Cognitive Load Theory – How Significant Is It? (part 2)

In my previous blog I discussed how an experience with my son struggling to complete a maths multiplication homework had led me to re-evaluate the importance of Cognitive Load Theory (CLT). In this blog, I will discuss a second experience which has convinced me that we should put CLT at the heart of everything we do as teachers.

First, let me give a little context. In September, I started working as TA (teaching assistant) in a primary school Reception class. I had worked in Reception before for two terms in another school, so I had a good understanding of the Early Years curriculum and objectives. In my previous school, I had been assigned a group of eight children to teach phonics to in a 20-minute session four days a week. Surprisingly, given I had no prior experience of teaching phonics (and I was given no training), I was assigned to the ‘lowest’ ability group. That is, I was given the pupils that were most behind and needed the most intervention. This was surprising to me, because I would have expected that such pupils would be taught by the most experienced practitioner, not the least experienced.

I was told to simply teach those eight children the initial phase 2 sounds, using the Jolly Phonics letter rhymes and some flash cards. If you are not acquainted with these songs, they would go something like this (to the tune of Skip to my Lou):

“/a/ /a/ ants on my arms, /a/ /a/ ants on my arms, /a/ /a/ ants on my arm, they’re causing me alarm”.

While singing the song, you would mime the movement for the letter sound, which in this case was touching the top of your arms as if you had ants running up them. Each letter had its own little song and mime routine. The children were so practised in this that it got to the point where if you showed them the flash card for a letter, they would immediately act out the movement, such as putting their arms out and pretending to be an aeroplane for the sound /n/. It was all very jolly and fun, but I had a niggling suspicion in my mind that I wasn’t really teaching them very much by singing lots of rhymes and showing them flash cards. On one occasion, I tried to get a little more creative. I gave the children mini-whiteboards and tried modelling how to write the letter we were focusing on that day. Later, the class teacher took me aside and told me not to give them mini-whiteboards as they were not “developmentally ready” for writing. She had spotted me trying to help a pupil who was struggling to grip a pen correctly and made her disapproval clear. In her mind, writing was far too ambitious a step for children who still didn’t know all their initial letter sounds. I believe this is a commonly held view in the Early Years sector.

Before I move on to discuss how my experience of teaching phonics differs in my new setting, let me interject with two little observations I made during my time at that school. I noticed that overwhelmingly, the children who could read and write well (for their age) were the ones able to sit still, listen and focus. Most of the eight children in the low ability group I was teaching were unable to do this. They constantly fidgeted, called out and got distracted. They found it very difficult to focus. From an anecdotal perspective therefore, there was a clear link between poor focus and low attainment. A few other children in the group were quiet but had English as a second language and ended up in the lower ability group simply by dint of being labelled EAL. The second observation to be made is that I was teaching these children the very basic letter sounds, not in the first half-term so that they could catch up with their peers, but in the Summer term, by which time they had well and truly been left behind. Hold these two observations, if you please, as I will be returning to them later in this blog.

My new school uses the Sounds-Write programme to teach reading and writing. I am currently undergoing training in this programme and I’ve also been able to observe it being taught daily in class this past month. As from last week, I have been able to put some of my training into practice, as I’ve been assigned a group of five children to run an intervention programme with. We have a teaching session together while the rest of the class goes off to the main hall for assembly. This means we have a quiet classroom and I sit them around me on a horseshoe shaped table so that their focus is on me, with little to distract them.

Cognitive Load Theory is at the heart of the Sounds-Write programme. I do not have space in here to go into too much detail about the programme itself, but I will make some observations how it uses CLT to advance pupils’ learning.

  • The programme is very carefully sequenced to teach the children how to read and write in small incremental steps. Nothing new is introduced until the previous concepts/knowledge/skills have been consolidated. The idea is that at no point should children have to process too much information and suffer from cognitive overload.
  • Once a sound is taught, the children get to practise writing it straight away. There is no concept of focusing on the reading first, and letting the writing catch up at a later stage on the assumption that children are not yet developmentally ready for writing. The two skills are taught in tandem. On the contrary, it’s thought that getting the children to write the letter sound being taught helps to reinforce recognition of that letter/sound correspondence. As they write each letter, the children have to say out loud the sound they are writing. They also get a motivating sense of success by learning how to write a few simple CVC words from a very early stage.
  • Lessons are scripted with very concise and precise language. So for example where I would have been minded to correct a child I’m reading with by using language such as “this letter makes the sound /i/”, the Sounds-Write approach would have me simply say (pointing to the letter) “this spells /i/”. Cutting out extraneous language such as “this letter makes the sound” and replacing it with “this spells” is a powerful way of keeping the focus on the main thing. Again, the fewer the distractions, the greater the focus. Since we are dealing with young children who have not yet learned those essential focussing skills, we need to be very mindful about creating a framework where what we are teaching can cut through.
  • Similarly, when encountering everyday words that have extended code sounds (those so-called tricky words such as “the”, “was” or “is”) we don’t go into any extended explanation about them. We simply say for instance: “in this word (while pointing), this spells /th/”.
  • The core of the programme is taught by way of set piece lessons, which are repeated over the different learning units. This means that while the content being taught may change, the actual lessons stay the same. Within a few weeks, the children become very familiar with the lesson framework and this means that their focus is on the new content rather than on the delivery of that content. Because the children know what will come next, they can anticipate and be ready for it. If their attention momentarily strays, they will not be lost at sea when it returns. They can immediately work out at what stage of the lesson they are and what will happen next. Therefore, even easily distracted children can still stay on track with the content being taught. By keeping to a familiar format, limited working memory can focus on learning the new content and not be wasted on processing other things.
  • Having the same set of lessons repeatedly is not boring. The new content is what keeps it fresh.

Over the last four weeks I have watched with interest the daily Sounds-Write lessons. These are done when the children are sitting on the carpet, and I spend my time supporting the teacher, checking what the children are writing on their whiteboards and helping those that are struggling.

There is one little boy, I’ll call him Steven, who is quite young, easily distracted and struggles to hold the pen in his hand. When we come to writing a simple word we have built (lesson 1: word building) he finds it hard to replicate the shape of the letters on his whiteboard. I have had to help guide his hand, as well as write out the word in green and ask him to trace over my writing in black. Even such a task, he finds tremendously difficult. Many educationalists would say Steven is not developmentally ready to write. In my old school, he would probably have been placed in the low ability group and relegated to repeating the phase 2 sounds. Here, there is no opt out. He participates in all the lessons with the rest of the class, and even though he gets distracted, something of the repetitive nature of the lessons must be cutting through.

