We must start with skills. This is becoming more and more clear to me whilst sat in a year 9 revision session this Easter holiday. I sit here frustrated yes, but more feeling guilty for what I cannot allow these students to do, experience and feel. Do they feel successful? Are they engaged? Do they love learning? You know what, I don’t think they do.

I fear (and this is a genuine worry) that we are far too concerned with these exams and lack focus on what these kids need to be able to do! By giving them sentence starters and holding their hands through every essay, extract, poetry analysis, as I equipping them with any useful skills? The honest,and terrifying, answer is no. Do I feel confident that these young minds with all their potential and promise will enter their exam in two weeks time and have a real emotional reaction to the poems they read, or will they experience the same connection to literature that I felt at their age? Absolutely not. What they can do is answer questions they’ve already seen. They can write sentence starters they’ve learnt over and over again. But they can’t, and don’t, love literature and they most certainly don’t know how to truly read it.

I’ve been tasked with the exciting (and slightly bewildering) task of designing a new curriculum; creating a new way of thinking about teaching and learning. And for me, it cannot come soon enough because what we’re doing, what I do every day in my classroom, does not work! Where do we start I continuously ask myself. What is it they need to know? And so I’ve come to the conclusion that we need to start with skills. By that I do not mean exam skills, I mean life skills. Skills that will help them succeed in this uncertain and ever-changing world where nothing is clear and we don’t know what will happen next week, let alone next year. In this world these kids need skills, ones that they can transfer depending on whatever is thrown at them. They do not need knowledge about subjects that are no longer relevant, nor do they need to be told what to think and how to communicate it correctly. In fact, what they need is to know that their thoughts and feelings are valuable, and that they can communicate it in their own unique ways.

A big ask? Yes. So what? The world has changed exponentially. Education hasn’t. It is the same as it has been since the reform of the 80s and the high levels of accountability in place for teachers and schools prevent change from happening. Sometimes I would go as far as saying it’s intentional. Keep them down. Keep them mindless. Keep them lacking creativity. I’m lucky, I live in Wales – a country who realises this need for change, and I work in a school with a headteacher who is hungry for it. And I suppose this is how it begins, change. It starts with a few people realising a need, and wanting to make a difference. The problem I guess is convincing others to feel the same.

I am worried. And I feel old. I have reached an age where I find myself thinking nostalgically about what things were like when I was a lass. As a teacher, I don’t think a day goes by when I am not shocked and/or saddened by the attitudes, misconceptions and prejudices of the students I teach. These are the future generations of: adults, parents, doctors, politicians, role models, citizens, and indeed, possibly teachers. These are the people my potential children will look up to and be influenced by, and it worries me. A lot.

I don’t know if you agree (opinions welcome), but as a teacher I believe that as well as delivering curriculum content, managing behaviour, teaching skills and safeguarding these little people, it is my responsibility to be a positive role-model who demonstrates what it is to be a good person. In fact, a big part of me feels compelled to think that this is my most important job. And yet, I don’t know where to begin.

We exist in a broken society, perhaps a society that is only a few steps away from moving towards something quite dark and terrifying. Almost dystopian. Perhaps in some ways it already is. Melodramatic? Maybe. But when I teach lessons about dystopian fiction, about societies that have been broken by vanity, greed, or technology, I cannot help but think of this era of social media that forces even the most aware of us to compare our lives with those that have more, whose lives seem better and to compete in an online popularity contest, obsessed by what people we don’t even know think about the way we look, what we eat, if we’re having fun. I am reminded of the fear, and in some cases hatred, that so many of us feel towards ‘others’; towards those we do not understand, or who appear different to us. I realise that I am surrounded by people who are more concerned with what is going on in the virtual world on the screen glued to their eyes than what is happening in the real world around them, and that sometimes I am guilty of exactly the same. And, I cannot turn a blind eye to the ignorant comments, the inclination to turn to violence to solve issues, the prejudices my students hold against each other, and their sheer disengagement with the world around them.

And so, I’m worried. I’m worried because I feel such huge responsibility to engage them in discussion about meaningful topics; I feel that as maybe one of the most reliable adults in their lives, it is my duty to develop their emotional intelligence and character as well as their academic knowledge and development of skills. Simultaneously, I know that there’s too much to teach. Some days I think I’ve got through, their behaviour has improved or they’ve done a good deed,tidied up after themselves, picked up some litter, held the door open, looked out for each other, been good people, and I swell with pride. Then the next day we’re back to square one: swearing, fighting, judging, disrespecting the environment, their teachers, each other, and I feel helpless.

