Consequences

"If you don't attend the lesson you'll lose points and won't be allowed to do your Out of School Education,” I warned Jamie. It is a policy that this threat is made to students who refuse to attend lessons.

     “Don't be f***ing stupid,” he replied, “I've already got my two quid for today and I've got a right to Out of School Education so you can't stop that.”

     He was right, of course. The truth is that the threat is often made but never carried out. Out of School Education is booked in advance and has to be paid for whether or not the students attend.

     But what is Out of School Education anyway? It consists of a whole range of activities. Ten pin bowling, skating, orienteering, quadbiking, paintballing, snooker, rock climbing, caving, sea fishing, trout fishing, golf, the beach and a host of other activities. These occur maybe two or three times a week and all paid for by the taxpayer.

     The students are chauffeur driven in school and care home cars to the various activities. To ensure that they behave, students are promised a MacDonalds after the session. As might be expected, good behaviour is not guaranteed and they always get the MacDonald's regardless.

     The justification of Out of School Education is that these are deprived children who would not otherwise take part in such activities. How many children in 'normal' families get so many similar activities in a week?

Teaching and Learning

Maggie got out of a car which looked as if it had barely survived a destruction derby and breezed into reception.

     “Who the f*** are you?” she asked.

     “I'm Dave, the new temporary teacher,” I explained, “you must be Maggie.”. It is policy for everyone to be known by their first name

     “I'm not coming to your lessons you paedophile c***,” she replied, “I don't like you so f*** off.”

     I looked for support to Maggie's care worker come chauffeur for support, but it wasn't forthcoming. She put an arm around Maggie.

     “We encourage our young people to speak their minds,” she said, “if she doesn't like you it's her right not to come to your lessons.” Turning to Maggie said, “It's only a f***ing man, so you're probably right.”

     Later in the day I found Maggie's care worker embraced in a long affectionate kiss with another female care worker in the school's smoking area. There were students there too.

     Maggie spent most of the day at school smoking, eating, cuddling other students and care workers and swearing at anyone who suggested that she attended a lesson. I asked a few times.

     “I know my f***ing rights,” she shouted, “so leave me alone. I don't have to go with f***ing paedoes.” Her care worker nodded approvingly.

     The school had a points system. Up to ten points for a lesson and ten for each break and lunchtime. Students have to get thirty points in a day to earn £2. So long as they don't misbehave during lunchtime or either break then their £2 is secure without the need to attend a lesson.

     At the end of the afternoon break, Maggie declared, “I'm p***ed off, I want to go for a burger. Her carer immediately signed out and Maggie was off, another day's education under her belt.
     When Maggie had left, the School Manager came over to "put you in the picture." He explained that Maggie was due in court the following day for sentencing.
     Maggie had fallen out with another student, Jodie, over some name calling. Bent on revenge, she had called on the assistance of her current boyfriend. They stole a car and went round to Jodie's care home. Having beaten and kicked her senseless. they bundled her into the boot of the car and drove down to the harbour. It was Jodie's good fortune that one of the lifeboat crew 'phoned the police to report  that someone was carrying a body on the harbour wall. A few minutes later and Jodie would have been floating in the harbour.
     The court was extremely understanding. Taking account of Maggie's horrific background and ignoring her string of previous convictions, she was given a probation order.
      "You have to understand what these kids have been through," said the School Manager. I reflected that my childhood would more than compare, but that I'd never once tried to harm anyone. 

How to be Callous

“So I booted it dead centre and it fell to pieces.” Andrew accompanied his graphic description of the destruction of a pensioner's flat screen TV with a demonstration kick which made a hole in the plasterboard wall. It would probably be filled in when someone came to fill in all the other holes.

     Andrew was just back from court where he had been answering for his sixty-third burglary and celebrating another suspended sentence.

     The other students listened with encouraging interest as he told how he broke into a house, trashed every room causing, “thirty thousand pounds of criminal damage.” He repeated this phrase several times with obvious pride and to admiring gasps. “The old c*** was in tears,” Andrew continued.

     The old man was, indeed, in tears. His wife had recently died and Andrew had destroyed the home the couple had built up during fifty years of marriage. The worst loss, though, had not been the property that could be replaced, but irreplacable things like the family photographs which had been systematically torn to shreds.

     The old man's tears were nothing to those on the bench when they heard the case for the defence. Poor sad Andrew had been abandoned by an abusive mother, been through a string of foster homes and care homes and was currently in specialist care and attending an EBD school.

     I expressed the view to the students that the events being described were not something to be celebrated. Andrew frowned and became very threatening. “You're not supposed to be judgemental, you fat c***,” he bellowed, then stormed off to smoke in the school's smoking area.

     A little later in the day I was called in front of the school manager for something called supervision. “Andrew has made a complaint that you have been judgemental,” he explained, “what have you to say about it.”

     I explained that I didn't feel that the way the crimes were being described and celebrated was appropriate so I made that point to the students.

     The school manager jumped to his feet and in obvious rage shouted, “don't you know what these young people have been through, you stupid c***?”

     Probably unwisely, I replied, “post hoc ergo propter hoc.”

     What the f*** does that mean? Shouted the school manager, hopping from one foot to the next in a way that made me think he might need the toilet. I kept that thought to myself.

     “I'm simply saying that, while there's obviously a correlation between criminality and a person's upbringing, it does not provide a justification for a particular crime and it certainly doesn't justify a celebration of it.” I replied.

     By now, the school manager was almost hysterical. “How can someone as callous and uncaring as you work in a school like this?” he demanded.

     “I go where the agency sends me,” I explained.

     “I'll be making a complaint to the agency,” said the school manager and ejected me from his office.
     One of the essential requirements of working with EBD students is that they like you.  If they complain about a member of staff and are persistent in that complaint it is extremely likely that the member of staff will be moved to another school or simply asked to leave. A similar policy exists with regards to those who live in homes with support workers. These students often grow up without ever losing their belief that they have no responsibility for their own actions.

Tommy Atkins

By An Old Pedagogue

Shortly after I took charge of a large town school an incident occurred which showed me how little dependence there is to be placed on the honour or truthfulness of an average big boy. During recess the pupils were in the habit of writing with chalk on the blackboards that completely surrounded the school room. This so filled the room with chalk dust that breathing was difficult so I forbade the writing. One day, after I had been out with the pupils in the yard, I came to the school room door, and saw Master Tommy Atkins alone in the room industriously writing the sentence “Do not write on the blackboards.” I quietly withdrew without the boy’s notice, and when I next entered the room was empty. When school was called the eyes of all were turned to the audacious handwriting on the wall. When quiet was restored I said,- ”Who wrote that sentence?”    
     There was no answer.
     “Now,” said I, “the chances are that those words were written by someone now in this room. I intend to find out who is the culprit. The crime is not a great one, but if to it is added persistent falsehood it will become serious, in my eyes at least. Let the pupil who disobeyed have the manliness to stand up and manage his fault before the school.”
     No one stood up. He boys looked at each other but no one moved.
     “Well, all that did not write the sentence stand.”
     Like one boy the whole school arose to its feet, Atkins among the rest.
     I next had each boy stand up separately , and I asked him on his honour if he had written the line. I shall never forget the look of honest indignation with which Thomas Atkins denied all knowledge of the writing. When this examination was over there was a moment of painful silence.
     “Well boys,” I said, “it just amounts to this: If things remain as at present the imputation rests on the whole school. If any of you can suggest a remedy, I shall be pleased to hear it.”
     There was an indignant murmur over the room, and one boy rose to his feet.
     “I think, Mr. Jones,” he said, “that you are wrong in blaming us all for what one has done. If I had written on the board I would have stood up and said so.”
     “I believe you,” I answered.
     “Then why not believe us all?” said several voices at once.
     “I will be glad to do so the moment you convince me that the writing came there in a similar manner to that at Belshazzar’s feast. None of you believe that, so, as I said before, do any of you see a way out of the wood?”
     Another boy roses to his feet, giggled a moment and sat down again.
     The whole school laughed—boy nature exactly—the one moment serious, the next a giggle.
     John rose again, looked half comically around and said, with surpressed mirth,--
     “When I went to school down East some one broke a pane, and the master couldn’t find out who it was, so he began at one end of the room and whipped every scholar in the building.’

