suppose maybe they've made the worst decision of their life? August will be spent reading Ofsted reports and past academic data; learning the names of new students and remembering timetables and new rooms (if they are lucky enough to be given that new info - otherwise they have to sink or swim like the new fodder); writing lessons plans for a new curriculum; spending hours creating engaging and challenging PowerPoints to wow staff and students alike on September 1st.

The veteran with kids They've done all the above, worn lots of end-of-year t-shirts, and indeed if you cut them they are tattooed with the name of their school, like a stick of rock. End of term means they start their other life. As mother/father of those children living in their house. Years of teaching has enabled them to plan each day and week to encompass a range of individual, group and friends-allowed activities - which may or may not include a holiday (organisation skills:expert level required for this). Each week will involve indirect historical/geographical education, some sporting action (observed or partaken), timed computer access, a strict cleaning rota (maintained in weeks 1 and 2 but usually abandoned by mid-August on account of the sighs and pocket money involved) and a teeny bit of explicit learning as the holidays hurtle to a close so that the offspring don't suffer from the dreaded summer dip. Evenings are spent mainlining wine and/or chocolate whilst finishing unfinished projects from the last academic year and preparing for the new academic year. Somehow , there is always a new topic or method of teaching the same topic - even though they've been teaching for what feels like a million years.

The veteran without kids Whether offspring were not a choice, haven't arrived yet, or have flown the coop - this, to me, offers the ultimate summer. A week or two in work at the start of the hols completing projects, admin, lesson plans or sorting classrooms with the piece and quiet of an empty school. A couple of weeks messing about where, with and whoever takes their fancy. Back for the August results to get their data analysis done before the September panic sets in. 

I have yet to meet a teacher who sits from the end of July sipping cocktails by a bar, wearing a cravat and a hat tipped on the side of their head until the Autumn term. But if anyone knows one - I'd like to meet them and shake their hand; for they will have truly mastered the summer holiday.

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

you're the inspiration

Each week in the TES a celebrity is interviewed about their favourite teacher from their schooldays; and each week I think about mine and wish that I could achieve minor celebrity status for a millisecond to write him. And Lo and Behold my wish was granted on Post40Bloggers Writing Prompt no.33.

Dear Mr H.

What an inspiration you were to me back in the mid-80s. Thrust into a small town with some small minds, a happy little black girl stood on the threshold of secondary schooldom with a thirst for knowledge. A child who would lose herself in books for hours on end I was blind to some of the harsh realities of being different. Protected by the brilliant friendships I forged in my first year, I was able to fend off ignorant bigots with relative ease. Despite the daily  bullying and name calling, I loved school and was never really one to moan about my teachers - on the whole they did their job with a smile. 

But there was you, Mr H. Your English lessons in my third year - today's year 9 - were a haven of literary enlightenment and discussion. I understood what it meant to have a passion for a subject. We sat enthralled as you regaled us with tales of motorbike accidents which explained your limp, and explored the minutia of novel themes and characters. We experienced moments of fear that rendered us static in our seats with a voice so explosive, students across the building knew who was getting told off and for which misdemeanours. We couldn't comprehend how you were really married to the really strict RE teacher because she was so scary and you were so cool.

I think I really learnt sarcasm from you. Which is great as it has regularly made an appearance in my own classrooms over the years (it's okay, only to the ones who can cope with it, and also readily dole it out in massive proportions themselves). I also learnt how to enjoy my lessons in your classes - there was always a hub of activity which we were always engaged in; so much so that we never complained we were bored. I know there were collective sighs of disappointment when the bell rang. Sound too good to be true? Well, maybe. A few decades later and sitting on the other side of the teacher's desk may have rose-coloured the past. But I remember looking forward to my English lessons and deciding, at the end of that year, that I wanted to be an English teacher. 

Your lessons left me marvellous school memories, alongside the wonderful Mr T. - my Head of Year - who took time out to ease the sad days of a tearful, embarrassed child after days of racist name calling had taken its toll...again. His patience and understanding have definitely played a part in my own attitude towards students that need a little extra time. I was truly saddened when I learned of his passing, not long after we left the school gates for sixth form college.

It's hard to pinpoint a specific novel that changed my life - although I think that honour had to go to my fourth year teacher who made me read masses of To Kill A Mockingbird out loud every lesson. But I can definitely remember the days that I laughed so much in English lessons, that I felt pride in my own writing, and was encouraged to explore creatively.

There's a website now that the young uns use called Rate My Teacher (no prizes for guessing what goes on there!), and if the internet had been invented for public use back in 1985 I would have quoted Einstein: "It is the supreme art of a teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge...and you certainly did Mr H, so I thank you."

This post is in response to a #post40bloggers #writingprompt33:write a letter to a former teacher