There's been many a time when I've suffered from this syndrome, but it was only when watching a re-run of prison comedy Porridge (unofficial website here) recently that I was able to name and classify my syndrome. The analysis is made after laughing at the behaviour of the two main prison warders, Fulton Mackay and Henry Barrowclough.
Mackay is the strict disciplinarian, who
barks orders at the prisoners and never ever gives them the benefit of the doubt. He is
always on the prowl, suspects that the men would be up to no good if he wasn't so
vigilant, and the men relish making him look foolish.
Mackay's opposite number is Barrowclough, who pussyfoots around the men, trying not to
trouble the troublemakers with his orders. He takes personal advice from the prisoners, and
his home life is an open book to them. He believes that a sympathetic approach will be
far more useful for their rehabilitation, and of course they mostly take absolute liberties
with his good nature. However, one or two episodes show that he can still command respect,
and is liked far more than Mackay, the man who barks his orders and is wound up in return.
The secret of classroom management, I believe, is to get the balance between the Mackay side of the personality and the Barrowclough side exactly right. This stasis is rarely achieved for long, in my experience. Each day I start out probably a bit too much like Barrowclough. I might tell some of them (selectively) about my weekend when they ask during registration. I may allow myself to be diverted from my lesson plan to bring in a personal experience if it illustrates a point. I'm sympathetic, squatting down to reason quietly with the child who has just thrown all his or her books on the floor. I even let them go to the toilet if they look really desperate.
But as the day wears on, and the nagging continues, and my quiet reinforcement of rules
and instructions starts to fall on deaf ears, I feel the Mackay side of my teacher self
start to emerge. Requests for the toilet are scrutinised with suspicion. I squint at the
child who claims his or her bladder is full, wondering if they just want to wander around the
school, or perhaps flood a few sinks. I whirl round from writing on the board, hands on hips,
at the slightest hint of giggling. I stop offering the choices suggested on training days,
such as, "You can choose to
get on quietly with your work, or you can choose to continue throwing your pencil around, in
which case there will be a consequence". Instead I raise my voice, dole out those consequences
to various corners of the classroom, and probably lose respect in doing so. But my patience is
completely eroded by the time I'm asked yet again what they should do, because they weren't
listening the first, second and third times.
So that's my theory of Porridge Prison Warder Syndrome. Achieve the right balance between Barrowclough and Mackay, and the whole classroom discipline problem will be solved. I don't know if there are any more similarities between Slade Prison and any classroom I happen to be in, but I shall definitely be watching future re-runs of Porridge closely to see what other tips I can pick up for classroom management. Cheaper and more readily available than a day's in-service training, anyway!
added 26/10/03
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