brand new day

Rejection. Whatever the cause, it sits by your bedside waiting for eyes to open, full of a new day's sparkle. And then...blam...oh yeah, here I am ready to remind you that you is a failure, baby.

There I am putting my best foot forward and nope. nope. nope. Doors closing and apologies spilled over into my week like a melancholy waterfall.

So, of course, I went straight into 'sorry for me' mode. Gah, how rubbish can one person be. Here goes... I'd been killing it on the writing submission front by hitting two or three stories a week and of course there was the interview.  But how very quickly my hopeful heart sank when my stories and poems didn't make the grade and the job simply passed me by. Everything I offered was getting to the final hurdle only to be sprawled across the finish line watching the backs of winners.

My inspiration died and dried up all my writing. And it finally seemed like my teaching life was done for good this time.

Then off the back of one of those 'feedback' calls where you get to hear all of your faults, even though you'd realised them the minute you were driving home from the interview, things started to look a little more blue sky-ish.

Fast-forward and not only am I writing again, the sun's out and I am an employed teacher again. Go me, right?

Sometimes those doors need to close in order for you to find an alternative entrance. Challenges lie ahead but my head's up for the first time in a while, so bring it, bring it, bring it. 

It's going to be strange going back to the working grind after so long at home. I've had the privilege of structuring my own days, exploring my own dreams and spending more time with the girls and whilst that's not going to disappear completely, I am going to be a bit weirded out having those Sunday night blues again. Or then again, maybe I won't.

One thing I won't miss is the stink attitude from some people who cut me the side-eye when asking 'are you working yet?' as though I'm a fully paid up member of  The Farage Fan Club.  Unlike the lovely, lovely people who have asked about the progress of my writing - thank you to those people, I am still putting pen to paper and the dream lives on.

I am doing the running man in my garden right now. On my own. In front of my cats. They don't care.

fix up, look sharp

Application letter was successful. Tick.

Date of interview in bold letters on the calendar. Tick

Researched latest government buzz words and memorised all the gazillion things I've done in 20 years of teaching. Tick.

Crammed on all the wierd and wonderful possible questions from a student panel. Tick.

Primped and preened my presentation to a shine that could be seen from space. Tick.

Enough petrol in the car, sorted childcare, driven the route in rush hour to avoid any chance of panic. Tick.

Outfit and hair sorted. No. No. No.

Panic ensued.

I mean, come on. Having been out of the work place for over a year, that's what was bothering me before the big interview day. What I was going to look like?  I am, dear reader, hanging my head in shame. But I suppose it all stemmed from the fact that I've been slouching for four seasons in my garden cabin; just me and my cats. Whilst sticking to my 'don't leave the house without foundation or mascara', there have been a few days when it seemed I was reliving my uni days. If it doesn't need ironing, I'm wearing it.

And then comes the day where I've got to look professional again, look like I'm Shonda Rimes bad-ass. I was fully convinced that my fuller figure couldn't be contained within my work clothes from a year ago and I didn't have time to trek across London to my hair saviour. What was a #Post40 mama to do?

The solution? Found the dress that I felt the most 'me' in and plaited my hair into a style that would stay put, come wind, rain, hurricane - you know, the one where your head becomes a bobby-pin cushion.  Then spent my time getting my prep on rather than shopping my feet off.

As for the day? After an in-tray task to beat all in-tray tasks, a lesson that seemed to end in two minutes, a student panel where I admitted I wanted to be Gemma Cairn, an interview with two Heads where I smiled a lot (and answered questions obviously), a presentation in front of the other candidates and another interview with three Heads; I was exhausted. 

My drive home was full of me talking to myself about what I should have said or done differently - why is it the great stuff comes to you AFTER the interview??

It was a day that threw me in the deep end and I surprised myself by swimming with my head above water.

Well done me.

it don't come easy

I'm going to preface all of this by mentioning that in my life before teaching, I worked in HR so I understand the need for thorough, well-written application forms. And after 20 years in education I also acknowledge the necessity for comprehensive personal details allowing for back checks and references.