“Well John,” I said, “I attended a similar matinee myself when I was young. The plan has the merit of including the culprit, yet I fancy the rest of the pupils might consider it unfair.”

“The first boy now stood up again. “Master,” he ventured hesitatingly, “I think it is no more unfair than saying that the imputation on us all because some boy you cannot find has told a lie.”
     “You are right,” I said, “and I was wrong in saying so. Only one boy is guilty, and I will never believe until his conduct convinces me that there is another in this room who is so cowardly and untruthful.”
     I rose and quickly went down the room, siezed Atkins by the collar and jerked him to the centre of the aisle, and with a vigorous shove sent him headlong forward towards the platform with a speed that taxed his ability to keep his feet. I whirled him around facing the pupils and cried,--
     “Atkins, who wrote that sentence on the wall?”
     “I—I--I did, sir.”
     “Of course you did. Now I am going to reverse John’s plan. I am going to concentrate on your shoulders the punishment that the down East schoolmaster distributed over the whole school. Go to my room, sir.”
     “Oh, Mr. Jones, I’ll never, never do so again.”
     “I know you won’t. Go to my room.”
     I believe that flogging, like everything else, if done at all should be well done. I don’t believe in a dress parade. I scarcely ever had to whip a boy twice, on the same principle that the lad said lightning didn’t strike twice in the same spot—because it didn’t need to. When it became necessary for a boy to have an interview with me in my own room, he rarely forgot the circumstance. I always taught school on a somewhat free and easy manner. I allowed ample opportunity for free speech and encouraged it, and never laid any claims to that infallibility which many teachers surround themselves with. Boys are quick to detect humbug, and a teacher never loses prestige with them by admitting he doesn’t know everything. Although the incident I have alluded to consumed the greater part of a valuable forenoon, I never thrashed another boy there, and when I asked the pupils afterwards who did any particular thing, some one instantly sprang to his feet and said,--
     “I did, sir.”   

From: "52 Stories for Boys" - Alfred H. Miles

This is a tale from 1902, but I can recall similar "matinees" in schools I attended more than half a century later. I don’t approve of corporal punishment, but I’m well aware of present day indiscipline in schools. 

French Cricket

Reading was my addiction. It was also a punishable offence. I suppose to be absolutely correct, the offence was being in posession of reading material that didn’t belong to me, but if I was reading, it was inevitably from a book, comic or paper I’d taken from a bookcase or that one of the home manager’s children or the houseparents had left lying around.
     Reading was an antidote to boredom. Other children had different strategies. Some would sit rocking and staring into the distance. Some would pick or bite bits off themselves. When the resultant sores became too noticable they would have boxing gloves put on their hands and tied in place. These didn’t stop the picking completely, but they made it more difficult. As an intermediate step, some children would be given a piece of cloth with little stitches to pick off, but they only picked at that if someone was looking.
     Ted was my younger brother but we rarely spoke. His nose was a picked mess and his hands, as well as being gloved were often tied to the chair.
This Saturday was no different from many others in the children’s home. The houseparents played cards, occasionally telling someone to shut up, and we all sat around in our institutionalised boredom.
     I was reading a book of fairy stories. For the twentieth time I read how the Steadfast Tin Soldier melted down into a little lump in the shape of a heart and how there was nothing left of the little Dancer but her gilt rose, burnt as black as a cinder. On reflection, it seems a drastic way to fulfil a dream, but I suppose that then, most of us had some notion of a happier after life.
It was a calm boredom, at least for the boys because our carers for today were two who made no additional demands on us. It never occurred to me that the girls might have a different perspective.
     Sunday 24th June 19xx.  The home manager came into the room. “David, Ted, come with me,” he called urgently. I walked over, but he had to untie Ted.
We were given clean shirts, our faces were washed with the community flannel and we were ordered to go to the toilet - are there people who still wee to order? Our hair was brushed with the communal hairbrush and we were led out onto the lawn. Ted was given a cricket bat and I was handed a ball.
     “Enjoy your game,” said the home manager.
     “What shall we play?” I asked.
     “French cricket,” he replied as he hurried back into the house.
     It was to be many years before I discovered that the French didn’t play cricket and the nature of the confidence trick being played. Here we were with the opportunity to do something different, outside with a bat and ball. But a ball was neither bowled nor struck because the home manager reappeared almost immediately.
     “There they are,” he shouted with a huge grin, as he led our Aunt and Uncle to where we were about to play. “These two are always out here,” he continued. He took the bat and ball. “Have a lovely afternoon,” he waved cheerfully as he disappeared back into the house.
     Now it wasn’t as if we weren’t pleased to see Uncle Harry and Aunt Hilda, and they were loaded with sweets and chocolates, but they just didn’t pick their time very well. As a result they had to put up with the grumpy pair they had just deprived of a game.
     We had a nice drive in the countryside, stopped for tea and cakes and answered awkwardly posed questions in a monotone. I can’t imagine that Aunt Hilda and Uncle Harry enjoyed the experience but they never visited again and never once mentioned it in later years.
     After the visit it was back to the house. Our presents and sweets were taken, “for safe keeping.” I’ve always wondered about that phrase. Are they still safe?
     Talking to my friend James later, he remarked that something similar had happened to him. It was as if visitors had the knack of choosing just the wrong time to visit.

(To add another coincidence, just as I prepared to go to the shop before posting this story I found that a toy soldier, albeit a plastic one, had fallen from the bookcase onto the floor. Is that what they mean by existentialism?)

Curry

(Childhood Memories of Food in the 1960s)

