Chumming The Waters

Attainment in my placement school is significantly below the national average. Behaviour is generally abysmal. An overwhelming sense of apathy pervades the student populace - despite the best efforts of a committed, passionate and enthusiastic English department. Sadly, the efforts of these wonderful teachers see them swimming futilely against a tide of myopic management and poorly applied policies which undermine them at every stroke.

I have been thrown into this sea of mediocrity like chum for sharks - those rapacious pupils fully aware that I am fresh meat for them to chew up and spit out. It's a hugely difficult position to be in, and one in which I have oscillated wildly between flourishing and floundering.

In the main, I have stringently adhered to the school's behavioural code of conduct. This sees a verbal warning for pupils who warrant one, followed by a pair of written comments in their planners for subsequent misdemeanours - and a ten minute detention. A third comment is accompanied by a room-removal and an hour after school. Further (or more serious) crimes result in time spent on Miss Trunchbull's chokey (aka inclusion). Pretty standard stuff.

Unfortunately, this policy is not worth the paper it's written on. There are numerous reasons for this which can be easily summarised:

1. The school day finishes at 14:45pm to accommodate ten minute detentions before school buses take the pupils home - meaning it's not really a detention at all.
2. There is no cumulative process for totting up 'comments' other than a detention if you garner twelve documented instances of bad behaviour in a week.
3. Pupils do not give a shiny shite if they are given an hour's detention, often bragging or boasting about them to their peers - before failing to turn up and serve their punishment.
4. Behaviour on corridors goes largely unregulated, with phones and fights to the fore.
5. SLT's selective vision leads them to describe behaviour as 'outstanding'.
6. SLT's wilful blindness/self-delusion annoys staff and leaves them feeling abandoned and powerless.
7. Abandoned and powerless staff are easily identified by students who subsequently take advantage wherever possible.

I'm sure this scenario is familiar to many of you. But for a student teacher, these problems are magnified tenfold. We are seen as a weak link. An adult figure they can toy with and test. And they are absolutely right - we are virgins waiting to be defiled.

So, despite my misgivings about the policy's shortcomings, I have soldiered on. Behaviour in my classes is now significantly better than it was. In some cases my pupils behave better for more than for their own teachers. But at what cost to me? I have a few weeks left in this placement school and feel that my teaching has suffered significantly - i haven't had the opportunity to sharpen and hone my pedagogical skills in the way I'd have liked, thanks largely to the constant demands of behaviour management and the time it has stolen from actual teaching.

I know that managing my classroom is a huge part of the job. But I also know that my placement would have proved a far more valuable experience were I (and my colleagues) not constantly undermined by a horrendous culture of poor behaviour which is tolerated, ignored and, dare I say it, encouraged by appalling mismanagement from those who profess to be the shining beacns of excellence and good practice.

Want An AfL Essay?

Unlike the majority of fresh-from-university PGCE students on my course, my greatest fear has not been teaching, lesson-planning or workload. It has been 'academia' and the horrors of essay writing: I was never the most assiduous of students and left university more than ten years ago. My dissertation on digital music technologies seems like a vision of the future now (it made various salient predictions about file-sharing which have come true) but in academic terms it was a bit shit. So imagine my surprise when my 6000-word masters-level essay was returned to me with a score of 85/90.

The essay is about AfL and is centred on a critique of three lessons I taught on reviewing The Woman In Black. The lesson plans and anonymised samples of pupils' work are included in the appendices. I received particular praise for my varied references which include the obvious Ofsted and Dylan William quotes, but also more up-to-date references from the likes of Ross McGill (@TeacherToolkit, Claire Gadsby and Ian Gilbert (@ThatIanGilbert).

If you have a similar essay to write, a particular interest in AfL, wanna read it for your own CPD or just want to be nosy, the essay can be read by clicking the below link. I hope it's of use to someone.

A Critique Of Assessment For Learning: A Case Study

Blissful/Wilful Ignorance

On the first day in my current placement school, the ITT co-ordinator made it abundantly clear that behaviour in his school was 'not a problem' despite the deprived inner-city catchment area from which his school draws its pupils. Barely ten minutes later he was shakily trying to convince me that the child threatening to break a member of staff's nose and calling him a 'fucking cunt' was an anomaly rather than the norm. I smelt a rat.

