This was to be the first entry in a series of observations on the lessons I teach, but as it happens it is the only entry! I wanted to keep a diary over the period of a week or month and record what each lesson was like, but as the first entry took so long to write, and was only possible because I had a free period straight after the lesson, it was all a bit impractical. Gone are the days when a teacher could set his or her class work, sit at the front of the room in a gown and mortarboard, and get a novel written as the pupils beaver away at their studies, as William Golding did with Lord of the Flies. Here's why:
First of all, let me set my school into context. It's not a bad school. It's the kind of place where text books are written on, but pot plants in classrooms are generally left alone.
There are 15 pupils present when they have all finally drifted in from assembly or form registration, or whatever Year 8 have been up to for the first half hour of school. For two of them it would seem to be smoking, because they come in reeking of fags. Ideally the class would line up outside until they were settled, and then be led into the room by me, but it's not a policy my line manager supports.
There would have been one more pupil present but he broke his behaviour contract two seconds
after entering the room. His long-suffering LSA (learning support assistant) shepherded
him out of the room as I tried to ignore the tipping over of chairs and punches thrown
everywhere. It's a great distraction for the rest of the group so I try to carry on
normally. There are a few kids in the school on behaviour contracts. It's what happens when
the kid should really be excluded for a culmination of major incidents, but the governing
body or the local authority or the law disagrees, and forces the headteacher and staff to
carry on with the kid in the school.
It then takes another 5 minutes of fussing to locate books for those who haven't left them at home, dish out scrap paper for those who forgot or lost their books, and find pens for everyone. I shouldn't be amazed that kids still come to school with no pens, but I can't believe it happens so often.
I rarely set this group homework. It never gets done, so I can't rely on work being
completed for following lessons. If they can't bring in their own pens and books, they sure
aren't going to get homework organised. Still, it's an experiment I try out every now and
again to see if there's any improvement. In addition, my school insists I set homework
according to a timetable, and sometimes even audits the type of homework I set over a term,
and insists on me producing percentage rates for how many kids do their homework on time.
I don't know why they do this - perhaps they want to show me how crap I am at threatening
kids to do their homework on time. Instead, I show them how crap I am at producing percentages by
fiddling my statistics.
The homework experiment from last week failed, because none of them completed the simple task of illustrating the cover of their new project booklets. In fact, only 4 of them have even brought in their booklets. Three others were absent when the homework was set, which means that I must have a homework completion rate of... ooh, it must be just 85% for this group. I note the figure down on my register and hear the head's words ring in my ears: "Let's all aim for a 100% homework completion rate! I won't settle for less than 90%!" I'd settle for one of the group doing something, but I know it's not to be.
As three pupils were absent last lesson, I have to rapidly think of a way to summarise
an hour's lesson from a week ago to bring them up to speed. It turns out to be a beneficial
exercise because a sea of gormless faces stare blankly back when I ask some simple questions
based on last week's lesson. We look back at the text books and I desperately search for
any flickers of recognition as we scan the pictures on the book. Finally, one pupil
manages to answer a simple question and I feel we are able to move on to the topic of
today's lesson.
About half of them have neither their exercise books nor project booklets. A few opt to start again, which means they know that last week's work is lost forever. Anticipating these usual hold-ups, I'd photocopied extra sets of booklets this morning.
Work with this group is usually led by me. I would love for them to work in groups, exploring and discovering things for themselves, but we've tried that several times and it just doesn't work. There's usually another LSA in with one of the quiet boys but she's not here today for some reason. One of the naughtiest boys is suspended from school for today at least, and one of the others is quiet today, maybe because his partners in crime are absent. He probably hopes I'll write something good on his report card.
Keeping the class from dissolving into chaos or torpor, depending on the time of day,
means ensuring there is sufficient pace to the lesson: five minutes of reading, two minutes
of pair work, two minutes of feedback, ten minutes of writing, and so on. It also means
constant cajoling and encouragement, and it leaves me exhausted at the end. It's like
walking a lion on a tight leash through a park full of wildebeast, with the associated
muscle spasms of a strained arm afterwards.
With two of the most disruptive members out of the class, and the fortunate positioning of this being the first lesson of the day, the group are mainly on task. There's a conspicuous rustling of sweet wrappers, but I can't decide which of two suspects is responsible. The boy on report decides he'd rather sleep than do any extension work.
The hour is almost up. I stop pacing and pouncing and wind up the lesson. I ensure
they put their projects in the cupboards this time, and collect back any pencils they have
borrowed. I threaten to confiscate the crisps that are emerging from their bags in
anticipation of break; this is probably breakfast for many of them. Then I spot the secret
sweet scoffer by the pile of wrappers around her feet, so when the bell goes and they rush
off I keep her behind for some litter picking.
I notice that three of them have left their
projects on the desks or on the floor. My evil side tells me to scoop them up into the bin,
but in the long run this means more work for me as we will have to sort out lost copies
again at the beginning of next lesson, so I clear up after the lazy wretches and put their
work into the cupboard. I'm relieved the lesson is over without any major incidents, and
I hope some of them got something out of the lesson, as we could get through what I'd planned
for a change, without the usual disruptions. But really I know that most of them were probably
thinking about crisps for most of the lesson.
added 22/5/04
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