26^th September 2011

I wish I was Tara! The imaginary person has received some excellent advice from my class about her, ‘What should I do?’ dilemma. I am marking this homework from last week and it’s amazing the difference in students’ abilities considering they are supposed to be at the same level.  Well maybe not.  The annual complaint from secondary school teachers about transition ‘levels’ remains, whatever system we are supposed to use.  It’s plain though, that I have some clever cookies in this group. 

This week I am working on point of control number 4: how do I manage the class whilst they are on task?  My 30 years of experience mean I have learned the things that work and I am going to consciously practise them today.  As the points of control run together … door entry, getting attention and transition time … this next one I can practise over an extended period of time, flitting between the groups, practising positions, keep speaking to a minimum, voice volume, lots of facial expressions. I am continually attending to my own skills, I am getting into their little worlds and the relationships are building; slowly does it. This will only be the fourth hour of contact between us.  An English teacher will have had that amount in the first week. I can’t be too hard on myself.

“Come in, come in.” I’m standing at the door, left arm out with palm up and open, leading them into the room and I am making direct eye contact with each of them as I smile and use their names.  It’s still hot and the windows are still difficult to open, but they troop in nicely and I feel that my consistency in using the points of control is already having a positive effect.

On the tables I’ve put a starter activity and written the instructions about what to do on the board; trouble is someone has pinched the board cloth and the previous teacher’s work is also on the board and I think they will have trouble seeing mine.  As they sit down most don’t even look at the sheet which I have culled from the TES showing 6 famous people and their bio’s from Black History.  We’re going to be looking at transition from Primary to Secondary school and I want them to reach the point where they understand that their belief in themselves helps move them from one context to another.  Stephen Wiltshire, Henry Ossawa Tanner, Aaron Douglas, James Van Der Zee, Jacob Lawrence, Jean-Michel Basquiat; they all believed in their own abilities and Year 7 need to know it isn’t always someone else who can be massively successful and famous.

“You have 6 minutes to find out what the similarities and differences are between these 6 people.  Have I made that clear?”  No puzzled looks. The instructions on the board didn’t work.  My fault.  I should have known; they’re only young.  I stand still in my restricted teaching spot which I have finally found by accident rather than choice.  Consciously, I am now running transition time in my head and notice that 2 boys and 1 girl will need my help to get going as they decide to chat about their homework from last week. I’ll walk round and pick their homework up in a minute without saying a word. 30 seconds later I am at the first table crouching down, bending my old creaky knees, wishing I had never had that cortisone injection in 1985.  I listen in to the conversation.

“I know him.” He points to Stephen Wiltshire.

“I’ve seen his drawings.  What a memory!”

“He drew all that after seeing it once!?  Her mouth is open.

“Yes. What makes him so different to the others?  What makes him the same?” I open both of my hands in front of me and them, waiting to gather up their answers, then get up and walk to the next table on my mental list.  They continue and I wish I’d have taped their conversation.

I am working the room, round the outside, round the outside.  Malcolm McLaren always did right catchy pop songs.  I’m scanning surreptitiously and spot one boy not conversing, just staring into space.  I walk over without making eye contact and stand next to him looking across the room at another table.  He turns and looks at his friends who are chatting and coming up with answers.  His table-mate asks him if he agrees with their idea about Wiltshire and Tanner being different.

“Just thinking about Stephen Wiltshire.  I wish I could do that.”  I walk away.  He doesn’t need me right now.  Scanning, listening and collecting homework as I walk, I make my way around the room to a table full of girls who are discussing loudly.

“Sir, what’s the learning objective for today?”

I hope I am concealing my horror. I forgot the learning objective.  Good job Mr and Mrs OfSTED aren’t here. ‘Unsatisfactory Mr Wootton,’ I can hear them drawl with a sense of satisfaction.

“When we’ve finished this piece I am going to you to see if you’ve worked it out!” I say, as I get unnecessarily hot under the collar.  Thinking on my feet is a great quality of mine. “So tell me what you’ve been discussing.” Misdirection belongs to magicians. 

I kneel on the floor, feel the meniscus twinge, but carry on regardless.  As I get involved in this classy conversation I see another student two tables away, off task.  I look at her until she sees me looking.  I raise my eyebrows, cock my head to the left and hopefully she knows that I know.  She does.  No interruption to the table I’m at, just a non-verbal skill that nudges the hernia back into its sheath.  “I love this conversation,” I say gently, as I get up and leave the table feeling like I’ve just been knighted by intelligent banter.

I decide to stand by the window and look across the room as it’s now full of students talking about the task in hand; you have to celebrate your successes however small.  When it all comes together like this, teaching children as a job has no equals.  Still mustn’t linger as there’s lots to do.

The subject of moving from Primary to Secondary is close to their hearts so asking them to write about their experiences is relatively easy and I provide a few sentence starters and a frame for those less confident.  Both they and I know who they are, but neither party spills the beans as we don’t need to.  My verbal feedback goes primarily to them, giving little but significant pointers about how they can improve. 

“Capital letters in the right place – nice.”

“Underlining your title – yes.”

“I like how you remembered that feeling.”  Smiling faces and heads down, recalling and recoiling from their experiences.  The 10 minutes I provide for them soon disappears and the ensuing class discussions, gives me chance to practise shushing, eyeballing and fingers to lips, so that everyone has a chance to talk without interruption.  Good manners cost nothing.

OK, next transition to handle.  It’s on to the leaflet giving advice to new Year 7’s for next year.  I give them a choice of leaflet design to bring out the artists and inventive amongst them. 

“Have I made that clear Year 7?” I say wanting to get going.  An avalanche ensued.

“Can we design it how we like?”

“Yes.”

Can we write in bubble writing?”

“Titles, yes.”

“What do we have to do?”

“I’ll come to you first!” I smile.

“Can I fold it like this?”

“Any way you wish.”

“Can I have a pencil?”

“Ask a friend first.”

“Can I use felts?”

“Pencil outline, then coloured crayons, no felts.”  What was I saying about preparation?  I love Year 7 but older students I love more.  If had a cardigan on right now Year 7 they would be pulling it out of shape, as they come to me begging for attention.  I need to get into their world even more.  I go back to the table to ask that very perceptive student about what she thought today’s learning objective was.

“I think there are two.  The first is that we write about our experiences moving schools and the second to produce an advice leaflet for Year 6 about moving schools.”

“Well yes I think you about covered it, well done!”  I really didn’t want to go into WALT, WILF, BLP, PLTS, objectives and outcomes.  I must keep an eye out for her in the future as great Head Girls are hard to find.