However...

Completing a teaching application form is akin to walking though treacle... in cement filled boots.

There's all the usual personal stuff, CV manna (or mire), and the dastardly request for hobbies and interests. But in addition to that there is the 'letter of application' - I'm not sure if every profession has these - the (no more than two sides) chance to shine like the diamond you are.  This is the part that every applicant needs to work on; this is where you get to strut your stuff in short sentences, emblazon your personality across the A4 page and show off your USP-X factor.

But the other bit - the legal document bit, which yes is incredibly important, does it really need to be completely handwritten? Every time? In this day and age? With such electronic systems as DBS in our lives?

I know people who have spent the months between January and May applying for over 15 teaching jobs; that's 15 times handwriting your Economics GCSE grade and mentioning how you like to scuba dive with dancing turtles every third Friday.

Is there not a way that there could be a teacher database with our personal info, education history, employment history, referees and all that jazz held centrally which we access via a password in order to amend as and when. Then prospective employees could access your application details when you apply for a job, a bit like the way recruitment agencies work. It should only be accessed when you - the applicant - submits some sort of code giving permission for your information to be seen.

This is the way employees can access my information via the DBS update service.

Yes, there are wrinkles and crinkles that need ironing out - that's the job of super-brainy IT whizzkids.

This would leave precious time available for applicants to get their letter of application groove on because no-one should be completely judged on exams they did in the last century, in a stuffy hall, at a desk scrawled with their name in a love heart next to Barry, the Head Boy's.

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.

do you know where you're going to?

I wrote a couple of weeks ago on the thoughts as the family took tentative steps onto new ground : visiting schools during open evening season. Fired up I was determined to search and destroy through every school in order to ensure our first born was given what she deserved. 

After a trip to the first school  I noticed BigL hanging back behind me; questions posed by highly enthusiastic teachers were bounced to me via her anxious eyes. This wasn't like her at all - the usual defiance and independence had somehow disappeared.  I thought little of it until GeordieLad took her to the next school open evening and was pleased to be regaled with tales aplenty of gruesome science experiments and the like. Completely different he said - couldn't hold her back, asking questions, getting involved. 

It became apparent that I was the difference between the two visits. Without meaning to, my stress levels and teacher-parent angst was spilling over into her experience. Friends may not have agreed with my decision to leave the rest of the school visits to GeordieLad and BigL (after all as a teacher surely I would recognise the signs of a good school vs a bad one?); but I realised that this wasn't about me. Look at my second sentence at the start of this post - there was absolutely no way I could hold back those feelings - that's who I am (no apologies - it comes in so very useful at other times) but I needed to back down and let these evenings be BigL's event. I think being teacher-me, somehow, got in the way of being parent-me; for her and for me. Plus I could check out the schools myself on open mornings. 

Anyhoo six rounds of schools visited and laden down with a forest full of prospectus packs she was done. Decisions discussed and ranked in order. So off she went to France with the school and here we were stuck with the online application.

The primary school process seemed a doddle so I thought I'll knock this out in half an hour ready for a glass of wine in front of the telly before I knew it.

Not so.

What a palaver. I can't even bear to relive it here. Suffice to say here are some nuggets of advice from my experience.

1. Keep your username and password close by - it's not something you'll ever remember and the amount of times the damn thing logs you out, you'll be calling it out in your sleep.

2. Save and save and save. Every time you stop to have a think about anything. Save. After re-reading and retyping our reasons for preferring the chosen school (optional) the system had kicked us out without warning and we lost all our prose.

3. Read each school's admission guidelines prior to starting the application and don't be naive enough to think each school within a borough or city would be as daft enough to have the same guidelines. Ha. We didn't - and hour one online passed slowly.

4. Have any arguments about which school should go at number 3 and 4 (or 5 and 6) before you log in. School admission systems do not wait for parental conflict, they just log you out. Wine was now poured despite being mid-application.