Of course, the abominable behaviour I had just witnessed might well have been exceptional rather than typical. But supposing it wasn't (and subsequent experience has confirmed this), what could possibly explain the reason for my being so badly misinformed. It seems that there are two possibilities:

1. I was being lied to.
2. The ITT co-ordinator was lying to himself.

Perversely, I wish I could believe I was being spun a yarn. At least if I was being lied to it would indicate that the school knew it had a problem and was ashamed or embarrassed by it. Sadly, I genuinely believe that SLT are unaware quite how appalling the conduct of their students really is.

In the last few weeks a member of staff has been assaulted, a school trip saw a pupil spray a member of museum staff in the face with hairspray and numerous fights and scuffles have broken out in classrooms and corridors. Every lesson is a battle of wills between teacher and students, and the atmosphere among the staff is one of resignation.

But apparently behaviour is fine.

The leadership team in this school either have selective myopia or are fucking stupid. And given that they've managed to rise through the ranks to assume senior positions, I think it's safe to assume that they are not idiots. So what are the reasons for their myriad blindspots?

Perhaps I'm being a presumptuous young pup in thinking I can diagnose their problems. I probably am. But I have a fresh set of eyes and recent experience of working in two very different schools. I am not jaded and have not become acclimatised to the atmosphere and culture of the school - so maybe my observations are valid?

Firstly, I'd suggest that in order to see what's going on in their school, leaders ought to put their iPads down and look around them. Having an Apple product does not make you impressive in the eyes of anyone: they're tablet computers, not the tablets of stone God gave Moses. Talk to people instead of messaging them. Look your staff in the eye rather than taking notes on your little computer. Cast your eyes around your corridors and classrooms instead of staring into your 7" screens.

Of course, in order to cast your eyes around the corridors, you must first set foot on them. Get out of your offices and get into your school. Be a visible presence. Back up your staff. And don't bullshit us that behaviour on corridors is not a problem when there is no way you can know this thanks to your absolute absence from them.

And who told you that behaviour in classrooms was good? It isn't. It's awful. Your presence in observed lessons is not an accurate reflection of anything: your attendance in those lessons is hugely influential. Why not try wandering into some lessons randomly? Or being on the corridors during lesson time to back-up your staff when they might need some assistance. Cowardly cowering in the safety of your offices might make your life easier, but it makes everyone else's harder. Man the fuck up.

And while i'm on the subject, here's some practical advice you might consider: observe your school's behaviour policy. I'm sure you're aware of it - you devised it. Apply it rigidly and consistently or don't bother at all. Don't make exceptions. Don't renege on your agreements. Don't contradict the staff who have correctly applied it.

I understand that you want to be an 'inclusive' school and you want to keep your pupils on site. But if they don't obey the rules, pupils must be punished fairly and consistently. They will respect you for it. Rather, they have no fear of your sanctions and consequences as they are negotiable. As is stands, you pupils couldn't give a shit about your rules - they openly laugh at the poxy ten minute detentions they face for consistent bad behaviour and know that a spell in inclusion will be over before it begins.

Even a green-behind-the-girls, wet-behind-the-ears PGCE student knows that pupils respect consistency and fairness. Set the rules, enforce the rules, reinforce the teachers at the coal face who are enforcing your rules and do not bend or break. Your school will be better for it. Your pupils will appreciate it. It might make life harder for you at first, but that's why you get paid the big bucks.

And given that i'm on an unpaid work placement, you can have that advice for free.

Cathartic Non-Constructive Crankiness

My hand is broken. My fourth and fifth metacarpal have been snapped and dislocated, leaving me one-handed over Christmas. I can barely type, cannot write and struggle to wipe. On the plus side, I'm not allowed to wash up. Hopefully the metalwork holding my paw together will be removed in mid-January and I can begin functioning like a proper human being again.

