Parallel Universes

I have just returned from a lovely overnight stay in a country house spa hotel to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. It was everything I could have wished for, particularly the relaxation of not having a child around. I padded around in my complementary bathrobe and slippers, helped myself to drinks and magazines, reading them in a suspended swinging chair. I swam in a large and peaceful pool, luxuriated in the jacuzzi and managed a few minutes in the steam room. Everywhere I went, people spoke in hushed quiet tones. Mobile phones were not allowed. As I lay back on my deck chair, I breathed in the sweet smelling air and relaxed totally for the first time in months.

This has been a tough, bruising year for me. Actually, a tough couple of years. And I’m a bit tired now. There have been highs and lows, wonderful children that have found a place in my heart, challenges and achievements. Teaching is rather a mixed bag, bringing deeply fulfilling moments for every dark, horrendous day. But I’m tired.

Just last week, I had to deal with stroppy, rude, disrespectful teenagers who refused to put their mobile phones away when I asked them to. On Friday, I had to supervise two boys who for various reasons had been excluded from their classes, only to spend that time on laptops playing rather dubious video games that seemed to involve lots of killing. When I castigated them for the language they used, one of them responded “That’s how we talk where we come from miss. You know, we get lots of stabbings here.” My enduring memory of last month was trying to restrain a child who in a fit of anger was throwing heavy items around and then banging his head on the table. And for everyone of these extreme situations, I have encountered plenty of the low level, but equally soul sapping stuff. “Shut up”, “racist”, “pig”, not to mention regular instances of the F word seem to have become everyday language in some quarters. Not to mention total contempt and disrespect for the adults (until they ‘earn the respect’). The quiet peaceful world of my hotel spa and its clientele seems a million miles away. They could be parallel universes.

I know it’s easy to stereotype, and that not all children are in gangs or have special needs, but inner London can be quite grim. There just seems to be so much deprivation, so much disfunction. Children have been exposed to so much brutalising behaviour that the possibility of turning them into polite, functional members of society seems ever so slim. Yet it can be done. Anyone visiting Michaela school can be in no doubt that, in the right circumstances, those angry, anti-social children can be turned into beacons of civility. I’m told it’s not just Michaela, but that other schools are also achieving fantastic behaviour and culture. I’m sure that must be true, but my experience, which now runs to over a dozen schools (thanks to a stint doing supply work), tells me otherwise.

So I’m glad Amanda Spielman has focused on behaviour in her recent speech at the Education Festival. Ofsted is to add a separate judgement for behaviour in future inspections, and will take measures to ensure they get an accurate picture – not the sanitised version that is often presented by savvy school leaders. If you ship out disruptive children for a school trip on inspection days, Ofsted are going to be on to you (I hope). Every school can manage to show off a well behaved class during an inspection. But what about NQTs, new and supply teachers? Are they getting the behaviour? What is it like at transitions? What will students say about the behaviour, when asked in anonymous questionnaires? There are numerous ways of sussing out the behaviour in a school and Ofsted seems to be determined to get to the truth. This is long overdue.

In the meantime, I’m hanging in there, but compromises have been made. I’ve accepted a job next September, with shorter hours, less responsibility and less pay, but the plus side for me is that the behaviour I observed on interview day is good (it has to be said the catchment is affluent middle class), and my son will no longer need to languish in before and after school care. I’ll also have more time and energy to devote to my side project, Learning For Memory. September 2019 will be my crunch time. I’ll have to enrol on a teacher training course then or have to go through the palaver of sitting my professional skills test again (which I don’t fancy doing). Will I bite the bullet and do it? Maybe a year working in a good (not in Ofsted terms) school will help convince me to go for it. At the moment, much as I love working with children, much as I love the act of teaching, the profession of teaching is not one I want to join.

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