5. Hire a writer to scribe your (optional) reasons for choosing preferred school. That way you won't sound like a crawling licky-bum type arty-farty parent who will bully their way onto the school governors' board, when all you want to say is - "look you have a great school, my kid's great and I think they'll do really well at your school so please, please, please take her". Failing that type it out on a word document, save it, leave it a day, come back to it, pop it on the application form, SAVE it and forget about it until March.

By the way this whole October application, response in March deal. I wonder if I can apply for compensation for the amount of wine and chocolate I will consume in that time in order to 'forget' about said process?

one way or another

Well the proverbial cat is certainly having larks with puffed up pigeons this week as news arrived about the opening expansion of a new grammar school. I have yet to come down from the fence that divides supporters believing that grammar schools allow for social mobility as entry is based on meritocracy and protesters proclaiming that it favours the middle-class throng who can afford private tuition to gain the majority of  places.

My experience is within the state sector; grammar schools weren't on my radar until I started tutoring primary school children in English and discovered an army of hard-working-class parents paying for multiple tutors to support their children with literacy, numeracy, science and 11 plus practise until their eyes and fingers bled. It was almost fanatical. Children in year 3 being tutored three times a week or a year 6 approach SATs having five evenings tuition followed by weekend practise tests exams.

The families I worked with were usually non-British with first generation British born children, living in clean and tidy, sparse, two bedroom apartments in West London tower blocks, They were extremely involved in their child's education and I suppose the tuition was their way of ensuring they were supporting their child the best way they knew how. Ecstatic when their children gained places in grammar schools ten miles away they were desperate to maintain the tuition in order for their children to keep up with school requirements. My immediate thoughts were of sympathy for these exhausted children who didn't know what was going to hit them in secondary school - hours of homework after a round trip of twenty miles a day in mostly dark and damp mornings and evenings - only to be faced with hours of tuition after school. It's a gamble - on the one hand here is a possible first generation university application ; on the other a child who's love for education wanes by the time they are in year 8 resulting in a possible exit from the grammar school they busted their arse to get into in the first place.

So is there the chance of true social mobility in grammar schools? A chance..yes... achieved by  a minority. Can these grammar schools offer more than just a playground for the middle-classes? Not everyone agrees. 

And then there's the state secondary schools on the high street that are left with all the people who don't care, don't want, can't afford alternatives to the local comp. What are they left with? Well, usually a shamble of a curriculum that is tinkered with by egomaniac Education secretaries, a hard-working and talented tribe of teachers desperately attempting to enable their charges to leave school with qualifications and skills to live their lives and a bag of responsibility that these children must use to determine whether they want to achieve or not. 

But the main issue here is the loophole that Weald of Kent girls' grammar school created when it claimed it was expanding its ten mile away new site, which will be grabbed with both hands by other grammar schools and, despite Nicky Morgan's denials, I expect we will see further 'expansions' in years to come.

There are soundbites aplenty about the advantageous benefits and noxious repercussions of the grammar school system yet as always it's the parents who will vote with their feet. Is it right to stifle the educational desires of aspirational families in favour of fairness for all? What does all the derision about selective schools suggest about the state schools  - that they are bursting at the seams with society's silage kids? 

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

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

chain gang

So there I am driving my tired ass off to work early one dark morning. Early because I have had a full teaching day three days in a row - this means I am teaching for five hours and marking during my lunch period. Tired because the end of term was approaching and it was assessment week the previous week, meaning I had just marked five sets of 30 books to do in three days - you do the math. Unfortunately I was marking English essays. Long. 

Anyhoo, back to the story...driving and wishing so much for the final Friday I tuned into the local radio station and hear that the head Ofsted guy - Michael Wilshaw - is bashing teachers again. He states that children who are succeeding in primary schools are not developing in secondary schools, and that secondary school teachers are not able to teach because of disruption, and finally that bright students or students from poor backgrounds are not doing as well as they do in primary schools. 

Then a bloke who runs some genius charity is interviewed for his tuppence worth, and parps on about how primary school children leave their schools as bright young things only to enter secondary schools to have their dreams 'crushed' by the end of year 7.

