Michael dropped the pile of books a couple of inches above his desk. It landed with a satisfying thud. Just these to mark, then he could go home. He picked up the first book, flicking past titles and dates, scribbles and doodles, missed pages and loose worksheets, to the most recent work. Next, he rifled around his drawer, rejecting three red pens before finding a green one: his most recent resolution, to make his marking seem more friendly. Committing himself, he leaned forward, hunched over the book, head resting on his left hand. A missing letter added, a messy squiggle circled, two question marks by an astonishing factual error. Each pen stroke was reluctant, dejected almost. Another error, this one bigger… had Emma-Rose missed the previous lesson? He flicked back. She had not. He let the pen fall from his hand, careful to miss Emma-Rose’s book. He stood, walked around his desk and – far more decisively – swept his cup into his hand. It was getting dark, lights were coming on around the school, and as he walked to the staff room, the only people Michael saw were colleagues, hurrying home.
The staff room was empty, but as he stood waiting for kettle to boil, a face poked around the door. “Michael! How are you?” Michael wondered how Nadia managed to sound so glad to see him – to see anyone – after a five-period day. “How are you? How are you? How are you?” she sang, getting higher and more musical each time, ending in a long “youuuuuuu….?” He grinned. He had put off his marking all afternoon – there was no rush now. “Tea?” Nadia was in coat and trainers – heading home, he thought enviously – but she gave him two thumbs up.
Michael had trained with Nadia, but had barely seen her since they started at the same school in September. Her classroom was several minutes walk away, and Michael never felt able to make social calls. As they sank into the uncomfortably low chairs, he wondered how she was managing to head home early, and with no books to mark. But before he could ask anything, Nadia began peppering him with questions. The third put him on the spot: “Come on, what’s bugging you?”
“It’s Year 8. I just… it’s not working. Marcus barely sat down all lesson. Mia didn’t stop talking. Daniel wouldn’t take his pen out of his pocket. Not that it would have made much difference, given how little writing any of them actually did. I spend so long firefighting I can barely talk to the students who actually want to work.”
Another teacher entered the room, and Michael lowered his voice. She peered at them, nodded, and made her way to the pigeon holes. Nadia let him complain for another minute. As he paused for sympathy, she struck: “So what did you do?”
“Well, what could I do? I kept teaching.”
Michael looked down at his hands. He knew it was a poor answer. He just kept teaching. Kept talking rather, ploughing through his lesson plan while students chatted, doodled or looked out of the window. He pretended things were OK. Hardly what he’d dreamed off when he applied to be a teacher. But that was before he had met 8C. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have applied, he thought. Maybe it was time to reconsider doing a Master’s.
He looked up, seeking understanding in Nadia’s expression. Finding only concern. Had she never experienced how challenging a distracted student could escalate into a clash of wills and words, wrecking the entire lesson? That was the spectre that sat on the projector every lessons. It drained his sense he could do anything. Whatever he did, he could be undermined entirely by the blank refusal of a twelve year old.
“You didn’t call on call for Marcus or Daniel?”
“They wouldn’t go. I’ve tried with other students. They just argue until someone comes to make them leave the lesson. It can be five, ten, fifteen minutes lost. And the next time, they’d just be angrier.” Marcus paused, trying to articulate another feeling. “I’d be failing them. You remember when we were training and we talked about how we would never give up on a student. I’d be giving up.”
Michael looked up: the other teacher stood, apparently listening. But no, everything from her pigeon hole went into the recycling, and she headed for the door, a faded bag for life in either hand, each bag straining to contain a class set of books. As she neared them, she stopped and asked “Do you mind if I join you for a bit?” Michael felt she’d heard enough about his failings for today, but before he could think of a polite way to refuse, Nadia smiled a yes. “Tough day?” she asked rhetorically. Michael was trying to recall who she was. Jane, or June, or Julie or Julia. He’d seen her in English. And in the Humanities block. But never in the weekly briefing.
Michael decided she was called June, just in time to hear the end of her sentence. “There’s a big, red button in the back of the classroom. I like to think of it as the nuclear button.” Michael nodded. Could he could tempt Nadia to go for a pint over the road. If so, could he get his marking done first thing tomorrow?
“You need to press it.”
“Sorry?”
“You’re reluctant to challenge students who aren’t working. You’re worried about what will happen next, and what will happen to your relationship with them.” Michael nodded again, but more slowly, and with his mouth open in surprise. How did she know? “Unless you challenge students… unless you press the button and follow through, you will never get lessons running as you want.”
“But I thought they’d come around… as I built a relationship with them, showed them how the subject’s relevant, as they learned, you know…” His training last year had been pretty clear about that.
“Those are wonderful ideas,” June said, patiently. “They will all help – eventually. But it’s hard – it’s impossible really – for any of that to take place until you’ve established basic classroom structures. A relationship built on students doing whatever they want – not listening to you” she paused, reaching carefully for each word, “it’s not a viable teacher/student relationship. That relationship has to be built on mutual respect, and getting the fundamentals right. “hat about the students who want to learn, but can’t?”
