It was a Thursday lunchtime (week B) and once again I sat in
the office, staring at my lunch and feeling more than a little bit sick.
The clock ticked closer to 1:35 and I tried to steel myself for 75 minutes of
what I could only describe as mental acrobatics with year 8 French. I had
planned a series of challenges with an answer key. That way the lovely ladies
at the back could crack on while I tried to cajole John into sitting down,
Joanna into being quiet and I could try to make sure Jill stayed outside while
I waited for SLT to pick her up. Jack might even write the date if he was in a
good mood and I asked nicely enough. Hopefully I’d be able to keep them quiet
enough to do the register. I took a deep breath, put on my ‘teacher face’ and
quietly said “It’s only 75 minutes a fortnight”, before stepping out into the
corridor.
Four years later and the picture is slightly different. Today
I sat at my desk, eating my lunch and looking at the desks which had been filled
with my year 11 history class a week earlier. Rather than feeling immense relief
at my new found freedom, I felt bereft.
I have a reputation for being strict. My tagline is that “The
default in my classroom is silence. If you’re not sure whether you should be
talking, don’t.” Yet, in the entire two years of teaching this class their GCSE,
I don’t think I isolated a single one of them. I don’t think I needed to. Most
of these pupils were the same ones who triggered my fortnightly nausea, so what’s
changed?
1. My teaching style?
Since my NQT year four years ago, I have transitioned from a teacher who
was all about engagement, relevance and skills, to a teacher who is firm
advocate of knowledge based lessons which are centred around deliberate
practice and teacher led instruction. Surely this can’t be it? If these pupils
didn’t sit down and get on with a Simpsons themed cartoon strip, why would they
now regularly sit down for a 16 mark factors question with a knowledge
organiser?! (Followed, of course, by a healthy dose of annotation and self-assessment.)
2. Age?
I’ve followed these pupils through their time at secondary school; when
they were in year 7 I was completing my PGCE. They have changed just as much as
I have: The shy young lady who once sat at the back and looked much like a
rabbit in the headlights when I asked her a question has transformed into a
confident and mature head girl. The pupil who I once described as “…a bit
tricky” beamed from ear to ear this year when I asked her how many days in a
row she had practiced her history quizzes. However, again I’m sceptical as to whether
age is the magic factor. After all, I’ve watched biddable year 7s transform into
grunting balls of defiance over the course of a summer in other schools.
3.
A strong
behaviour system
At
the end of this cohort’s year in year 8, my school introduced a strict
behaviour policy which allowed teachers to isolate pupils for 24 hours, once
they had been given a warning, for any low level disruption. Any instances of
defiance resulted in instant isolation. Before it was introduced, the head
teacher and executive head stood in front of all of the teachers and clearly stated that they didn’t
care how many pupils we isolated; if that’s what we needed to do to ensure a
disruption free classroom, they would support us. The change was instantaneous.
On the day the system was introduced, year 8 French sat in silence. No one got
up, no one shouted out and no one talked back. However, this is not to say that
the transformation was complete; pupils still completely avoided any
challenging work and getting answers during discussions still felt like getting
blood from a (silent) stone.
Ultimately, I believe that a strong behaviour system,
coupled with time, is what has allowed me to truly develop effective lessons and a warm relationship
with pupils. While it initially ensured quiet classrooms through deterrence,
eventually this system created the habit of calm, quiet and focused lessons.
The development of this habit was what was required to turn me from an adversary
into a leader, allowing for much more ambitious and challenging lessons which
were based on knowledge and practice rather than bribery and fun.
Before she left, one of those year 8s gave me a mug to thank
me for the last five years. I was deeply touched to know that she saw me as the
teacher I want to be (even though I don’t think I’m quite there yet.)
Ultimately, I believe that the firm but fair behaviour system of my school is
what has allowed me (to attempt) to embody those adjectives.
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