My busted hand has not been my only frustration recently. I am seething with rage at just how useless my university has been during my PGCE. My anger at this educational institution grows daily and any success I have achieved so far has been in spite of them, not because of them.

The course has, thus far, been divided into the following components: a two week placement in a primary school; a series of 'theory' lectures on Monday mornings; subject specific lectures, workshops and tutorials on Fridays; a placement in a secondary school. All of these elements must be documented and uploaded onto an online tool which logs our work and progress. Seems reasonable, eh?

The primary placement was perfectly fine. I arranged it myself, picked a lovely local school and enjoyed acting as a TA to a Y6 class. I'm not entirely sure what the point was - we were told it was to give us an idea what pupils were capable of when they joined secondary schools as Y7s - but given that these adorable rugrats were a full year younger than Y7 pupils at a time of huge growth and development, i'm not sure there was much value in this.

Lectures have been even less useful. Sold to us as 'a series of provocations' designed to encourage our own thoughts and studies, these have been nothing short of appalling. It seems the only qualification to present these lectures is that you must be a former student of the course who enjoys drinking with the course leader. I'm not actually sure what the majority of these lectures were for. Some were so woeful that, despite attending and taking notes, I hadn't realised the topic had been covered. When it dawned on me that I had to write a 6000 word essay on AfL I complained that this subject hadn't been covered. It had. I rest my case.

Subject specific sessions have been little better. The course leader has apparently been trotting out the same sessions for years, is a patronising twerp and makes some of the most absurd and unreasonable demands you could imagine. He clearly has no sense of decency whatsoever - confirmation of which arrived at around 3pm on December 21st. While everyone else in the world of education packed up and pissed off to the pub, this man was emailing the PGCE English cohort asking them to write a short SoW based on two stories from the Sunlight on Grass anthology. These are to be presented in the first session back after New Year. The timing sucked and, at the end of a long and demanding term, this put people's backs up. Worse still, getting hold of said anthology (not commercially available) or the stories it contains (impossible to find online) during the holidays is like plaiting fog.

Much of this section of the course has involved micro-teaching. Usually, this involves a group of twentysomethings acting like petulant children in an immature attempt to replicate the behaviour of a 'typical' class of children whilst being 'taught' by other group members. It is bullshit of the highest order.

Thankfully, the tutors in these sessions are thoroughly lovely and charming: old-fashioned teachers from the old school. Unfortunately, this causes misunderstandings and leads to mixed messages. While they are happy to trust our judgements and abilities, their laissez-faire attititude to documentation and 'Offsod box-ticking' leads to confusion and panic - not least when compared to the course leader's anal approach (this may or may not be a euphemism).

The key to this confusion lies in the very software designed to combat grey areas. This piece of software (which shall henceforth be known as The Twat) is meant to keep an electronic copy of all our documentation and evidence. Each file uploaded can be linked  to the Teaching Standards, thus creating a wonderful and convenient compendium of evidence which can be accessed by anyone who needs to, whenever they need it. Hallelujah.

In practice, The Twat is an absolute twat. It's like comparing the internet to Ceefax - badly designed, cumbersome, confusing and (already) embarrassingly outdated. Rather than saving time, it creates far more additional work. Written observations must be scanned and uploaded, every single resource and lesson plan must be uploaded (one at a time), items cannot be dragged/dropped like you'd expect, many documents must be uploaded twice (once in one folder, then again as evidence against the standards), every lesson must be evaluated and a reflective journal produced (in which you repeat work by replicating your evaluations), ad infinitum.

As well as creating absurd amounts of admin and being enormously time consuming, this piece-of-shit software is managed inconsistently. Messages are sent from the various disparate departments of the university updating instructions on its use (the record is eight contradictory emails in less than an hour) meaning that school-based mentors, university tutors, course leaders and office staff cannot agree on a uniform approach to The Twat's use - what the blue-blazes are us poor students supposed to think? I don't know anyone on the course who wouldn't prefer having a folder filled with evidence which could be presented as required. What luddites we are.