Steven, unsurprisingly, is one of the five children in my intervention group. Last week I had my first session with them. I didn’t give them a specially tailored programme. I simply taught two familiar lessons: symbol search (lesson 2) and word building (lesson 1). This meant that there was no messing around trying to work out what they were supposed to do or getting excited by an exotic new task. By now, all the children were well versed in the handful of lessons from the programme. In symbol search, I say a sound and they point to the correct letter on my letter grid. Steven still struggled with this task. When I asked him to point to the sound /i/, he pointed to the letter “a”.

We then went on to the word building lesson. I helped them to build the word “mat” and modelled how to write it on my board. They then had to write the word on their mini-whiteboard. This is usually the point where Steven looks at me and asks for help. Not this time. Before my astonished eyes, I saw this boy pick up his pen and carefully write out, inelegantly but legibly, the word “mat”. We then proceeded to build the word “sit”. As we build it, I ask a child to tell me what the first, next and last sound of the word is and to then point to the correct letter corresponding to that sound (they are displayed on post it notes). After “s” was put in place, I turned to Steven and asked him what sound comes next. He immediately answered “/i/” and then picked the correct letter and placed it after the “s”. Finally, when the word was built, they each had to write it down on their own mini-whiteboard. The shape of “s” was a little too tricky, so I did my usual of writing it in green pen and asking him to trace over it, then to try to write out the whole word independently. My heart sang as he held up his white board with a clearly written “sit” in his own hands.

We still have a long way to go with Steven. However, I have been impressed with the rapidity of his progress. This means he won’t get left behind with an ever-growing attainment gap. He’s going to catch up. The deceptively simple design of the instruction programme has helped him to keep up. He doesn’t have to grapple with lots of unfamiliar processes or too much new information. Even though he’s not sitting rapt and focused like some of the other high attaining pupils, the necessary content is cutting through and he is learning to read and write.

Cognitive Load Theory – How Important Is It?

Not many in the education world will have failed to have heard about Cognitive Load Theory (CLT). The theory was propelled into the limelight by a seminal tweet made by Dylan William last year and has since been the subject of much discussion among various educationalists.

I’m going to paraphrase the theory here, but my understanding of it is that there is only so much information that can be held in working memory at any time, but one way of short-cutting this constraint is to memorise important building blocks (or schemata) into long-term memory, which has infinitely more capacity. These schemata in our long-term memory can then be brought forward at any time to assist our working memory in thinking about more complex problems. On the other hand, if we ask our students to try to juggle too much new information at once, the result will be cognitive overload, or that blank, confused stare which means you have totally lost them. One way forward is to only teach new concepts in small increments and practise them extensively before moving on to the next new thing – in this way building up all those vital schemata in long-term memory.

I have read about CLT with interest and found the arguments persuasive, though I was a little doubtful about Dylan William’s assertion that it was the single most important thing for teachers to know. However, two experiences this week have forced me to re-evaluate my thinking on this.

The first experience was at home with my 9-year old son. He had some maths homework to do on Mathletics (an online app for children to practise maths) and I could hear him groan in frustration from across the room. Upon further investigation, it turned out that his Mathletics homework involved solving some long multiplications, and that he had absolutely no clue what to do. I prodded him a little by asking him what the steps are in solving a long multiplication. “I don’t know”, was the answer.

“Didn’t your teacher explain how to do it?”

“He did but I didn’t understand it.”

“What bit didn’t you understand?”

“I didn’t understand anything”.

His voice had now risen in frustration. He then produced a sheet of paper for me and said the teacher had handed it to the students who still were unsure about the process of solving long multiplications. He had been studying this sheet of paper, trying to understand, but looking at it made him even more confused.

I had a look at the sheet. For someone like me who understands the concept, the sheet made logical sense, but I was not surprised that a novice like my son would find it confusing. Firstly, there’s just so much to take in. Six boxes filled with text and numbers, and the confusing use of letters to denote numbers. A novice will look at this sheet and think, oh my goodness this is so complicated, and then give up.

So, we started from scratch all over again, and I was painfully aware that I had to make my explanation clear and simple or else risk losing him all over again and reinforcing the negative feelings he was developing about not being good at maths. I was particularly frustrated because we had been through something like this two years ago. Back then I had had to step in and tutor him because he had claimed he couldn’t do maths and was making remarks such as “I’m not clever”. We had spent 20 minutes a day for a few weeks or so during the Summer holidays, with me explaining concepts to him and getting him to practise them. His improvement was rapid, to the extent that when he started year 3 and had to fill out a card about himself, he wrote this.

By the way, I’m happy to report that he did indeed improve his writing and won a pen license!

I decided to get the mini-whiteboard out and model for him exactly how to do a long multiplication. I had to think of how to model this on the hoof, but I came up with using different whiteboard colours for each of the main steps.

The first step was to write out the multiplication in black. I made sure he knew how to lay it out on the grid. Then I switched to a blue pen and circled the number “8”, explaining we start by multiplying this with each of the numbers above. I made sure to repeat my instructions before moving on to the next bit and to speak slowly and clearly. I decided to just write out the numbers to carry forward on the side, and to cross them out as we went along. I felt that inserting them under the main numbers in the grid would just make the whole thing look too busy.

Having finished with the first line, I then switched to my brown pen and circled the number “6”. Now we multiply “6” by all the numbers above, but before we do this, we write a zero here. And I modelled the process for him, explaining in very precise, succinct terms what I was doing. Finally, the last step was done in green, where we basically added up each column.

I then wrote down another long multiplication for him to try out by himself. What pleased me was that he got all the steps right. He knew where to start, and where to proceed next. He didn’t get the multiplication right because he was let down by his poor times table knowledge. I thought he had these in the bag, but it seems not all the information was firmly embedded in long term memory. We practised a couple more long multiplications, and he progressively got more confident. He knew just what to do and was no longer confused. He had a clearly mapped out plan of action.

But of course, it was clear to me he needed to master his times tables. I tested him on a few of the tables and had some interesting results. For instance, he paused a long time before giving me the answer to 6×4. He then admitted that he knew 2 sixes made twelve, and that he had been adding up twelve and twelve in his head. Can’t fault his logic there, but such calculations take up too much working memory. His answer needs to be automatic, practically without thinking.

This is something we are going to have to remedy. Why oh why, though, is it me having to do this and not his teacher at school? I remember regular drills of my times tables at school when I was young. I don’t think my mother ever had to step in to ensure I learned them. If we think of this times table knowledge as one of the vital schemata required in long term memory before children can successfully attempt long multiplication and long division, then it’s a mystery to me as to why that knowledge is not checked, just like a phonics check, though perhaps more informally (i.e. not state mandated).