School dinners were always served as if to a template. The plate was divided into three areas. There was meat, or fish on a Friday, even for non Catholics. I don’t recall ever meeting a vegetarian. There was the potato section, boiled, mashed or chips on a Friday if the fish was fried. Then there was the vegetable section, cabbage, carrots, peas, cauliflower and, occasionally, spaghetti.
    Cabbage was a school dinner regular. It would be boiled for hours until the smell filled the entire school and the flavour was transferred to the water. The water was then thrown away.
    “Spaghetti isn’t a vegetable,” I hear you say. It was when I was a boy. Long smooth strands in a bright orange coloured sauce, one of Mr. Heinz’s fifty seven. The BBC once did an April fool spoof news report about the Italian spaghetti harvest, with long strands of spaghetti shown being gathered from trees. A few years earlier and I would have believed it.
    What did foreigners eat? We all knew that.
    The French ate frogs and snails. We imagined them on the plate between the potato and cabbage instead of proper meat. We had no idea how they might be cooked so we imagined them as slimy, the snails with their eyes still on stalks and the frogs still green.
    The Italians ate spaghetti, no meat or cabbage, but platefuls of white strands in orange coloured sauce. Occasionally it made a pleasant change, but every day?
    The Germans ate sausage. Not the firm juicy butchers sausage that went with mash and gravy but something unpleasant from a tin. They ate it with something called saurkraut. We had no idea what saurkraut was, but it was German, so it was bound to be horrid.
    The Japanese ate raw fish, accompanied by rice pudding without milk and sugar in it. Yuk.
    Africans ate each other.
    We got these ideas from comics and from War Picture Library which moulded our view of foreigners and people we still thought of as the enemy. 
    Indians ate curry. 
    Our idea of an Indian was fairly flexible, but we knew that they were brown people who wore turbans and were part of the Commonwealth, which was like the Empire and still ours really.
    We all knew what curry was. We ate it ourselves.
    Curry was never eaten on a Monday, and Friday was fish, so curry was always a midweek meal, usually Wednesday. Those of us who went on to work in factories discovered that curry was  sometimes served in the lunchtime canteen and was obviously made to the same recipe as school dinner curry.
    You always knew when to expect curry. If Tuesday’s dinner was stew, then you knew that Wednesday was a curry day. We always assumed that curry was made with left over stew, but logically, that couldn’t be the case. It was more likely that a double ration of meat was boiled up on a Tuesday for Tuesday’s stew and Wednesday’s curry.
    To make curry, curry powder was added to the previously boiled stew meat. A quantity of sultanas was added to this mixture and it was boiled yet again. There was never any chance of eating anything that was under cooked.
    When curry was served, you had your usual heaps of potatoes and vegetables. Between them was a pile of curry alongside an extra heap of rice pudding without milk and sugar in it.
    As we ate our curry we imagined the poor Indians  who were eating stew with curry powder and sultanas in it every day. We thought how fortunate we were to have a varied diet unlike almost everyone else in the world. We usually left the rice on the plate. With any luck there would be proper rice pudding for afters. How sad, we thought, that Indians didn’t have pudding.

Our School

The fault with folks like them; they are not like us.
They don’t want to learn so we must make a fuss.
If we build our schools we can keep them out.
Our kids can learn to read, their’s can fight and shout.

We don’t hate folks like them, but there’s no disgrace,
If we put them and us in our proper place.
Our kids need teaching, their’s need tight control,
Their kids will run amok, ours will quietly stroll.

We are not PLUs*, we are just concerned,
They’re all on the dole, all our cash is earned,
We pay the taxes, that gives us the right,
To keep our kids away from the their kids blight.

We often meet their kids walking in the street,
We have some extra plans to make our scheme complete,
We won’t have to meet them, no, not at all,
If we enclose our homes within a concrete wall.

Most of them are burglars, to avoid this sin,
We will have some armed guards to stop them coming in,
If we need a plumber he will have to be,
A graduate from Oxbridge, with a CRB.

Don’t think we are Tories, oh good heavens no,
We respect the lower classes, Laski tells us so,
We just don’t want them coming to our schools,
Our kids will be clever, theirs will remain fools.

We have learned from Plato, men have different hue,
Some are bronze and silver, there are gold ones too,
There’s a place for every one, colour, creed and race,
Just so long as they are kept in their proper place.

*PLUs = People Like Us

The Cover Supervisor

"Bold Roger was a teacher who lived in Lowestoft,
Next door his friend, let’s call him Dave,
Worked in a shop which sold those tools
Which people buy do do odd jobs
That don’t get done and so the tools,
Are stored up in the loft.

Young Dave he thought he’d like a change, to have an easier day,
“Work in a school,” the advert said,
“You need no stifficates to be
A person in the classroom who
Does everything a teacher does,
For only half the pay.”

For Roger it was quite a shock to face the lack of work,
“This agreement,” the union said.
Will make your week much easier
With time to plan and meet and mark
And keep your paperwork quite neat,”
He fell for it, the Berk.

So Roger had an easy week and then an easy term,
Quite soon it was an easy year,
For once a fortnight all he did
Was sign his name upon a form
To say that he had done no work,
His status to confirm.

And so upon that fateful day an advert did appear,
For that same shop where Dave once worked,
Now had a need for someone who
Could sell the tools for DIY
And bedding plants and garden gnomes,
He took it with a tear.

Dave was an (almost) teacher who lived in Lowestoft,
Roger, his friend, who lived next door,
Worked in a shop which sold those tools,
Which people buy do do odd jobs,
That don’t get done and so the tools,
Are stored up in the loft."

I Am a Member of Parliament

I am a Member of Parliament,
And down to London I was once sent;
I buy not from shops that are basic or cheap,--
A thousand pound TV the profit I reap;
My party line I merrily chant;
Where’er I walk no money I want;
And why I’m so flush the reason I tell, --
Who claims his expenses  is sure to live well.
    What tinker or tailor,
    Or honest taxpayer?
    Lives half so well as an expenses player.

My re-election is my main concern,
Without those expenses less money I’ll earn;
Myself, by denial, I mortify –
With plenty of food that I never buy;
I’m clothed in the very best for my sin,--
Paid for by the people who voted me in;
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” is my favourite song,
And the division bell my excuse, ding dong.
    What tinker or tailor,
    Or honest taxpayer?
    Lives half so well as an expenses player.

Telly

The telly is marvellous, the telly is good,
The telly makes everyone act as they should.
There’s a man with long hair who bullies and rants,
I’ll behave just like that when I get half a chance.
If it wasn’t for telly then I wouldn’t know,
That some liquids mend hair and some creams make you glow.
I squeal with delight as one man thumps another,
Just wait until I try that out on my brother.
A big yellow M tells me what’s the best food,
We’ll go there tomorrow if only I’m good.
There are cats that can talk and fish that can hum,
And a dog that says “use this when you wipe your bum.”
There are lots of new words telly learns me to say,
When I use them I’m told, “you must not talk that way,”
I sit and watch telly and soak it all up,
It’s as easy as drinking a shake from a cup.
The telly’s my friend, it’s my mum and my dad,
It keeps me from mischief and stops me being sad.
I’m saying all this although I’m only three,
Oh what wonderful things telly’s doing for me.

Stuff

I was teaching Romeo and Juliet. One student was very bored. "I don’t do love and stuff," she said.

I rarely write about love, but stuff is what I do best,
I have sweet stuff and wet stuff and soft stuff,
And some white stuff made into a vest.
Please don’t underestimate stuff,
It is, after all, you’ll agree,
The stuff that all the world’s made of,
And that includes both you and me.

Proof of Payment is No Defence

Eight months on and it has been decided at the Traffic Penalty Tribunal that having a valid parking ticket is not grounds for appeal. Proof that you have paid is no defence. It was never in dispute that I had paid the parking fee. I have the ticket that the parking attendant photographed. The ticket was not properly displayed and that’s enough.

You would have thought that there were some rules that Councils have to operate by. In fact they have ’Absolute Discretion’. Absolute Discetion means that, provided the parking system is propely in place with proper notices, road markings and the like, then the Councils can do whatever they like with regard to infringements. There is not even a requirement for them to be consistent.

A couple of people in the Tribunal queue with tickets wrongly displayed, dropped of the windscreen or otherwise obscured and I would imagine that they would all have lost their appeals - assuming the Tribunal is consistent.

The reality is that parking provides a considerable income to Councils - and to the private contractors who operate it it for them. They even have targets for income from penalties. Penalties in other areas of the law are designed to act as a deterrent to illegal behaviour so that a sensible target would be to see them reduced. If penalties are seen as a source of income then deterring behaviour that is a source of income is counter productive. It also explains why Councils pursue every infringement to the limit.

In reality, it makes sense to just pay up and accept that you’ve been skinned. Even if you were fortunate enough to win, you lose pay from time off to attend the hearing and preparing your case is not an inconsiderable task. Councils probably depend on people resigning themselves to the injustice of it.