Nothing I can do is enough. I’m just one woman and I can’t change the world from my classroom in East Cardiff. But I want to. And, I guess, if I believe the world is just a combination of lots of people’s versions of the world, then it is possible for one woman, in one classroom, in one school, in one city, in one country, in the world to change it. Bit by bit.

My question this week is if this little we can do is enough to cause a ripple, a small wave in the minds of young people that eventually will change the world, for the better? I sure hope so.

Miss R x

“If you take good kids out of bad schools, bad schools get worse”

– my dad, a long time ago.

This is an idea I grew up believing to be absolutely true. Purely because my dad said it when I was really young, and as far as I was concerned what he said was gospel. Especially when it came to education.

I should give you some context. I grew up in Barry, an industrial town on the coast of South Wales. Many of you may know it from the TV show, Gavin and Stacey. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about – number 1, watch the program – it’s brilliant, and number 2, the purpose of this blog, here’s the facts: Barry is a seaside town with a population of about 50,500 people. An old port, much of Barry’s industrial history is in export and manufacturing. It’s a standard rapidly grown late-Victorian/ Edwardian port.

People always joked about being from Barry. There was this weird, in-jest-but-kind-of-serious judgement about our town, our home. In fact, even my mum (who we’ve always branded a bit of a snob despite coming from a national coalboard house in the valleys) would tell people we lived in ‘Barry, worst luck’ to the point where I actually thought this was its name. As a kid if someone asked where I was from I would proudly state ‘Barry Worst Luck’ with absolutely no concept of what I was saying or why all of the adults were laughing at me and cooing over my cuteness. Thanks for that Mum. In my dad’s geography classroom he had 4 clocks on the wall: New York, Tokyo, Paris, Barry, because the students at his school would make fun about where he lived. Even now, teaching in Cardiff, students make fun of teachers from Barry. I honestly have no idea why but I’m aware that the town has a poor reputation. Perhaps it’s because there are areas of Barry suffering huge deprivation. Perhaps because people are judgemental and fear things they don’t understand. Who knows?

The town has four schools. When I was entering secondary school these were Barry Boys, a single sex comprehensive for boys; Bryn Hafren, the same for girls; Bro Morgannwg, a Welsh speaking school, and St. Richard Gwyn, a faith school for those who attended Catholic primaries. As neither a Welsh speaker nor a Catholic, the natural progression for my education was the local comprehensive for girls, Bryn Hafren.

Now, I should add that at the time my dad taught in a comprehensive in a more affluent area of Cardiff whose catchment made it a more desirable option for parents – a ‘better’ school, a ‘good’ school. I desperately wanted to go there. I’d had a rough time towards the end of primary. I was never cool or popular, despite my best efforts and the fact that was was clever and tried hard at school did not bode well for my future as one of the ‘It’ crowd. I wanted out. I was a ‘good’ kid, I wanted to go to a ‘good’ school – damn it!

Now, his response (the quote at the beginning of this post) perhaps informed my perceptions and ideas surrounding the education system and it is that I am questioning now: is it right and just that some parents can choose where their children go to or should children just go to their local comp? Should parents of ‘good kids’ be allowed to move postcodes, attend church, manipulate the system in some way so that their child can get in to the best state school available? Or is it this very notion that perpetuates the problem of deprivation and polarises the quality of our children’s education, and in turn their future success, wealth, happiness? If we take good kids from supportive homes with parents who are interested and aware enough to want to avoid certain schools, out of their local comp, are we being socially irresponsible or are we just being good parents?