As we put the whiteboard away, I asked my son if my explanation of how to solve long multiplications had been more understandable than the teacher’s. And then the truth came out. “I don’t know. I was distracted by the displays on the wall. I like looking at the enrichment tasks, you know, the pieces of work other children have done. I also like looking at the clock and adding different times to see when it will be lunch time.” So, whatever technique the teacher used to explain how to do long multiplication was lost on my son because he was distracted by the displays on the wall and by the clock.

Another nugget of information then came my way. “The teacher goes really fast, like he’s in a big hurry and he doesn’t give me time to think.” A fast-paced lesson full of energy might work fine for some, but it can mean others are left behind, particularly if they have not yet mastered the concepts being learned. When being subjected to a quick-fire barrage of information, some children can suffer from cognitive overload and shut down altogether. I’m guessing something like this must have happened with my son. For he is perfectly capable of learning how to do long multiplication. A systematic approach that took into account Cognitive Load Theory would have helped him, and many others like him, not to fall by the wayside needlessly. In retrospect, there are several key areas where a CLT approach might have ensured a different outcome:

  • An understanding that knowing times tables is a vital schema that needs to be embedded in long-term memory as a precursor to moving on to doing more complex calculations such as long multiplications. This should have been checked and remedied.
  • An awareness that busy displays on walls can be distracting, using up critical working memory when the pupil should be focusing on the teacher explanation. Wall clocks should also be positioned out of pupils’ sightlines.
  • When teaching a complex process that involves several steps, to think about how to display that information in a way that reduces cognitive load. On reflection, my modelling of the long multiplication using a different colour for each step was a way to simplify the tasks in a visually appealing way. This is, if I understand it correctly, a lot of what dual coding is about. Whereas that busy yellow sheet was the opposite of dual coding. It invited pupils to try to process too much information at once and had little to help them short-circuit working memory constraints.
  • There was also an issue with the fast-paced barrage of information being delivered in one go. While it might be tempting for teachers to up the pace and inject some energy into proceedings, it is important to remember that new concepts must be taught slowly and in small increments, to allow working memory to cope.

 

I have spent so much time on this one experience that I have not got the space in this blog to talk about the other thing that has made me re-evaluate the importance of Cognitive Load Theory. This was the implementation of the Sounds-Write phonics programme in my Reception class. I will have to write about this in a future blog. For now, I hope I’ve made a strong case for the importance of CLT for teachers.

A day in the life of a TA and mother

This isn’t one of my usual blogs. I wanted to make a record of my day, as a way of stepping back and observing my typical daily life, juggling work and family. The result may not be everyone’s cup of tea. Apologies in advance for what sounds like a stream of consciousness.

AM

Radio alarm bleeps. It’s 7am. Get out of bed, go to the bathroom, get dressed. Go downstairs, switch on coffee machine and plonk two weetabixes in a bowl. Add milk and pop the bowl in the microwave. Put this breakfast on the table and call out to the boy. While he eats, sort out his packed snack. Make sure his bottle is filled. Check his PE kit in the sports bag. Drat. Track suit bottoms look a bit muddy. Quick get the wet wipes and make wearable. Mental note to wash them tonight. Sort out my pack lunch. Pour the coffee, make some eggs and toast. Wolf them down, look at the clock. Time to get moving. Remind the boy to brush his teeth and mouthwash. Shoes on, mobile phone into handbag, fish out my school lanyard and keys. Chivvy the boy along.

“Hurry up, we’re going to be late.”

“Mummy I’ve got a poo.”

Sigh. Bowel movements have become a bit unpredictable lately. Used to be an evening affair but he has needed to go after breakfast twice this week. Make a mental note to factor this new development into my timings.

Finally, we’re out the door. Traffic seems ok this morning, we should make it to school on time. As we near the school gates, the boy exclaims “I forgot! I should have come in to school wearing something yellow today.” It’s World Mental Health Day. He was supposed to wear yellow in solidarity and bring in a pound. Another sigh. “Never mind”, I say, “tell them you didn’t have something yellow to wear.” A half-truth. There’s a yellow T-shirt buried somewhere in his wardrobe. No time now to worry about it, so I drop him off and drive on to my own school, a 15-minute journey away. I approach at a slow space, scanning for parking spaces. Impatient car behind me wants me to speed up. Give up on this road and turn off on to a side street. Am I going to be lucky today or will I have to park further afield? My eagle eyes spot a gap further ahead. Bingo.

Look at my watch as I walk towards the school gates. Fifteen minutes early. The job supposedly starts at 9.00, when the children come in, but everyone knows that a responsible TA will arrive earlier than that to help set up. I try not to be too early. I have a thing about unpaid work. If there’s too many minutes to spare, I usually stay in my car and browse Twitter on my phone for a while, until I deem it a sensible time to make my appearance. I’m greeted with lots of cheery good mornings as I make my way towards the classroom – one of the things I like about my school. And then the working day starts.

The bell goes off and I go to the Reception playground gate to let the children in. Many happy smiles and thankfully no tears today. I bid them good morning and direct them to their pegs.  This bit feels something like a shepherd mustering his sheep. A melée develops, as each child reaches up to hang their coats, and open their bags to take out their reading folder, then try to put the bag on the peg. Inevitably a coat or two falls to the floor, which I pick up and hang properly. Some children look unsure as to what to do, others start chatting away and forgetting to get on with it. Chivy, chivy, muster, muster.

Finally, they’re all in and sitting on the carpet. Handover to the teacher, who starts taking the register. Meanwhile I sit at my desk and individually look through each reading folder, taking books out and replacing them with new ones, trying to make sure I give out something at the correct reading level. We’re less than half a term in, and already there is a wide range of reading ability. Each week I read one-to-one with half the class, while the teacher reads with the other half. Then we swap. I’ve got a fairly good idea by now where most children are with their reading, but it’s still a bit tricky to find the right book. We do book changes three times a week, so I need to look through the reading record and make sure I’m not giving out the same book twice. Now I’ve gone from being a shepherd to a librarian. While I’m at it, I also check the parent communication forms and respond as appropriate. By now, the literacy lesson has begun, and I pause every now and then to note down an observation or two – these then get stuck in the children’s learning journey books, a type of ongoing formative assessment.

It’s choosing time. Doors open and the children free flow between the classroom and the Reception playground. I must confess that for a long time, I have not been particularly fond of choosing time. It’s basically glorified play and yes, I accept that young children learn through play, but I much prefer the more structured learning time on the carpet. It can get rather noisy and messy during choosing time.