Among the largest number of complaints to Members of Parliament are those about parking penalties. It was even raised by the Liberal Democrat spokesman in Parliament. I contacted my MP and he suggested that I mention "common sense, fairness and justice". I discovered that common sense, fairness and justice have no place in the Tribunal. They have a set of grounds for appeal. If you meet the criteria you win, if you don’t you lose. It’s a rubber stamping exercise and therefore a waste of time appealing if your grounds for appeal is not on the list.

£70 Fine for an Upside Down Parking Ticket

What do you pay your parking fee for? I assumed that it was to park. It is, in fact to purchase the ticket to prove that you have paid.

I parked in Wellington Street again so that I could buy my wife a birthday present. I paid for an hour, put the ticket in the car and, having brought the present, returned within half an hour. There was a parking ticket on my car. My ticket was improperly displayed. In fact, it was upside down.

It was a mistake, but I assumed that it was one that was easily resolved. A call to the Parking Enforcement Team revealed that having a ticket proved nothing. I could have picked it up in the street. The idea that people would scrabble around in the gutter looking for a parking ticket with their car’s registration number on says a lot about the mentality of the people who manage parking.

What makes the attitude even more ridiculous is the fact that the Traffic Wardens photograph the tickets in the cars and these photographs are placed on a website.On the photograph of mine the number is clearly readable and matches the one I have. I can therefore prove that I paid the fee. No compromise from the Enforcement Team. The offence is, "parking without clearly displaying a valid pay & display ticket or voucher."

I could pay £70 and accept the idiocy of the Council’s policy, but I will let it go to court. The court will doubtless support the council, but there is just a chance that the idiotic waste of time and the injustice of it may make someone think.

I paid to park. I can prove it. Is £70 a just penalty for a lapse of attention that left my ticket upside down?

Head Bags

Why am I hostile to the niqab? It has nothing to do wth Islam, but then, there’s nothing in Islam to justify these monstrosities. It’s because they are contrary to normal human interaction.

I was in the supermarket today and while pushing my trolley almost collided with a lady wearing a traditional sari. Her hair was covered with a scarf but her face was not, which allowed us to share a smile and go our different ways.

A little further and I clashed wheels with another lady wearing a niqab. Normal human interaction was impossible. Sharing the moment was impossible.

I can offer no other justification.

Head Bags

"I’ve a problem," said Prophet Mohammed
"Which is causing me quite a to do,
We’re surrounded by ugly women,
Though there’s plenty of pretty ones too."

"The men think it spoils reputations,
To be seen with a woman quite plain,
So they asked me to find a solution,
To remove such a character stain."

"I suggested, "Don’t take them out with you,
Just leave them at home with the kids,
But the mullah said, "no you can’t do that,
It is something that heaven forbids"

"I replied that these girls are quite homely,
And their cooking is really a treat,
If you want to impress then just invite,
Your friends round for something to eat."

"They weren’t happy with this suggestion,
Comparisons still would be rife,
When one man has married a cracker,
And another an ugly wife."

"At last I came up with the answer,
Quite brilliant, it has to be said,
If you’ve married an ugly woman,
Make her wear a bag on her head."

"The head bags became quite a fashion,
Made of silk and with eye holes and lace,
But the women who now had to wear them,
Felt their humbling was quite a disgrace."

"The society of ugly women,
(It was actually a quite different name),
Then met to discuss the injustice,
Of telling the world of their shame."

“They would never get rid of the head bags,
That policy wouldn’t go through,
So they demanded as well as the ugly,
Pretty women should wear head bags too.”

“It was soon all agreed,done and dusted,
The new rule was then put in place,
That all women, both pretty or ugly,
From now on must cover their face.”

“If you walk down the street in old Baghdad,
Or Bradford, Marseille or Tehran,
You will see many women in burqas,
Being as happy as anyone can.”

“A remarkable twist to this story,
Came about quite out of the blue,
When women were not just to look at,
Men started to talk to them too.”

“They soon found that looks told you nothing,
About cleverness, talent or tact,
And when the distraction was missing,
You just had to deal with the fact.”

“So next time you meet with a woman,
You would rather not have in your bed,
Instead of rejecting just imagine,
That she’s wearing a bag on her head.”

Moral

“It’s  important to learn from my story,
That whether they’re pretty or plain,
All women are worth just as much as the men,
So take those head bags off again.”

Copyright © 2010

Cross Teachers or Cross Curriculum

A plan for cross curricular integration of ICT must be carefully thought out. The whole ideal of Educational Technology is still very much in an experimental stage despite the very wide changes that have taken place and continue to take place.

The changes in Technology and been rapid and evolutionary. Educational developments are not mirroring the societal changes that the technology is bringing about. In many respects, the whole concept of Information and Communications Technology (ICT) in a retrenchment to allow incorporation of the technology into education without disturbing what is considered mainstream.

Most schools follow a very narrow, prescribed, formulaic and ultimately quite dull curriculum that is provided by Government. There is little pressure to challenge the status quo and as a result, ICT remains aloof and incongruous with the needs of society

The proper incorporation of ICT requires a model. While we teach the kids to labour with a model that requires identification and analysis of the issues, followed by design, testing and evaluation, there is little evidence that school do anything similar in their approach to forwarding the larger ICT project.

One of the major reasons is a lack of vision. On the one hand, there is a conservative profession defending itself against the implications of ICT. One the other there are a range of ICT teachers, with a very wide differentiation of skills, whose main priority is to serve results.Being able to show that you have helped raise the number of level 5s or 5 A to C grades will earn you brownie points and early promotion. Suggesting ways to take the subject forward is more likely to get you the sack.

If the incorporation of ICT across the curriculum is to be a congruous and coherent process then schools have to develop appropriate surroundings, resources and skills and these will, to a large extent, depend on the level of skills available. Almost all of the present ICT curriculum can easily be delivered by a keen and competent teacher of Art, PE or any other subject. Most of it is trivial. The real skill is the ability to see how ICT fits with the bigger picture. This skill is strategic and requires more than the ability to create a PowerPoint, a poster or a spreadsheet.

The necessary skills will enable the integration of ICT to promote successful leaning and teaching practices both in and for the Information society. It is therefore absolutely essential that this integration is cross curricular and presupposes a consideration of the skills required by teachers, the competitive aspects of a cross curricular approach and the use that will be made of ICT by students and teachers.

ICT hands powerful resources to the teacher which aid motivation and organisation but also challenges authority because access to knowledge is no longer so easily controlled. Because of this, integration must be carefully planned. An obvious example of where this is not working in practice is the ICT key stage 3 test. Ultimately, it is another layer of SaTs to teach too, where it most obviously should be an ongoing process integrated into the teaching and learning of ICT wherever and whenever it is used.

In today’s society, the ability to use ICT is as vital as being able to read, write and be numerate. It could probably be called the fourth ‘R’ if I could only think of a mnemonic. But the rigour is different. In most schools, kids go to ICT once a week to ‘play’ and really not much more than that. An hour or less per week is really not sufficient to become proficient or to even think about the broader implications of the subject.

ICT frequently becomes a domain of the ‘expert’, often very enthusiastic and competent, not always an expert but frequently regarded as the person responsible for ICT and therefore in control of doling out the resources once the hour a week of play is allocated.

Even worse, I suppose, is the room timetable which is filled in rapidly by those who use the ‘book first, plan later’ strategy and then fought over with those whose Scheme of Work tells them they have to search the Internet on Thursday period three. ICT isn’t allowed into the educational system. It stands in a room in the corner to be proudly shown as ‘progress’ and to be squabbled over or ignored in equal measure.

We need real policies and a real and determined way of integrating ICT across the curriculum. Ensuring that teachers are trained in an essential step, but training them to use a spreadsheet or turn their lessons into PowerPoint presentation is not the central issue.