Luckily, I spent two years working as a Teaching Assistant in an English department prior to my PGCE. As such, I had hundreds of hours of practical experience, had taught plenty of lessons and had a bank of useful knowledge ready and waiting to be used on my first placement. I hit the ground running, made 'outstanding progress' and have been offered (and have accepted) a job. Bully for me. But many of those without my experience have struggled, with four falling by the wayside already. This infuriates me.

There has been much talk of 'setting pupils up to succeed'. Unfortunately, these words do not seem to apply to PGCE students. We are encouraged to make success as easy to achieve as possible for our young charges. The same words feel empty when applied to us. The way our course is structured means it's perfectly possible to teach English having only ever seen around ten lessons of that subject taught. How can that be acceptable?

There are PGCE students in my school who are fresh from university. They have no school experience. They don't know what activities work in the classroom. They don't know how much can be squeezed into an hour. They don't know how to assess formatively. They don't know how to plan for progress. They haven't been taught these skills. They haven't seen these things done. And it's not their fault.


My university has taught me nothing. And have charged me £9000 for the privilege. Despite telling me they'd make life as easy as possible for me, my second placement school will see me spend three hours a day travelling. And then at least an hour fiddling around with admin. What I want to do is plan brilliant lessons and teach them. But when will I find the time?

Inactive Listening

The last thing you should do for your students is spoon-feed them. And hopefully you'll never be called to wipe their arses. So praise the Lord that our PGCE course leader made a stand today against the dunderheaded dipsticks who waste his time with inane questions which he's either answered or which are addressed in the course literature.

It is slightly worrying that such a high percentage of our future educators seem so unwilling to engage their brains before they engage their mouths, listen so inattentively and are incapable of independent thought. With his affably amiable demeanour visibly dissolving, our fraying lecturer taught them the 'three before me' rule. If nothing else, his stance should at least teach them not to mollycoddle their own pupils. It might have been the only thing they learned today.

PGCEeeeeek!

Three weeks into my PGCE and this is my first blog in bloody ages. If only someone had warned me that this course would be so time consuming! I'm already into my second placement (the first was seven days in a primary school - eek!) and have spent hours and hours reading and annotating educational theorists' theories and Ofsted reports. I've observed good, bad and indifferent lessons, met some inspiring practitioners, spent half my bursary on printer ink and have now, thankfully, managed to overcome my shyness and forge some fledgling friendships with fellow students.

The course itself seems excellent. A varied programme of guests, tasks, workshops and lectures has rarely been anything other than illuminating - and has often been thoroughly good fun. My personal tutors (a job-sharing combo of avuncular idealist and maternal pragmatist) are utterly wonderful and, other than the token loud-mouthed irritant, the other student teachers are a decent bunch. I'm the eldest by a good few years, and although there are a couple more 'mature' students, the vast majority are fresh from university. I've yet to succumb to the temptation of going out on one of their regular post-lecture boozing sessions.

The workload has been enormous, with reams of reading to be done, auditing of our own subject knowledge to be completed, spelling and grammar tests, refelective journals, literature reviews and various other tasks to be completed. I'm keeping up admirably, but it's soon time for our first major essay and my first foray into masters-level academic writing. I'm shitting my pants at the prospect - it's a long time since my dissertation on how Napster would change the way we consumed music* - and i've done nothing similar in scope or scale since. I'll need plenty of help with it.

* Reading it again, my dissertation could have been written by Nostradamus. It predicted the rise of mySpace, Spotify, artists giving music away for free, online-only albums and various other digital music innovations. I'd like to have it retrospectively re-marked so that it got the grade it clearly deserved rather than the 2:1 it was awarded.

The Spelling Test

A tiny post this, but one that might interest amateur psychiatrists/psychologists (what is the difference? Is there one? Does anyone care?).

When I was fourteen I did a spelling test. I got 49 correct answers from 50 questions. The word I got wrong was 'restaurant', which I spelt 'restaraunt'. I was fucking furious with myself, despite getting the best score in the class.

This incident was almost twenty years ago. But I remember it vividly and, for some strange reason, recalling that spelling test and my (understandable) error actually embarrasses me. To this very day. Recalling it makes my face flush and burn.

How strange that such a seemingly insignificant memory can provoke such a strong reaction.