While the children are playing, I try to find a quiet spot to do my one-to-one reading, which is a bit of a challenge. Ideally, I’d want to do the reading in a quiet room somewhere or in a cosy alcove in some corner. Unfortunately, that cannot be. I need to be around to supervise and am keeping an eye around me all the while I’m helping a child to sound out the letters to a word. Annoyingly, the other children don’t seem to get the message to leave us alone when we are reading. The interruptions are endless sometimes. There is something about modern children and the way they feel entitled to demand a grown up’s attention at any time. It’s one of the less desirable results of child centred education. From the cradle up, children are given the message that the world revolves around them and their needs. I’ve been guilty of doing that with my son too, to my lasting regret (trying to remedy the situation now). So, it can be tricky to keep a child’s attention on the page they are reading when there are so many distractions around them. Sensory overload.

It’s tidy-up time, a ritual we go through three times a day, though the last one involves a much more thorough tidying. Now I’m a general, bellowing out the orders. “Pick up those bricks behind you please”, “take that scooter back please”, “please put away the dressing up clothes”. Of course, there’s always the naughty ones who ignore the summons and carry on playing. A reminder is sent their way: “It’s tidy-up time, not playing time. Please stop what you’re doing and help out.” General me walks about the playground, inspecting the work and nodding approvingly when I see good tidying – taking mental note to give stickers to a few children who have been extra helpful.

Once back inside, it’s time to get ready for lunch. Here’s another daily ritual. Children sit on the carpet and I call out names, two at a time, for them to go to the toilet and wash their hands. I choose the children who are sitting quietly with their legs crossed – they will be first in the lunch queue as a reward. Once we have a nice line established, it’s time to walk to the lunch hall – the teacher usually catches up with us once she’s finished doing her writing or maths work with a handful of pupils. We walk to the lunch hall in complete silence – it’s not just Michaela kids who walk in silence! It’s something I’m particularly pleased about with my new school.

And then lunch. Ah yes, a manic half hour, managing the children with their food trays, getting them to sit and encouraging them to finish off the food on their plates. I used to bemoan the amount of food that got wasted at my last school. Children would pick at their food, throw it away and then help themselves to some cake and custard. At this school, there is a real focus on getting them to eat a variety of foods. Children are not allowed to turn their tray over and eat their pudding without permission. I walk around the aisles, inspecting plates, encouraging, modelling the use of a knife and fork and checking to see who finishes up all their food. At the end of the week, I hand out stickers to these children. So far this week, I’ve counted about a dozen in my class who have eaten up all their food. Not bad, but I hope we can improve that statistic as we go along.

PM

The clock strikes midday, and blessedly I’m off duty. The staff room provides a welcome refuge from the hustle and bustle of the lunch hall. Time to relax and recharge – and get into the queue for the microwave. Convivial chat as I eat, while I share the day’s experiences with TAs and teachers working in other year groups. Check my phone for messages, do some quick Twitter scrolling. Then back to work.

The afternoon is usually a bit more laid back. Perhaps it’s because the children have had an hour to run about in the playground, and they’re a bit tired out. We start with phonics, using the Sounds-Write instruction programme, for which I am full of praise. I’m currently doing Sounds-Write training one day a week and am impressed with the approach taken: direct instruction, explicit modelling and practice, with a cumulative step-by-step learning programme that takes into account cognitive load. The approach reminds me a little of Rosenshine’s principles of instruction. Very clear, very focused, with no extraneous information, lots of writing practice from day one.

With the phonics lesson over, we’re back to choosing. I may have some interventions to do, otherwise I carry my iPad and do a couple of observations. Then it’s tidy-up time. Finally, the children sit on the carpet and have some fruit and milk. And then one last ritual: getting ready for home time. Collecting bags and coats, handing out reading folders, collecting jumpers from the jumpers’ box. Some chill out time with a story, and then I open the gates and let parents in. As soon as the children are collected, it’s time for me to go, rushing to pick up my boy from his school.

It’s a frantic rush to get there with some traffic hotspots to negotiate. As soon as I catch sight of the boy, standing patiently next to his teacher, my heart lifts. I can recognise his little elfin face and tufty hair from a distance. My boy. It’s good to see him. I’m so glad I can pick him up at the end of his school day and not have to put him in after-school care. Another reason why I’m giving teacher training a miss next year.

And then we’re back home, and I’m straight into the kitchen to prepare dinner for a famished young boy (and a famished me, I must confess). My other half gets in, and we catch up on each other’s day. Before long, it’s time for homework, which I try not to get involved in too much. However, some frustrated moans are coming my way, so I decide to give a helping hand. I end up giving a lesson on long multiplication and realising yet again just how important both number bonds and times table knowledge is. I thought my boy had memorised his times tables but notice that the 8 times table has not been embedded into long term memory. I do wish children were made to practise these more at school – I’m fairly certain my mother never had to help teach me my times tables, it was all drilled into me at school.

On to bath, bedtime and reading. I used to find this a real chore, but lately we have been reading some fabulous books and it’s been a joy to share them with my boy, who is otherwise a reluctant though proficient reader. We’re currently enjoying “The Secret Garden”, a timeless classic which funnily enough I never read as a child.

It’s close to 9pm when I finally can sit down and unwind. Not for long, as I still need to put a wash in the machine and clear up the kitchen. My other half will have obligingly rinsed and stacked the dishes for me. Try to get all that sorted and then sit down to read, write my blog and check my Twitter feed. Also need to sort out the online grocery order for the weekend. Watch Newsnight, then it’s up to bed.

What busy lives we lead (and I know mine is by no means the busiest). I do wish sometimes for a less jam-packed day. I just wish we could all slow down the pace and take the time to savour our days a little more.

 

Education needs to sort itself out from within

I read with interest a recent article in the Guardian highlighting the number of British teachers who have gone to teach abroad and who do not plan to return to teach in the UK. Having worked full-time in five schools, and had a stint doing supply work, I am not surprised that so many teachers are leaving.

I myself enrolled on an Initial Teacher Training (ITT) course last year, only to find the working conditions intolerable. Since then, I have often thought about ‘getting back on the horse’ and just this week took a look at the UCAS listings to see what training opportunities were available in my area for 2019. I decided not to go for it. Maybe it’s a case of ‘once bitten, twice shy’, but I feel very reluctant to invest my time and trust in a profession which overwhelmingly does not treat its people well.

What I found even more interesting, reading the article and comments responding to it, is the belief held by many that somehow the government is to blame for the current state of affairs and that it is the government that must put things right. Of course, the government is not entirely blameless. I have heard enough about how Ofsted used to strike fear in the heart of teachers and the arbitrary way schools used to be inspected. I also know that funding is an issue for many schools. When wasn’t it an issue? It’s probably always going to be part of the remit of school leaders to lobby for more funds and budget stringently. However, we must keep aware that funding in itself is not a panacea. If schools overnight were given 10% more money, there would still be a teacher recruitment and retention crisis.