Firstly we have to consider why and how we use ICT with the kids. We are not simply doing it because that’s what we are told to do – or are we. I’ve met teachers who “would rather not, but it’s in the plan.” For students, ICT is an increasingly important focus for developing their knowledge, to store and communicate what they have learned. They need much more unfettered access to the equipment of ICT with the idea that the learning for a particular is in a particular time and room become increasingly foreign. Even libraries never really saw the inculcation of the idea, “Can I go to the library to find out more? But ICT has the advantage of not needing to move. This is part and parcel of the need to encourage a creative and autonomous spirit and the ability to solve problems and to develop opinions independently.

Central to the above are the organisational needs. Students have to be able to search, select, analyse and organise information effectively. They need to be able to understand that breadth and depth is important. A Google search, for example, may throw up thousands or millions of hits. How many people step beyond the first 20 or so, or really know how to?

But the real need is for ICT to be used rationally. “We have to teach word processing, spreadsheets and databases because that’s what they use in business.” A pound for every time I’ve heard this b*ll*cks please. If we have to teach them, and I’m not saying we shouldn’t, then it has to be because they are useful and purposeful in the here and now. If they are useful in your job later then that’s a bonus. It is not, in itself, a rational reason for teaching them.

The last point suggests what teachers have to do. Cross curricular ICT assumes that there is a clear and purposeful plan for is use. It means that ICT isn’t in the Scheme of Work because it has to be, but because reflection and planning sees it as the most effective means of achieving the teaching and learning aims of the subject.

The competitive nature of ICT use is damaging. A proper cross curricular model is about far more than integrating ICT. It allows faculties to discover where their subjects overlap so that teachers find links and encourage that approach in the students. “We can’t teach that bit of physics because they haven’t done the maths yet.” Is another piece of nonsense that proper integration, including ICT, can help eliminate.

The motivational aspects of ICT are important. Phillipe Stegler’s idea about mobile phones is just one example:

http://www.feeds4all.com/Item.aspx?ItemID=12480024

It’s about enthusiasm and looking for ways to buck the trend.

I have a model for integration and considered publishing it, but there are people making a pig’s ear of it and earning maybe six times what I earn stacking shelves. My decision to reserve it reflects my feeling that while my opinions are free, my expertise is valuable. I’m happy to share lesson ideas. My organisation and implementation of my vision goes with a teaching job and ultimately will probably never blossom.

Having said that, a lot of what has to be achieved is obvious. The uses of ICT have to be spelled out; The cross curricular links have to be identified; Plans have to be drawn up and agreed; Resources and activities have to be incorporated into schemes; and, a cycle of evaluation and improvement has to be put in place. As I said at the start, teachers have to do what they are trying to teach the kids.

Teaching ICT as it is presently formulated may be relatively trivial but the integration of it across the curriculum and providing planning, organisation and a sense of direction requires a clear understanding of the technology. It requires an understanding of what it can do and the vision to ensure that it is integrated into the curriculum for the greatest benefit of the students and the larger society.

On the Dole

I went to register as unemployed today. I've tried to avoid it, but if nothing else I need to keep my contribution record up to date and there's a small amount of money as well.

I arrived just before nine and there was already a large crowd waiting to 'sign on', that is to register their continuing unemployment. Those, like me, who were there to register for the first time went upstairs and sat in a waiting area. Nothing much happened for half an hour. The staff sat around chatting and there was no sense of urgency.

The man I was sitting next to had just been released from prison as the top document of the heap he was holding made clear. He was very agitated, angry and clearly annoyed about the wait. Several of the youngsters registering looked quite lost. It's a sad place.

First off I was seen by an efficient and polite lady who checked my form then asked me to sign it. She also copied my passport, last payslip and a bank statement to prove my identity and address. Quite how a foreigner can defraud the system, as the popular press alleges, is a mystery.

Another half an hour wait and the ex-prisoner is really angry. He makes the valid point that even if he hasn't a job to go to, there are better things to do than sit around in a Government office.

I'm directed to another desk where a smart young man explains to me in broken English that I have to sign on on Friday, then every two weeks after that. I also have to sign an undertaking that I will try to find a job.

The clerk was obviously a recent immigrant, probably from the Baltic and I don't have any problem with that. My attitude to immigration/ emigration is one of almost total indifference. What worries me about a jobcentre clerk with poor English is that some people, who are likely to be in difficult circumstances, may feel aggrieved that he has a job while they don't. They are also people who often need very clear and explicit instructions. I don't begrudge the young man his job, but interviewing unemployed people seems innappropriate, somehow.

The staff were polite and friendly, but even with an appointment, it took nearly one and a half hours to transact maybe ten minutes of business. Forms already filled in writing had to be transferred to computer when there's no obvious reason why I couldn't have filled in an on line form and saved someone the trouble.

I hope I don't have to go back too many times.

Don't Just Tell Him Off, Check Your Flies First

It’s strange how words in teaching get to mean things rather different from what you would expect. One such is ‘behaviour’. There is even a forum on the Times Educational Supplement (tes) staffroom entitled behaviour.

Behaviour is what you do from the time you’re born until the time you die. I suppose lying there slowly decomposing after death is a kind of behaviour too, but I’ll leave that.

From a school’s point of view, the kind of behaviour required is of the reading, writing, experimenting, making things, exercising… variety, that accords with the teacher’s wishes. There are other behaviours that are acceptable too and some that are not. The problem is that the word ‘behaviour’ is simply too broad to be useful.

A more appropriate word, despite its more authoritarian connotations, is discipline, which rather more accurately defines the set of formal and informal rules that moderate some aspects ofbehaviour in a school. Discipline isn’t without its problems but is a better concept.

“Tell me about your attitude to behaviour,” or a variation on the theme, is a question that is always asked at interviews for a teaching job and too often, candidates fall into the trap of thinking it’s about a specific sort of behaviour.

Maybe the interviewers do want to know how you deal with dissent, but a more sensible approach is to deal with the broad theme of behaviour and the intention that the class will be on task, with learning and teaching happening most of the time. That’s the optimum situation and you should really try to plan your lessons to ensure that the kids don’t get bored and don’t have cause to find inappropriate things to do.

If things don’t go according to plan you have to look at discipline. How do I deal with the situation. There’s a well known line when you’re a performer. “If there’s unexpected laughter, check your flies.” You really must check what you are doing first. Are you the cause of the problem? That’s a hard one because the kids who misbehave do it for many teachers and it becomes such a habit that you can easily lose sight of the fact that the kid is struggling, bored, confused or otherwise driven to dissent and every time the teacher responds the real issue is ignored.

Discipline is about good behaviour too. I am sickened, having worked in mental health and teaching to see people recording behaviour, often on specially designed charts, and without fail it is always about what the person is doing wrong, never about the positive things they do. It seems so obvious that it is ignored that what they are doingright is what you want more of. What is it about what they are doing right that motivates them in this way and how can we get more of this behaviour and less of the other sort. The positives tell you what you want and that’s where you should be looking. You already know what you don’t want.

The last point is about consistency. If there are rules they are the same for everyone. “I’ll let you off this time because you’re usually good,” is giving a very wrong message to the kid who is often in trouble because he or she never gets let off. Be consistent even if it hurts.

To repeat the most important message, look for what is right and build on that. If you have to record behaviour, record all of it, with particular emphasis on the positive. The notion that you’re collecting evidence for a statement or a Ritalin prescription has to stop. You’re looking for ways to help the child succeed. It really does help if you are positive too.

Academy News

We are disturbed by rumours currently circulating that the sponsors of the new Academy intend to sell off the prime land attached to the school, leaving it without adequate playing field provision.