This all had come a few days after reading Chris Woodhead's comments in the Times, about how English teachers (don't) "feel they have a responsibility to introduce their students to the great classics of English literature. Apparently my esteemed colleagues are part of the 'rot' in teaching. This was in response to an ex teacher complaining about her grand-daughter (in a grammar school) only reading extracts of novels, and concentrating on language studies; apparently she always taught complete texts when she was teaching.

Imagine being me for a moment. How the hell am I supposed to walk into work full of passion, enthusiasm and energy for a day's work when apparently I am crushing dreams and when I am contributing to the 'rot' that is my subject?

Look, this isn't me crying into my staffroom coffee. I am all for tough talk, and pushing boundaries, and aiming high- this is exactly why many of us go into teaching... in order to get the best out of our students. This is certainly the view amongst the teachers I have been privileged to work with for many years. But year after year, it's always us doing something wrong: either the exams are too easy or the teachers aren't doing their job.

The language in teaching has changed so much over the past decade; mostly for the better. We are trained within an inch of our lives to learn and implement new strategies for teaching, enabling children to achieve, the way we mark and give feedback, dealing with behaviour in the classroom, the structure of lessons, how we seat students in the classroom, using technology in lessons, analysing reams of numbers which tell us which students are progressing according to all sorts of categories. And that's before we have even planned a lesson! You'd think after 17 years in a profession I could do it all with my eyes shut, sit with my feet up in class and regurgitate endless lessons whilst playing Candy Crush under the desk. Well let me tell you not on your life. That is not what happens. There is a constant sharing of best practise, new initiatives, pedagogical ideas; basically getting rid of the bad stuff and making the good stuff better. 

So I'd like to know what these teacher bashers hope to achieve with their comments? Teaching is already a profession under strain with a shortage of trainees, and the rate of newbie drop out increasing every year, so it's time these 'experts' came up with suggestions instead of scathing soundbites.  Views which  kick the professionals who are constantly challenging themselves to improve their methods in the classroom, views that seemed designed to pitch primary school against secondary school - when we need to be working together more to ensure transition between the stages is supportive of each child, views which create cracks in the relationship between home and school. Seriously, you are telling the nation that their children are being let down by their teachers. And then you expect them to swish into school full of the joys?

I have always wondered when the government will call on parents to assist with the improvement of education. Teachers are not solely responsible for the success, progress and achievement of our children. By the time they get to secondary school, there have been eleven years of conditioning regarding learning, social skills, behaviour, attitudes to authority. Eleven years! So when a school pushes the importance of reading and literacy to the point of ensuring that reading books are part of the compulsory equipment; what more can we do when children go home to houses without a single book or parent interest in how or what they are reading? When a school has a thorough behaviour and exclusion policy tightly upheld by staff; what more can we do when children are allowed to stay up late, hang out on the streets, answer back and swear profusely in the family home? When teachers are now expected to consider the vast range of abilities, languages, interests, gender, nationalities, religions, emotions, learning styles, home situations when planning lessons, what more can we do when children refuse to do homework, sit and listen, engage in activities, or speak respectfully to the adults in the classroom?

I'll tell you what we do - we keep doing what we do. We don't ever give up. Even when parents have given up on their offspring. We don't give up. Even when some students have given up on the chance that they can make up for time wasted. We don't give up. Even when it feels like the government and official bodies that should be supporting us have given up on us.

And as for Mr Woodhead. Before you go kicking off about teachers not taking the time to teach whole texts - take a look at the requirements of exam boards and government educational legislation. We have to teach whole texts, so we do. But we also have to teach a whole shebang of other stuff too. Which we do. Maybe you could suggest that parents encourage or discuss whole texts with their children. As I do.

Just as we are trained to support, guide, challenge, and develop our students in the classroom, surely the educational leaders should be doing the same with our teachers. Imagine if we criticised students in the same way that teachers have been vilified by ministers and Ofstedites in recent years?