The problem goes much deeper than salaries or inspection frameworks. The problem is that we have too many school leaders who do not really know how to lead. Compounding this problem is a powerful layer of academics, consultants and teacher trainers who perpetuate the wrong ideas and put new teachers at a disadvantage right from day one. When you have trainees being told that teaching “is not a profession where you can clock in and clock out” (why on earth not?) and that they need to be prepared at times “to work from 7am to 10pm” (not on your nelly!), we have a real problem with how teaching is perceived. Too often it is seen as a vocation for which sacrifices are necessary, rather than as a job. Of course calling it a ‘job’ doesn’t mean teachers are mercenary or unfeeling. Jobs can be meaningful and satisfying. However, they don’t take over your life, occupying both your working and leisure hours. [By the way, I am the trainee who was told such things.]

So yes, we have a problem, but the government is not going to solve it. If we want things to change, then the change needs to happen from within. There are so many ways in which school leaders could effect changes that would make their schools happier places to work in. I agree wholeheartedly with Colin Harris, who writes in his recent TES article that:

We cannot afford to lose any more teachers and we can’t afford for morale to be so poor. So it’s time for us to do something about it.

In short, it is time for schools to re-evaluate.

It’s time for schools to re-evaluate. Stop blaming the government for all our ills. It’s all too easy to do that and deflect the blame away to some third party. The change needs to happen within schools. Governors and school leaders – it’s up to you to take charge of this crisis and do something about it. And in case you don’t know where to start, here are some pointers.

  1. Sort out behaviour. Ensure you have robust systems in place that support teachers to teach and create a calm, safe environment for your students. Also, give yourself a reality check. Stop thinking that behaviour is fine when it actually isn’t. Can every teacher in your school, be it an NQT or a supply, walk in to their classroom and teach without disruption? Do you still expect your teachers to run their own detentions? (if so, you need a re-think)
  2. Carefully consider your teachers’ workload. Are you asking them to do time-consuming tasks which contribute little to the educational progress of your students? Remember, feedback and marking are not the same thing. If you still expect your teachers to mark school books on a regular basis, you need to think again. Whole class feedback is far more effective as a feedback strategy, and far less time consuming. Do you still expect your teachers to enter lots of data on spreadsheets? Stop doing that. SLT can do the data entering and crunching. Teachers have far better ways to spend their time. Do you require your teachers to make fancy displays to impress visitors, such as parents on open days? Again, these are things that don’t have much if any impact on student learning. As long as classrooms are neat and tidy, leave the teachers alone. Finally, think carefully about how often and when you schedule meetings. Could much of the business in these meetings be sorted by email or some kind of Google Share platform?
  3. Trust teachers, do not micro-manage them and restore autonomy to the teaching profession. This also means not imposing on your teachers particular types of pedagogy or lesson structure. Let the curriculum, and the teachers leading that curriculum, decide how best to teach it. As Michael Fordham argues cogently in this post, generic pedagogy has been over-emphasised at the expense of curriculum.
  4. Finally, be kind to your teachers and don’t let cliques, resentments and competitiveness build up. Let every staff member in your school feel valued. Unfortunately, the audit culture in many schools has created a febrile climate where teachers feel under constant pressure to perform and where they are constantly fearful of being rapped on the knuckles for doing something wrong. Take that pressure away and create a “high-challenge, low threat” supportive environment where teachers feel comfortable trying new approaches out and seeking help and advice when they need it.

And that’s about it. It’s not rocket science really, just common sense. It doesn’t require some government edict from up high. It just needs leaders to actually do their job – be leaders, not opressors.

We’re finally talking about behaviour

Much of my blogging, since I decided to get into teaching some three years ago, has been concerned with the subject of poor behaviour in schools. I’ve been banging on about it so long that I must at times have sounded like a scratched record. And while there have been some sympathetic ears, my overwhelming feeling has been that the behaviour issue is often downplayed and not taken particularly seriously. I hear a lot of outrage from some quarters about cuts or about tests, but when it comes to the massive issue of behaviour: silence. So I’m rather pleased that we’re finally talking about it.

It all started with an article in Schools Week written by Laura McInerney entitled: “What if it’s behaviour that makes new teachers leave?” This was followed by a flurry of responses on Twitter, with anecdotal evidence that indeed behaviour is one, if not the leading factor for teachers leaving the profession. That’s not to say there hasn’t been the usual pushback on this issue. This prominent edu-tweeter posted the following:

  And a former school inspector had this to say:

Since I am one of those people whose teaching career was blighted by poor behaviour, I would beg to differ with the above points of view. I am not alone. Here’s what one teacher had to say about her NQT year:

As far as I’m concerned, behaviour is the number one issue at the heart of many of our problems in education. Sort out behaviour and in one fell swoop, without making any other changes in your school, attainment will rocket up. Sort out behaviour and you’ll finally plug the haemorrhage of teachers from the profession. Staff absences will also miraculously reduce. It is no accident that the majority of schools that needed my services when I did supply work were schools with behavioural issues. Sort out behaviour and your teachers will be able to actually teach rather than fire fight. It is a complete no brainer, and yet so many school leaders still don’t accept that it is their primary responsibility to ensure that their schools are safe, calm spaces to work in.

Sorting out behaviour is not exactly rocket science. Several schools in this country do it very well. At the very least, school leaders could go visit them and learn a thing or two. But really, what are we talking about here? Having high expectations of your students (beware the soft bigotry of low expectations – just because children come from poor and socially disadvantaged backgrounds doesn’t mean they can’t behave). Devising clear, simple rules, communicating them to students and staff, and then rigorously enforcing them for a consistent approach. It is eminently do-able.

Come on school leaders of the land, sort out your systems. Don’t blame individual teachers and make them feel like failures because they couldn’t manage the behaviour in their classes. The absolute cheek of it! Blaming teachers is the biggest cop out in town. It is not a badge of honour to be able to control a class of rebellious teenagers. Some people are naturally good at it, others struggle. That alone does not make a good teacher. There are so many talented people out there who would make great teachers if only they were supported with behaviour. Tom Starkey makes this point eloquently in his oh so excellent blog this week:

Sort out your systems first, then look at individuals. Without functioning systems, you’ve no idea what people can do. Great teaching can only be enabled if systems support great teaching.

And Ofsted, please, please, make school leaders accountable for behaviour. I still haven’t forgotten how one of my previous schools – with shockingly terrible behaviour – could proudly emblazon its front gate with a quote from an Ofsted report saying “Behaviour is good”. Scratch a little more under the surface and find out what behaviour really is like before making such stupendously incorrect statements in your reports. Just, for goodness’ sake, sort it out.

Nuance: another attempt to silence ‘trads’

Every so often – actually rather frequently – a controversy or heated debate erupts within edu-twitter which, if you dig down to the root of it, usually represents another round in the ‘trad’ versus ‘prog’ battle.