The rumours are without foundation. Before the ink was dry on the contract disposing of the unneeded land, the sponsors ensured that playing fields, including a new football pitch, were in place, together with improved swimming and washing facilities.

These facilities are pictured above and it can be observed that, not only will students have access to Olympic standard facilities, but that landscaping has made for a very attractive environment. Girls toilet and changing facilities are the more than adequate clump of bushes at the top left of the pitch and the clump to the right of the pitch is very ample for the boys. As can be clearly seen, showering will require nothing more than a short wade.

We hope that these reassurances will lead to an end to the unjustified rumour mongering.

The Sponsors

Speaking Quietly and Listening

I rarely raise my voice and tell this story to kids of all ages. They always get the point.

I was once at a meeting addressed by the late Amilcar Cabral, a man I got to know slightly and admire a lot. He was the leader of PAIGC, the Party trying to free Guinea Bissau and Cape Verde from the Portuguese. He was a small, slight man, very gently spoken and quite shy. He did not seem like a great leader but appearances are deceptive.

After being introduced, Amilcar Cabral took the stand and started to tell the audience about his Party's campaign for his country's independence.

He spoke very quietly and several people at the back of the room shouted, "You'll have to speak up, we can't hear you back here."

Amilcar Cabral looked, smiled and replied in the same quiet voice, but not at all patronising, "I'm very sorry, it's force of habit. When you're in the bush hiding from the Portuguese army, you learn how to speak quietly and how to listen."

Everyone laughed. Amilcar Cabral then continued his talk. The audience listened quietly and heard every word.

He received resounding applause at the end.

E-Learning

What should we be doing in the classroom? I don’t think many teachers would suggest ’playing games’ without a lot of qualifications. There is a definite barrier between things that seem to belong inside the classroom and those that don’t.

These barriers are very permeable, though. During the recent World Cup there were a plethora of worksheets and activities generated to take account of kids enthusiasm for soccer. I’m not sure how effective a lot of these lessons were. Those I covered seemed to have sacrificed rigour in favour of engagement. It was so important that the kids enjoyed the lessons that quite what they were learning became a very secondary consideration.

This is one of the problems of bringing the outside world into the classroom. When it is done well it can be very effective indeed. When it involves cashing in on some current event the outcomes are much more variable. There is the problem of maintaining momentum when the national team loses. There is also the fact that some teachers (including me) and kids have less enthusiasm for soccer and become increasingly bored with Writing match reports, designing posters, logging and recording scores and all the other activities that someone - usually not a teacher - can dream up.

It may well be that, in the way that adults like to separate or compartmentalise home and work, kids like to draw a line between school and life outside. Effective education must be purposeful and feed into real life, but the learning in each place is different.

Or at least it was. For Marc Prensky, making this distinction between school and real life probably marks me out as what he calls a "digital immigrant".

"Those of us who were not born into the digital world but have, at some later point in our lives, become fascinated by and adopted many or most aspects of the new technology are, ... Digital Immigrants."

This is opposed to "digital natives."

"What should we call these “new” students of today? Some refer to them as the N-[for Net]-gen or D-[for digital]-gen. But the most useful designation I have found for them is Digital Natives. Our students today are all “native speakers” of the digital language of computers, video games and the Internet."

http://www.marcprensky.com/writing/Prensky%20-%20Digital%20Natives,%20Digital%20Immigrants%20-%20Part1.pdf

While I understand what he’s arguing, I come from a sort of half way house, being one of the people involved in the design and development of the video games that are central to his observations.

I understand what he’s arguing. Kids today already know how to blog in Bebo, to send emails, to estimate angles on a screen, to send text messages... They can use Information Technology very effectively in their social lives and for entertainment. They can be innovative and creative with no input from teachers.

The distinction between school and real life is quite stark for Prensky and it is about the distance, the ideological differences between ’digital immigrants’ and the ’natives’. It is interesting to consider that ICT teachers, in particular, may be the least prepared to cope with this.

In his book, "DON’T BOTHER ME, MOM -- I’M LEARNING", Prensky suggests that computers and videogames are the teachers of the twenty-first century. At a time when ICT teachers are struggling to find a role for the subject, kids are already learning effectively simply by using ICT in their leisure. I’m not convinced it is quite that simple, but more of that later.

The technologisation of classrooms is moving at a considerable pace. Just a few years ago it could be argued that a Victorian would recognise most of what happened in a classroom, even if the board is a different colour. Traditions are rapidly being trampled in the technological stampede.

It doesn’t matter that we are a long way from the ideal of one computer per child whenever necessary, although there is a lot of progress to that end in other European countries and a few UK schools. What matters is the head in the sand attitude to the realities with a myopic attitude that all will be well once we have an IWB in every classroom. The idea that we may not even be in the same learning space as the kids has yet to gain currency.

The range and complexity of technology available to kids is astounding and for them is a matter of fact. What it also threatens to do is to demolish the tradition classroom. Seymour Papert suggested this process was happening two decades ago, but how many teachers have even heard of this visionary teacher?

Prensky suggests that incorporating technology goes through four phases:

1. Playing with the idea

2. Doing old things in old ways

3. Doing old things in new ways

4. Doing new things in new ways

Looking at today’s classrooms, there has been much promise but precious little progress. Mostly, schools are playing with the idea, leaving anything more to enthusiasts. Progress has been hampered by lack of understanding of the scale of the technological changes by lack of appropriate hardware and particularly by below average software and very narrow teacher training programs. ICT is generally a lot of noise and the enthusiasm of a few nutcases.

This approach to technological change is classical. Medieval scholars developed writing to an art form then used it for copying. Printing saw Bibles and religious books being produced. The telephone, now a pocket accessory, was for years an alternative voice based message system and hardly used for long conversations.

We have a range of terms for the present capabilities, e-learning, ICT, educatainment, but it seems mostly to be more of the same. We’re distributing and creating documents of various sorts using computers, sometimes incorporating multimedia elements but generally it is quite insubstantial. Compare this to the sophistication available to kids in their real life and you begin to appreciate the scale of the problem.

There is nothing new under the sun, except of course the curriculum which changes on a whim of Government policy. The problem with this top down approach is obvious. The policy makers live in one golden age, the senior managers in another and the teacher in yet another. What is happening in the real world and the expertise that kids can bring from their own experience is very largely an unknown. For ICT this is disastrous. There is too much distance in the school and University between what happens there and ’real’ experience. So even with computers, old ways predominate.

That’s not to say that there aren’t a lot of interesting tools. The functionality of a properly used IWB changes the ’feel’ of the classroom. (But please, can I have a little whiteboard too, to write things on? Just a little one.) Tools like PowerSchool, Student Information Systems, Student Management Solutions... were promising to bring about the e-revolution, at least according to the salesmen, but they only really add a veneer. They innovate delivery but have a lot less to offer in terms of motivation, relevance and context. Writing becomes digital overlaid with multimedia but its main advantage over handwriting is the speed that email can carry it to others. What is the future of handwriting? Are computers the alternative to pen and paper?

How many teachers are prepared to admit that we are no longer in control of our children’s future? When I was at school there were three distinct tiers which were built on the Platonic notion that there are men of gold, silver and bronze needing to be guided into the slots they were ideally suited for. This was reinforced by careers guidance that believed that you could psychologically profile people into the best job for them. I regard the fact that I, from a ’bronze’ education, have managed to out qualify most of the ’gold’ people of my generation as some small proof that the idea was not as clear-cut as it appeared.

If the previous conservatism was dubious, the present conservatism threatens to be even more damaging. Education must change to take account of technology and that change is not about additional hardware and software, but about a radical change in attitude. Teachers somehow have to become aware that the kids are often leading. They are not the followers of my golden (bronze) age.

