Adventures as a Supply Cover

I had an experience yesterday which made me want to write another blog. These last few weeks, I’ve been doing some supply work as a way of earning a bit of extra cash before I start my new job in September. I’ve worked as cover in both secondary and primary London schools, and while the experience has been valuable and informative, I’m glad it’s coming to an end.

There seems to be signicantly more demand for supply cover in certain kinds of schools, the ones with high rates of absenteeism because the working conditions are less than good. The ones with poor behaviour. My first supply job was actually rather pleasant, lulling me into a false sense of optimism. “This is easy money”, I thought at the end of that first day. Not so now. Some jobs were one off days, others were several days in a row, and others were regular repeats. So when I got the call yesterday morning to say, there’s a job at __ primary for a one-to-one with a SEN student, I knew exactly which one it was. Off I went, signed in with the receptionist who knew me well by now and went to see the SENCO. “You’ll be one-to-one with S”, she said to me apologetically. “He didn’t come in yesterday, so if he doesn’t come today, I’ll put you somewhere nice”. I got the sense that everyone was rather hoping this boy didn’t turn up. Of course, he did come.

As far as I can tell, this student never actually sits in class with the rest of his cohort. He is taken out to do one-to-one work, for which he is rewarded with “choosing time”, a euphemism for time playing on the laptop. Last time I worked with him, that’s what he did for pretty much the whole day, apart from running off a few times, and making me chase him around the school and the playground. The class teacher handed me some books and worksheets for him to complete, without any great hope that he would do them. After a half hour of him acting up (basically lying down under a table and moaning that he wanted his usual TA, not the supply), he got what he wanted: the laptop (after which the moaning stopped). Immediately, the latest video game ‘Fortnite’ came on, while I shrugged internally and picked up a book to read. I tried every so often to remind him of the work he was supposed to do, and eventually he promised to do it after morning break. As it happens, there was a PE lesson after break, which he was allowed to take part in since he had been so quiet all morning (laptop time can work wonders that way).

So anyway, I come back after lunch and remind him of his promise to do some work. Quick as a flash, he’s off to hide under a table and have another of his tantrums. One of the school staff comes over to him and coaxes him out. “I don’t want her”, he says, pointing to me. “She’s evil, I hate her.” Some time is spent talking to him and calming him down. No attempt is made to get him to apologise to me. Then I’m left with him again. I pick up my book and sit down to read. As far as I’m concerned, he can spend the rest of the day on that dratted computer. But no, he gets up and decides to go for a walkabout, so of course I follow. “Don’t follow me”, he snaps.

“I have to, it’s my job to supervise you”, I reply.

“Then I’m going to see Ms M” (the head teacher).

He runs down the stairs and I follow at a more sedate pace. I reach the head teacher’s door and look up through the glass to see him inside her office. Satisfied that he’s where he should be, I find myself a seat outside her office and wait to see the outcome of this chat with the head. Ten minutes later, I see the boy beckoning me through the window. I go into the head teacher’s office. She smiles at me and says “S will spend the rest of the day in my office but he needs his laptop. Would you mind going to fetch it for him?” I put a gracious smile on my face and say “of course”, and trudge up two flights of stairs to go fetch the laptop. When I bring it back, no words of thanks from the boy. The head teacher is the one who does the thanking, then asks me to re-join the class.

Back up two flights of stairs I go, but half the class has gone off for a transition day at their new secondary and I’m not needed. With an hour to kill until home time, I walk a few doors down and poke my head into a year 4 class. The frazzled teacher there welcomes an extra helping hand so I settle in for the rest of the day. It immediately becomes clear why the poor teacher is frazzled. Behaviour. I spot a boy in the corner dancing a little jig to entertain his classmates, and loudly talking over the teacher. He also seems to be the only child in the class to have a laptop open in front of him, playing some video game. Quelle surprise. The worst behaved child is given a laptop (I find out later it was a reward for having behaved in the morning).

And so, after an hour in that rowdy, disorganised classroom, I finally went home, breathing a sigh of relief. I’m not planning to go back to that school again, no matter how many coaxing phone calls I get from the agency. In fact, I think this is the end of the road for me as a supply cover. Life’s too short and the sunshine is beckoning me, telling me to start my holiday a little bit sooner. Before I head out into the garden for a bit of R and R, I’ll leave you with one last thought. That school was rated ‘Outstanding’ by Ofsted.

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