I get that some people are heartily bored with this particular debate and that others maintain the dichotomy doesn’t actually exist. Moreoever, I’m pretty sure a good many teachers, too busy to do the Twitter thing, are blissfully unaware that this debate is occuring.

“What’s a trad or a prog?”

“No idea.”

I too, before deciding to get into teaching, could not have told you what these labels meant. I would also like to point out that I’m not particularly keen on labels.  I always get a bit uppity about having to answer questions about my ethnicity when applying for jobs or filling out various other forms. Eek. Don’t label me! I’m me, a unique entity, not “Asian other” or “Middle Eastern”, though technically those terms might apply. So I can understand some people’s resistance to the idea that teachers might be ‘trads’ or ‘progs’.

Some may be uncomfortable with the combative aspect of this debate, which can often get a little heated. They might express sentiments such as “Let’s play nice and stop warring with each other” or “We’re all on the same side and want the best for our students”. I suspect a minority of people also like to virtue signal their neutrality.

And yet it’s obvious to me that there are fundamental differences in outlook and approach that manifest themselves in various ways. A look at recent debates, for example the one on school exclusions, will generally see people range into two camps. In this instance, people on the more progressive spectrum were calling for a reduction in the numbers of exclusions, and people on the more trad spectrum arguing for their necessity.

Secondly, it’s clear to me that the status quo, or you can call it the establishment, is profoundly progressive in its outlook. A significant proportion of educationalists – university lecturers, ITT tutors, educational consultants and senior leaders in schools – have a progressive ethos, even though they might not like to describe themselves as such. Consequently, many trainee teachers as well as the more experienced ones, have been exposed to progressive ideology throughout their careers and led to believe that it is the accepted truth. It was the need to bust such myths that prompted Daisy Christodoulou to write her seminal book “Seven Myths About Education’.

In the last few years, a proportion of teachers have, through Christodoulou’s book (and others), social media, grassroots conferences such as ResearchEd and the edu-blogosphere, begun to question the orthodoxies they had been inculcated with as trainees. These nascent ‘trads’ are still a minority in education but a growing one. It’s amazing how quickly ideas can spread, and how movements can snowball. It would not be too far from the truth to describe the trad movement as an insurgency in UK education.

Now of course, some established people are unhappy about this. The insurgency must at all costs be suppressed. No academics or consultants, who for years have been peddling certain practices to schools and teachers, want to hear the rising voices saying such practices are nonsense, or ineffective. As a result many teachers in the ‘trad’ camp have faced concerted campaigns to silence and discredit them. One approach has been to claim that there is ‘no best way’ to teach and that most teachers use a combination of groupwork and direct instruction anyway. A more recent attempt to discredit trads has been to claim that education debates should be nuanced. Thus I saw in my timeline today a blog being discredited for lack of nuance.

At its worst, this suppression can take a nasty and downright sinister turn. Schools and headteachers, being publicly shamed and harrassed for their supposedly ‘no-excuses’ approach to behaviour management. Individual teachers being reported to their schools for things they might have said in blogs or on social media. I myself have experienced such malicious actions, which practically derailed my career in education (but I’m still here). Some of what I experienced is described in this blog by Andrew Old.

So please, edu-twitter, don’t tell me the debate between trads and progs doesn’t exist. Don’t tell me the debate doesn’t matter. Why else would it get so heated and so underhand if it didn’t matter? We are not debating here whether porridge or toast is best for breakfast. This debate, this battle, is the most important one to be had because it directly impacts the life chances of hundreds of thousands of children in UK schools. Do we continue to let them down, with lax behaviour, knowledge-poor curricula and ineffective pedagogy, or do we confront the misguided ideas that have driven down standards for far too long? I know which choice I’m making, and detractors can shove their nuance up their backside.

 

First week in the bag

First week over in my new school, and I have survived relatively unscathed. I took the decision earlier this year not to get back into teacher training, at least not yet. My quest was to find a good school – not in Ofsted terms – and do some more TA work for a while until I figured what to do next.

After the stress of last year, it felt like a good idea to take my foot off the accelerator and just to enjoy being in school again and working with children. Also, it was important for me to get some experience working in a well-run school – I’ve been in too many dysfunctional schools and this has meant that I have unfortunately not been exposed to best practice. I could write tomes about all the wrong things that are being done in schools, but not so much about the good things. So, before disillusionment drove me away from a career in education once and for all, it was imperative that I finally got to have a positive experience. I did a stint of supply work, as well as put my nose to the ground to sniff out a good one. It’s early days yet, but I think I’ve found just the school to lick my wounds in and rise back from the ashes.

As part of this process, I also decided to de-activate my Twitter account. There was too much noise on my edu-twitter feed. At first it had excited me but latterly it had become fatiguing. I have been tempted back on once or twice, but only for a short time before realising just how right my decision to ‘switch off’ has been. That’s not to say I haven’t conversed with some interesting people, and I do try to check various blogs now and again. But that’s as far as it goes. I’m eschewing edu-conference season too. At the moment, it feels right to just do my own thing and reflect on my practice without outside interference.

Already in just one week, this feels different to all the schools I’ve worked in before. For one thing, all the staff I’ve met have been friendly and supportive. People have been kind to me, and helped to put me at ease. This does not feel like an establishment where staff stab each other in the back, and although everyone is working hard, there isn’t that horrible tense atmosphere which is usually the product of over-the-top accountability cultures. I left my last school because I felt like I was constantly walking on eggshells, with everyone fearful of the senior leadership team. I would get rapped on the knuckles (metaphorically speaking) for the slightest infraction, but never got praise for any of my hard work. My new school, on the other hand, seems to have that ethos of “high challenge, low threat” advocated by Mary Myatt.

It’s still early days and I’m sure I will have much more to reflect on in the weeks and months ahead. All week I have been trying to put my finger on what makes this school different. There isn’t anything overtly noticeable about it. On the surface, it looks like most any other primary school in the metropolis. So far, I’ve come up with the following:

  •  The head teacher has a very clear vision for her school. She is not afraid to stand her ground and push back, whether it’s with parents, governors or the local authority if it’s in the best interests of her school.
  • High calibre staff are recruited – there is no dead wood here. Everyone is on message and consistency is key.
  • Staff are valued and nurtured. Already, I have been signed up to attend two training courses. Professional development is taken seriously.
  • There is attention to detail so that the whole school runs like a well oiled machine. My induction was the most meticulous I have ever experienced.
  • Children in the school are well behaved. Right from day one, behaviour expectations are made clear and re-inforced. Children walk silently down corridors because the head insists on it.
  • So much thought has been put into how the limited space in the school is used. Despite these limits, the school doesn’t feel cramped at all, but airy, clean and tidy.