There are lots of questions about disaffection in schools. I cannot offer any simple solutions, but I know that fun helps. Perhaps part of the problem is our failure to recognise just how much things have changed. The curriculum we offer is out of date. It doesn’t take account of the needs of the digital era. To reduce the boredom and the response to it we need to change and we need the children to be active participants in this.

Popular educational opinion favours incremental change, and this is mostly to enable the traditionalists to catch up (or retire), but we really don’t have the time. Change has to be radical and it has to be now. The computer, the network, the Web gives me instant access. The interactivity inherent in games and in game like virtual environments enables me to learn and teach in very different ways. This is why Marc Prensky, Henry Jenkins, Seymour Papert and others see an extreme urgency in the need to change the way children learn.

My feeling is that the people who are hostile to this message are throwing the baby out with the bathwater. The kind headteacher who, after reading my blog, assured me that I don’t know anything about teaching or ICT is the sort of person my message is aimed at. The bathwater is the old way of teaching, the comfort of being in control, of ladling out the thin gruel of wisdom at a determined pace. That has to go. The wisdom remains to be shared and the digital era means that it no longer needs to be rationed. A teacher has access to wisdom that will grow exponentially. How do we share something this big? This, I think is what Prensky, Papert and the rest have recognised.

I’ve mentioned several times, W. W. Sawyer as one of my inspirations and I have one of his books beside me. The language is tight prose from the 1960s. There are tiny, badly drawn and labelled diagrams and in today’s world I doubt that it would inspire at all. But it did inspire because it contained that recognition that the learners have to lead the teachers and it is the duty of the teacher to meet the learners’ needs.

The digital era doesn’t need to rely on tiny tacky diagrams. It can model the world and allow, ’what if’ scenarios to be investigated. I can investigate biology, engineering, physics... I can explore art right down to the brushstrokes of the artists. Mathematics becomes clear are each step is worked through, explained and made into a fun activity with a game like feel. If I want to know something, I have access to some of the world’s experts.

The learning of children has changed and is changing. The idea that we, as adults, are immigrants in a world that they inhabit comfortably is one that can make us feel uncomfortable. Realistically, it requires us to change.

There are already several indications of how far and how radical the changes to the broader world of education are. Blogging, this media, already outstrips the ability of what someone has called ’the fossil media’ to comment and report. My twenty-minute stream of consciousness here will find an audience that would not be found by other means. There is also the Inkwell Project and wiki, wikpedia which is an organic encyclopaedia and more which is written by and grows with its readership. Simulations of so many functions are now available, from learning to fly to performing complex surgical procedures. You don’t have to perform real experiments whenever you need to explain and the child need not be limited by that single demonstration.

If you want to know where ICT teaching is going you need to look beyond your schemes of work.

Ten Lessons for ICT in Education

I spent half an hour yesterday talking to a BT helpdesk operator. He was based in India, but that didn't matter because he was able to talk intelligently about my connection problems. He had a tick list to go through first which we got out of the way fairly quickly and we established that there was a problem and narrowed down its probable location.

Thinking of what is taught in ICT in schools, I shudder to think of what an English helpdesk operator would make of the discussion. This sort of help requires specialist knowledge and an articulate manner, but people of that calibre are unlikely to work on a helpdesk in the UK.

I came across this article about ICT in the Developing World and realised that the very same focus should apply to the UK. The mish mash approach, the ego driven SMT hardware purchases, the mickey mouse schemes and exam syllabi seem more reminiscent of the banana republic than the education system in a developed country.

Ten lessons for ICT..., Robert J. Hawkins

http://www.cid.harvard.edu/cr/pdf/gitrr2002_ch04.pdf

The ability to transform knowledge and information into products and services in the 21st century is the key to economic success. If we are to remain prosperous we need to recognise that information is the most important resource and that our young people need proper education to ensure that we remain productive, and competitive. I already expressed the view that an Internet helpline is located overseas for more that just for economic reasons.

Many Governments around the world have a very clear focus and are increasing the quality, direction and access to education. Education is changing and we really do need to consider with much more care what represents quality in the use of Information Technology. Are UK ICT teacher s convinced that what they are required to deliver is quality?

I'm not sure of all Hawkins' arguments, but his focus and sense of direction is convincing. I look at ICT in schools. I read requests from ICT teachers asking for help with things that are trivial. I see kids doing inane ICT work and I wonder if we ought to sign up as a developing country.

Our children are capable of so much using ICT but are forced down a narrow path by a system that lacks vision and the need to build next years SaTs, GCSE and 'A' level results rather than the 21st century world.

History from an Old Tin Box

The old photograph above was taken in 1914 or 1915 on the Falkland Islands and is a unique record of a period from when few photographic records exist. The following is a short account of the circumstances of it being taken and some ideas for teaching that arise from it.

My grandfather had a habit of lying about his age. In 1914 he was 15 years old but managed to persuade the Royal Marines that he was 18. So it was off to Chatham for basic training and from there serving with the Fleet.

His first term of duty involved sailing on HMS Canopus, a slow pre Dreadnought battleship to the South Atlantic. Initially they were sailing to join Admiral Cradock's squadron in pursuit of Admiral Graf Spee fleet which had been attacking merchant shipping.

Canopus didn't reach Cradock's squadron because it had been defeated at the Battle of Coronel, the British Navy's first defeat since before Trafalgar. Canopus turned for the Falklands and was beached at Port Stanley as a stable gun platform. Apparently it was a miserable several weeks trying to fortify Port Stanley and daily expecting the German Fleet.

In response to Coronel, a powerful British fleet under Admiral Sturdee had been sent to attack and destroy Spee's fleet. Canopus had to hold the fort at Port Stanley in the meantime.

On 8th December 1914, the cruisers Gneisenau and Nurnberg were spotted approaching Port Stanley. The Canopus gun crews rushed to their stations, my grandfather joining the aft crew. The forward crew fired and the shell fell short, exploding in the water. The aft crew discovered that there was still a practice shell in the breech, so instead of wasting time they decided to fire that. As luck would have it, it bounced off the water and dented Gneisenau's funnel.

The German ships turned back and were soon engaged in battle with Sturdee's fleet. All but one of Spee's ships were sunk. Had it not been for that single shot from Canopus the outcome may have been very different.

When Canopus sailed for home, my grandfather remained on the Falklandss for a tour of duty as part of a Royal Marine gun crew with a six inch gun. During his time on the Falklands, the Canopus shell was the only shot fired.

While on the Falklands, my grandfather took a few photographs, not of the ships, but some of his Royal Marine colleagues and several of a peat digging expedition, one of which illustrates this article.

Was the peat for keeping warm or was it to fuel the ships? I never thought to ask?

The entire history of the Coronel and Falklands battles is told in detail elsewhere. I’m not a historian. My purpose is to find ways to enliven and make history more relevant and interesting using ICT.

Children may find that relatives have interesting and valuable stories to tell about historical events or about people they met. History can be recorded and ICT provides a unique way of researching, recording and sharing. Ancient photographs provide visual evidence of times past and ICT can enable us to enhance and restore these images. If the person is still alive their experiences can be recorded for posterity.

These records may not make it to a wide audience TV screen, but they are there to share and provide a record. A relevant, useful and potentially engaging use of ICT.

Only a Bird in a Sooty Cage

Our house backs on to a tree lined brook which makes a very pleasant outlook at this time of year. The trees are a haven for every type of bird. Some species come and go, but there are always woodpigeons.

On the allotment pigeons are a nuisance. Flocks of them in the fields are a pest for farmers. In the trees by the brook they are simply a pleasant part of the scenery.