I did well at school. I came away from Bryn Hafren, a perceived ‘bad’ school, with 13 GCSEs and went on to achieve 4 A Levels at college. I didn’t particularly enjoy my time there but like I said, I was geeky. I was also overweight and a little spotty so to be honest I’m not sure I’d have had the easiest ride no matter where I went; I don’t blame the school for that. I interviewed at Oxford (no, I didn’t get in) and went on to achieve a 2:1 at Exeter University, followed by a PGCE through Teach First at Bristol Uni. I’m currently studying my masters. In my last essay I was awarded 88/100. I do not tell you this to brag, I am merely laying down the facts. The hard evidence, if you like, that my dad’s socially responsible sacrifice: my education, in fact was not a sacrifice at all. My education was good despite the ‘imperfections’ of the place in which I was educated. But then I was a bright kid who lived in a home where I was read to and talked with. A place where I felt safe, in which I was nurtured and exposed to history and geography and politics. My parents spoke to me about things that mattered, and my opinions were valued despite me being a child. In some ways, I suppose, I was an asset to the classrooms at my school because I could participate in meaningful discussions about current affairs. My experience was punctuated by literature, ethics, politics, and yet I still understood that there were people my age who didn’t have access to the information I did. The combination made me who I am, it informed my perceptions and beliefs about the world in which I live. It enabled, and continues to enable, me to empathise with both sides of the coin. In some ways I was a ‘sacrificial lamb’, a ‘good kid’ in a ‘bad’ school. I was someone whose parents knew that the school I was attending was not the best according to Estyn, who knew that potentially I could do better if I went somewhere else, but who didn’t care. Because they also knew that I would be absolutely bloody fine. And I was.

So I suppose my question is: is it right that some people have the ability to move houses and change their postcode so their children can go to the ‘better’ school; is it ok that some can even afford to pay for their children to attend schools with smaller class sizes and better facilities? Or is it our social responsibility to allow our children to mix, combine and therefore, disperse wealth, knowledge, awareness, intelligence, perspective?

If there was no elitism, no ability to choose, or if when given that choice we just sent them to our local comp would we change the polarisation of education and in turn, challenge the differences in class and wealth? Do we all have a social responsibility to our society, or is it understandable that parents want the absolute best for their kids? Should those of us who understand and empathise with the state of our nation ‘sacrifice’ our lambs for the good of those around us, to improve our schools and therefore, our communities? I’m yet to have children and so find it hard to put myself in this impossible position. I wonder what I would do.

Food for thought,

Miss R x

There is so much in my head that I need to get out.  So many conversations I want to have with people who feel the same as me, and with people who feel differently.  I wake up in the middle of the night wondering about whether I’m going mad because I’m sure I’ve taught summarising skills properly but my students just can’t get it; I drive to work listening to the radio and a song will come on that reminds me of a topic I’m teaching and I wonder if I should use it tomorrow; I go for a run and I see children out with their parents and dogs, playing rugby, enjoying time with siblings, and I feel an actual pain in my gut because the kids I teach, ‘My’ kids, don’t have the opportunity to enjoy these simple pleasures; and at night, before I go to bed, my brain swims with data and differentiation, my dreams literally haunted by all the things I need to do.  This is when the thinking happens, not at work but at every other moment in every other part of my day.  To begin with I thought this was weird, that I was alone, perhaps obsessed with my job but today, my deputy head said something interesting to me, he made me realise it isn’t me, not just me anyway.  He said: “teaching isn’t just my job, it’s part of my identity.  It’s who I am.”.  It made me think of something my dad said to me years ago: “I have a job Eve, but I don’t see it as work”,  and suddenly the penny dropped, and what he’d meant became clear to me.  Because now I get it.  I’m living it.  This job is all-encompassing, it influences all that you do.  It isn’t work, not in the ‘I’m off to work’ sense, because how can it be when you can’t close the door, leave it ’til Monday and forget about it?  I don’t mean the physical work (the marking, the planning, the reporting etc – I’m not here to complain about that, I knew what I was signing up for!). I mean the thoughts, questions, worries, concerns, celebrations, wins, successes…the list goes on.

So, I guess I’m beginning this blog to tell my story, but more importantly to open up a conversation.  Kind of with myself, hopefully with other people.  A conversation about education, about schools and about this peculiar profession I honestly think I was born to do.  Sound cliche?  I know.  But, it’s true.  My aunty is a teacher who has recently returned to teaching from working in advisory roles, my dad was a teacher and still gets reeled in to schools on supply – perhaps it’s in my blood, perhaps I learnt the importance of education from them, who knows?  All I know is that it feels right.  And I want to talk about it with you.

Each week I plan to post some musings, the things I’ve learnt and the things I need to get off my chest.  If nothing else, this is a place to put down my thoughts, for me.  At best, I hope it is a place where people can talk, share feelings and ideas.  And, if somewhere in between all of that,  this gives one person comfort,  makes them feel ‘normal’, and helps them to keep going, hold on and enjoy the ride of this crazy profession, then that’s more than alright with me!

Happy Friday,

Miss R x