Overwhelmingly though, the biggest factor in why this is a good school is the calibre of the head teacher. I think this is the case in most other successful schools – take Michaela for example. What a difference it makes when there is someone who really knows what they are doing and have the strength of personality to see it through. It’s the equivalent of leadership X-factor. Some people have it, others don’t.

Back to School

It’s that time of the year again. The long holidays are winding to an end and preparations beginning in earnest for the new school year ahead. I logged in to Twitter today and found loads of posts, mainly from NQTs, stressing about whether they had set up their classroom well enough or prepared adequate resources.

Even experienced teachers are feeling nervous, and having strange school-related dreams. It’s like a new theatre production about to have its first night. The actors have practised their lines, the costumes and sets have been finalised, and everybody is holding their breath to see how it will go.

There’s a lot of that performance anxiety in teaching. It’s probably always been this way, though I wouldn’t know for sure. Some people relish the tension and anticipation. Some are less able to cope with it. I’m glad I’m not an NQT this year, as I was supposed to be. In fact, more and more, I’m glad not to be a teacher.

I will be going back to school this September, but as a TA in a new primary school (new to me at least). It seems like a pleasant, well-run ship, with well behaved pupils. I’m looking forward to meeting the children and getting stuck in. I’m glad though, that I don’t have to worry about setting up my classroom, doing data drops or any of the accountability measures that teachers face. I will clock in, do my bit, earn some money, then go home, well in time to pick up my boy from his school without him having to go to after-school care. He won’t have to go to before-school care either. What a blessing!

Of course there are some downsides. I will be earning less than I was last year and less than I could be earning as an NQT. That’s a slightly bitter pill to swallow but in all honesty, I’m lucky enough not to need the extra cash. For a few  hundred pounds a month more, I would have to do exponentially more work, a lot of it of the unpleasant admin/accountability variety, as well as work far longer hours. Also, being able to have my evenings and weekends to myself allows me to develop other side projects, most notably the writing of my history booklets – to be found on LearningForMemory.com.

Another downside is that I will have less responsibility and be given more menial work at times. I will be at the bottom of the school hierarchy. And yet… I will still be teaching. Everytime I sit with a child and read with them, or help them with their writing or their numbers, I will be teaching. There is still much scope for job satisfaction and usefulness. It’s not what I had hoped my teaching career would be, but in the present climate, this is the best compromise I can come up with. It turns out that when it comes to work/life balance, quality of family life trumps everything – in my case at least. I suspect I would have been more willing to do the long hours at work if I had felt they were being well spent. Inputting data into spreadsheets, attending pointless CPD and endless meetings – these felt like a waste of my time when I could have been picking my son up from school and asking him about his day. And the straw that broke the camel’s back was behaviour. Having to deal with surly, rude and disrespectful teenagers on a daily basis was not the recipe for a happy working life.

So this is my conundrum. I love teaching. I love lesson planning. I love working with kids. I’m good at explaining things. But I could not be a teacher today, in the current schools climate. I think that’s a pity, not just for me but for the teaching profession as a whole, which can’t really afford to lose talent like mine. Perhaps the profession needs to take a long hard look at itself. Perhaps senior leadership teams should start to question the sacred cows that have been the orthodoxy for so long. Just because something has been done a particular way for ages doesn’t mean it’s necessarily the right thing to do.

I recently started looking into potential new schools for my son, as we are hoping to relocate in a year or two, move away from the rat run of London for somewhere more laid back and picturesque. In the process, I signed up with the Good Schools Guide, and started reading up their reviews of some schools. I was struck by the number of times teachers in these reviews were described as willing to ‘go the extra mile’. And struck by this quote from a headteacher, who:

Has high expectations of his staff and spells out the commitment at interview; ‘I pin them down, no woolly promises to help will do. This job is a vocation.’ He is scornful of phrases such as ‘work-life balance’, believing that, in term time, successful teachers must be prepared to involve themselves far beyond the classroom itself, including meetings at odd times; ‘Ten o’clock in the evening is not unheard of.’

I wonder what kind of teacher turnover this head has at his school. I wouldn’t be surprised if, after earning their spurs for a few years, many of his teachers decided to look for greener pastures. He is, unfortunately, not alone in having this kind of attitude towards teaching. I remember on my first teacher training seminar being told that teaching was not a profession where you could just clock in and out, and that we needed to be prepared to work long hours, sometimes until 10 pm on some, if not all nights.

By no means do I denigrate the idea that teaching is a vocation for some people and that many such people thrive on totally immersing themselves in school life. These people are often the ones most likely to progress on to headships – because they are willing to go the extra mile. However, I don’t think we can build a school system on the proclivities of a minority of people. Most of us want to have a life outside of school, and to be able to leave school concerns behind us when we walk out of the school gates at the end of the day. For many people, it is a job, not a vocation.

Keep it simple

Another blog I wrote way back in November last year but never published. Just clearing the backlog, this is the last one! This discusses why I prefer to explain concepts explicitly rather than let students flounder by trying to work it out for themselves.

I have been mulling lately over the idea, so prevalent in teaching today, that it is better to let children work something out for themselves than to directly explain it to them. I know many people take umbrage at Michaela school’s slogan of ‘just tell-em’ as authoritarian and retrograde. I don’t think that is the case, and I will explain why, through a look at my own lesson planning experience.

First of all, is it really the case that children will understand something less if it is told to them rather than if they discover it for themselves? Let me give a few examples here which I think refute this idea. How many instances are there in schools where direct instructions are given to children outside of the teaching curriculum? Let’s see. We might instruct children in the classroom rules of conduct. We might instruct them on what to do if someone is bullying them. We might instruct them to follow a one-way system around the school or to enter the refectory in a particular way or at a particular time. All these instructions are likely to be verbal, whether made by a school leader at assembly, or a form tutor or teacher in the classroom. They might employ visual aids, such as PowerPoint slides or paper handouts, to reinforce the message. There is no expectation, however, that the children need to actually work these things out for themselves, or experience them kinaesthetically in order to understand the instructions. Language is a powerful communicator.

If we expect children to understand us when we talk to them, why then does this understanding stop when we use the same form of communication to explain a new concept to be learned? From primary school onwards, children are used to having stories read out to them. Through the power of the spoken word, as well as the intonation and expression of the teacher, children are introduced to new ideas and allowed to visualise the story in their minds.