Early this week, one of the local pigeons found it's way down the chimney and behind the fireplace. It made the occasional rustle but that was all. I asked RSPB and following their advice, telephoned to get a quote for removing the pigeon. I discovered that the cost was for removing and refitting the gas fire and was, maybe, £400. I was also advised that the pigeon wouldn't survive more than a couple of days.

A call to the insurance company revealed that birds had to cause damage to warrant a claim. Falling down a chimney didn't count.

We decided that it would simply have to stay there because the rescue cost was just too great. It would be over soon anyway.

The pigeon had different ideas. It became quiet after two days, then rustled again. After another quiet day it again rustled and I was feeling guilty that it's struggle would be in vain.

Examining the fireplace, I guessed that the tiled decorative panel in front was only plasterboard and might be cut between two rows of tiles.

I removed the fire surround and tried cutting between the tiles with a craft knife. An hour's work made a groove and blisters but was obviously impractical. In a final effort I cut the panel in half with an electric saw.

At midnight, the panel was divided and a gap appeared just large enough to reach in and retrieve the frightened bird. After nearly a week it was still full of struggle.

It spent the night in a box with some greenery and water and early this morning I got up and released it in the garden. It immediately flew up into the trees in a snowstorm of feathers.

Why did this pigeon matter? A friend who shoots sometimes gives us brace and I feel no guilt about pigeon pie. This pigeon had becomeour pigeon. It refused to give in and in a way seemed to deserve another chance.

Aren't human emotions impractical sometimes?

Back in bed after releasing the bird, the chorus of cooing outside seemed just that bit louder than usual, and that scruffy pigeon in the hazel tree ...

...I think that one is ours.

Crime Wave

There’s something about me and traffic wardens…

I parked in the patrolled car park yesterday, put my money in the machine and ended up with no ticket and no money back. I told the lady behind me about the problem, but thinking of those to come I used my whiteboard marker to write neatly on the glass, the date, time and the message, “eats money, doesn’t give tickets.”

I had barely finished when a traffic warden arrived and demanded to know what I was doing. He wasn’t interested in my lost money. He was concerned about the “vandalism.” He told me not to leave and got to work on his radio.

Since he was marching up and down, pretty much ignoring me I got a post-it note from the boot of my car and wrote the same message on it. I then rubbed out the whiteboard marker message and stuck the post-it note in its place.

Within minutes there were police car sirens everywhere and four police cars arrived in the car park with seven policemen, all to deal with little old me. Not far behind followed a Scientific Support vehicle. A small crowd gathered, attracted by all the flashing blue lights.

The officers gathered round the traffic warden and the scale of the offence was explained. One of the policemen then came over to me and asked what I’d been doing. I explained that the machine had eaten my money and not given a ticket, so I’d put a note on it to warn others.

The policeman took the note from the machine, conferred with his colleagues and they all disappeared without another word to me. They didn’t even ask my name. The traffic warden said nothing either, but just stomped off to look for another victim.

I didn’t get my money back, but on the positive side, where do you get that much entertainment for a pound these days?

Come Inside You Silly Beggar, Come Inside

If any Wench Venus's Girdle wear,
Though she be never so ugly;
Lilies and Roses will quickly appear,
And her Face look wond'rously smugly.The Beggar’s Opera, John Gay

Before starting my PGCE I worked for a year in a mental health unit for people with challenging behaviours. The residents had a considerable amount of freedom, although they mostly stayed in bed or sat in the smoke room.

I remember one day the senior manager storming in and shouting that in future, no resident should be still in bed after eleven am, and that she would be back the following day to check.

The following morning, from eight o’clock all of the staff were frantically trying to get the residents up early, but to no avail. I knocked on one door and shouted to Eileen, “come on, get up, the boss will be here soon.”

Quick as a flash, Eileen replied, “There’s plenty of time, she said we could stay in bed till eleven.”

Residents had little money beyond some meagre benefits and most of this went on cigarettes. Several of the women had another source.

Mabel was in her late fifties. She was mostly ungroomed and unwashed and usually smelled pretty awful. She was a long term resident who seemed to be always talking, using many profanities, to her voices. She had only two or three nicotine stained teeth and for all the world looked like the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz film.

Years of medication had left here with tremors and a condition called tardive dyskinesia, which caused her to grimace, roll her tongue and make other bizarre facial and body movements.

Despite all these disadvantages, whenever Mabel was out of cigarettes she would make her way to the corner of the street and loiter there.

Without fail, she would be back twenty minutes or so later with money, cigarettes and a family sized fruit pie.

Cover Lessons - Liking What You Do

"Do what you like," is a phrase that frightens a lot of inexperienced supply teachers and it shouldn't.

Doing your own thing gives you the opportunity to innovate, to be creative, to use and develop your skills and to try new things. When I'm told, "do what you like," I know me and the kids are going to have a good day.

The first rule is that there must be learning and teaching going on. It is not an excuse for colouring in. Secondly, it has to be considerably better than a regular lesson and finally, it helps if you can match it to the current learning and the day's timetable.

"They've been practicing multiplication," said the TA supporting a year 4 class. The computer room was free and within minutes the entire class was playing 'the Game of Goose' and giggling with delight as they solved a variety of tables problems.

It was new to the kids, a refreshing change for the TA and a resource that could be used in the school again and again. That's another rule about supply. You have to be up to date. If you can leave something behind, so much the better.

In another lesson the teacher, on PPA time, asked me to do the Egyptians and how and why people were mummified. It wasn't his thing. With minutes to go I pulled up an animated resource about making a mummy. When the teacher saw it, he realised that he'd like to teach that lesson himself and asked me if I minded. What do you say when you're on in two minutes and need a lesson? You say yes and do something else. That teacher will probably have used the resource well. It was his class and he will also remember the favour.

You must be able to do something else at a moment's notice. If you can't you're going to struggle at supply.

You need a head full of stories, a head full of songs and a secure knowledge of the national curriculum. You need a very good memory.

The other side of "do what you like," is "like what you do." If you can make it fun because you enjoy it, the kids will enjoy it too. 

Traffic Wardens

On Saturday, I drove to the centre of the city, parked the car and went to the roadside ticket machine. Having entered my registration number and inserted the requisite coins I pressed the button and nothing happened. I retrieved my coins, tried again and concluded that the machine had probably run out of tickets. I drove round the corner, used a different machine and parked.

I noticed there was a telephone number on the ticket machine to report problems so I decided to be a good citizen and call it. A thoroughly rude and abrupt man answered and the following conversation ensued.

“Wardens, yes, what do you want?”

“The ticket machine on Wellington Street is not working.”

“You didn’t enter your registration number.”

“I did, I’m just letting you know…”

“You didn’t put in enough money.”

“I put in the correct money…”

“Press the button to get your money back.”

“I have my money back, I’m trying to tell you to that the machine is …”

“Just go back and do it properly.”

“Please listen, the ticket machine on Wellington Street is not...”

“That’s because you’re not using it properly.”

“Please stop arguing and listen. The ticket machine on Wellington Street isn’t working. I have now parked somewhere else, and got a ticket from another machine.”

“So why are you phoning me?”

“To tell you that the machine on Wellington Street isn’t working. It’s a nuisance if people want to park.”

“Which machine is it?”

“The one outside the library.”

“What number is on the machine?”

“I don’t know, I’ve parked somewhere else now.”

“There are four machines on Wellington Street, how am I supposed to know which one it is?”

“There is only one outside the library.”

“I have work to do, I haven’t time to deal with nuisance phone calls.”

And he hung up.

Maybe people don’t usually phone the wardens to report problems. Maybe traffic wardens deserve their reputations after all.