If you have young children, then you know that they are always full of questions. If your child were to ask you a question such as ‘What happens to grown-ups if they do something bad?’ my guess is you would answer them directly with an explanation such as ‘It depends what bad thing the grown-up does, but if for example this person has stolen something from a shop or attacked somebody, the police would come after them and arrest them.’ You might go on to explain the matter further, talking about the legal system and jails. What you would probably not do, is bounce their question back at them and ask them to work it out for themselves, maybe by giving them a few hints, and only once they’ve struggled for some time on their own, would you supply them with the answer. The reason why you would most probably answer them directly the first time around, is that it is more time efficient. We are all busy people, and children ask a lot of questions. It is simply more efficient to give a clear and explicit answer, than to play obstacle course and encourage the children to find out for themselves.

In my lesson planning, I have met with this same dilemma. Learning time is limited and I want to make best use of it in the lesson. I also know, however, that there is an expectation that I should not just tell, but ask lots of questions to guide the students to the right conclusion themselves. Say for instance, the lesson is about the use of propaganda posters in the Second World War. The first thing you would do in such a lesson, is ensure that students understand the meaning of the word ‘propaganda’. The ‘just tell-em’ way would be to give the students a definition of the word right at the start, get them to write it down, and explain it with a few examples. You might then maybe display three posters on the board, and ask which one of them is not a work of propaganda, to check for understanding. At most, this process would take about five minutes of lesson time.

Many in education would frown at such a didactic approach. The alternative is to plant lots of clues and ask searching questions that will eventually get the student to the desired destination (we hope). This could be by putting up some propaganda posters on the board and asking students to work out what all these posters might have in common. Eventually, after much prompting, you might get to ‘they are trying to make people think or act in a certain way’ and eventually that ‘they are trying to influence people’. You might then introduce the word propaganda to them as what they have just described, and then task them with writing, in their own words, a definition of ‘propaganda’. You would then do an AFL task, perhaps putting up a false definition on the board and then using RAG cards to see if they agree with it or not. You might question certain students on the RAG card they have chosen, and ask them to elaborate. Finally, you might then display the correct definition of the word and get the students to write it down. Length of this activity? At least 15 minutes.

It does not make sense to me, to spend a triple amount of time to teach something to students, when the direct, explicit method can achieve the same in a fraction of that time. Sometimes, the simplest way is the best. This is just one of many examples where I think teaching is made needlessly overcomplicated. Tom Sherrington says it so well in his excellent blog: ‘Just Teach!’

Liberation

I wrote this last November but didn’t feel able to publish it. Here it is now, unedited, my words exactly from nine months ago.

I have been on a roller coaster journey this year, and I have fallen down to earth with a bump. Without going into too many details, I have resigned from my school and it feels like a weight has been taken off my shoulders. My heart is singing with liberation. I should be feeling crushed but instead I’m empowered.

Firstly, I’ve not reached the end of my teaching career. Not in the least. On my last day at school, I taught three good lessons on my terms. No VAK, no starter, no cloying AFL trying to evidence the learning (which is next to impossible to evidence anyway). We had a quick retrieval practice quiz, then went on to a short booklet on Harold Hardraada that I had written. We read it aloud together, I explained, and then I set some questions. Simple and yet so effective. I taught well that day. I came away knowing what the last few months had started to make me doubt. I am a good teacher.

Later that day, I happened to encounter one of my students in the ICT room, sitting at a computer doing homework. He greeted me with a happy smile when he saw me, then turned to his friend sitting next to him and said, with a note of pride in his voice: ‘That’s my history teacher!’ That gave me a warm glow. I will miss those kids. My one regret in this whole story is that I won’t get to see them anymore.

So this is not the end of my teaching career. But it is the end of my teaching in an environment that does not share my values. I am in no rush to find another teaching job or to apply for further teacher training. Call me philosophical or mystical, but I just know that if I am meant to teach, then it will happen.

In the meantime, I have plenty to keep me busy. The first order of the day is to spend quality time with my son and be the kind of mum I want to be. It has tugged at my heart strings lately, having him in school from 8am to after 5pm some days. I’m going to enjoy being there for him at the end of his school day. Those years are precious, and they don’t last forever. In another two years or so, he will be able to make his own way to school and back.

I’m also going to take better care of my health. I have not stepped on the bathroom scales yet for fear of what they will tell me. The mirror and my clothes know that I have been piling on the pounds, stress eating. That will change.

I’m going to have more time to read the many books piled on my book shelf. The one thing I have discovered (or rather re-discovered) in my short time as a teacher, is just how much I still don’t know. I will remedy that. Schools should be places of knowledge, filled with teachers who know their subject inside out (not just the exam spec). Don’t get me wrong, I know an awful lot. Just not enough to confidently call myself an expert.

I will embark on what I have been longing to do but not had the time to. I’m going to write the first of a series of KS3 history textbooks and digital resources. There are many out there already, of course, but none that pleases me 100%. I have many ideas and a vision for what I want to achieve. There’s work to be done.

Lastly, I will campaign more vocally than ever for the kind of education I believe in. I’m not sure what form that will take, though undoubtedly this blog will have centre stage. I will continue to write and confront the beliefs and practices that I think are disadvantaging our already disadvantaged children. I summarise these below:

  • Poor children find it harder to behave and we must therefore make accommodations for them (and lower our expectations).
  • It is more important to show progress and value added than to actually achieve a high standard of education, especially when it comes to socially disadvantaged children.
  • Strict behaviour policies are authoritarian and damaging to children.
  • Strict behaviour policies have a negative impact on children with SEND.
  • A knowledge curriculum entrenches the power of the (white) elites.
  • Children will not learn something unless they discover it for themselves and it is made relevant and engaging to them.
  • Schools suck the natural and innate creativity out of children (you don’t need me to tell you who keeps harping on about that).
  • A lesson must contain multiple activities (usually in the form of a starter, main and plenary) in which children are seen to be doing ‘tasks’. These activities then need to be followed by an AFL (Assessment for Learning) task to evidence the learning.
  • It is essential to display the learning objectives on the board at the beginning of each lesson.
  • Bloom’s Taxonomy is integral to good lessons, which should focus on letting students progress from the less important lower order domain of knowledge and comprehension to the higher order skills of evaluation and creative thinking.
  • Knowledge doesn’t matter so much in modern times because we can just look things up on Google. It’s more important to teach transferrable skills, such as problem solving and creative thinking.
  • Children don’t have the capacity or imagination to understand concepts explained and modelled to them by the teacher, and therefore need kinaesthetic activities and role play to truly understand.
  • If a teacher is talking, a child is not learning.
  • Lower set children who are behind in their learning need to have easier work, less reading and more pictures and videos.
  • Schools need to prepare children for 21st century skills and jobs of the future that don’t yet exist.

You’d be surprised (or not) how many of the above beliefs are still prevalent in schools today. I believe every single one of them entrenches the disadvantage poor children start off with. And (unless I have a significant change of mind in future) I refuse to ever work in a school that subscribes to them. Who’s with me? (Sorry, I nicked that one off Quirky Teacher)