Michael nodded, even more slowly. June seemed to understand. “It looks bad though, doesn’t it. I mean, everyone else is managing fine. And here I am, a few weeks into term, doing awfully.”
“If you can stand some ancient history, a story about my first class might reassure you.”
“Please,” Michael said, curious to hear about a class he would have been too young to join.
“I had a pupil, Shane. He’d had a tough time for various reasons. By the time I met him, he couldn’t wait to leave school. And he didn’t mind telling me, and everyone else, how he felt. But I was loath to admit I was struggling. I was going to be an inspiring teacher, I thought.” June chuckled, ruefully. “Eventually, weeks after I should have done, I went to my line manager. He had taught Shane the previous year, and I asked what he had done, how we got Shane to learn. I shall never forget his response. He looked up at me and said: ‘Shane, total nightmare. Not sure he learned anything with me last year.’ You must understand that this was another era really – some students were seen as unlikely to pass, and we mostly left them alone.
“But the reason I tell you this… obviously my line manager’s works weren’t practically useful. But they were incredibly reassuring. Because I realised that it wasn’t just me failing. It was teaching being really hard. Hopefully I’m a better teacher now than I was then. But there are still times I have to ask for help.”
Was she exaggerating to make him feel better? Michael searched her face, but found only sincerity. If she was, it was working.
“Anyway, I kept trying to help Shane. I was told to see one teacher because he taught Shand he was ‘Mr Discipline.’ He was a maths teacher, and students just sat doing sums and chatting. If they got too loud or went too slowly he insulted them. It was bizarre. But then I went and saw this other teacher, Mary, she was pretty new, as I was, and she was just clear, and firm. And when he didn’t do things, he reminded him, and gave him very clear choices, and stuck to them. I realised part of the problem was that I was afraid of him. Not that he was physically imposing, but because he undermined my sense of myself as a teacher.
“It was only when I was willing to give him similar choices, and hold him to account for the choices he made, that I managed to get him to put pen to paper.”
Michael waited for her to go on. Instead, June reached for her bags. “But what do you mean by the big red button? And when you say ‘Held him to account,’ what do you mean? What should I actually do.”
“Here’s what I would suggest. Next lesson, spell out what you want, in a single sentence. Don’t tell them to ‘Focus.’ Tell them that you want ‘Three minutes silent writing to complete this question,’ or whatever. Spell out the consequences: ‘Anyone talking will receive a sanction point,’ for example. Then you just have to do it: if they talk, remind them, then sanction them.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It’s easy and it’s hard. In a sense, it’s very simple. If X, then Y. It’s hard because you don’t yet feel confident about it. You aren’t sure you’ll be backed up. You’re worried about the conflict. And when you’re reluctant to hit the big red button… students know. You find yourself giving them just one more chance – anything to avoid having to hit the button.”
“What if a student’s asking for help and they talk in that time?”
“This is the kind of question you need to be clear about. Does silent writing mean silence? Can I ask to borrow a pen? Can I ask if I’m confused? Until you’re clear, you can’t communicate clearly. Your students can’t be clear either.”
“And if students make a fuss, and refuse?”
“How many Level 4 sanctions have you given this week?”
“None.”
“Have you ever given a Level 4?”
“In my first week, when a student swore at me.”
“How many Level 3s have you issued this week?”
“None.”
“The consequence system is there to help you if students aren’t doing as they should be. If students know you aren’t going to use it, they won’t believe you’re serious about their doing what you want them to do.”
“But with some students it’s not their fault. In 8C, Junior… I mean, he just whistles and calls out without realising he’s doing it. But that sets the whole class off. But I can’t sanction him, that’s just who he is.”
“The big red button says ‘I need help.’ It’s a lifeline, not a hand grenade.” June was looking intently at Michael now, looking for signs of understanding, he guessed.
“Look, it is not your job to get the class to behave, and focus, and learn.” June paused for effect. Michael wondered where she was going. “It’s the whole school’s job. It’s my job to give you advice. It’s the head of year’s job to back you up. It’s the SEN team’s job to help you to work with Junior and his form. To help Junior focus. To help his peers focus when Junior is distracting them. To help you meet Junior’s needs. No one one pair of shoulders can carry a tricky class alone.”
Michael felt the tension drain from his shoulders. June stood up, apologising, and Michael tried to delay her. “I have so many more questions.”
“Would you mind terribly walking with me to my car – my husband will be wondering where I am.”
Michael reached for her bags, but she refused, saying they would fall apart unless they were carried just right.. Nadia tagged along, saying she was leaving anyway. “We talked about high expectations a lot during our training – but is this really what it means? Being really strict? Kicking kids out if they’re naughty?”
June sighed. “We’ve been talking about high expectations for decades, and I’ve never been totally clear what it means. You can feel it sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you can boil it down to a simple checklist. It might mean offering students really challenging work when they’re succeeding: giving Year 10 an A level question, for example. Or showing students they can do things they were sure they couldn’t, by breaking it down and building it up again. or spotting a student’s spark of interest, and following up with a subtle hint which sets them on a new, more ambitious path. So no, it isn’t just being strict. But all students can focus on their learning, if we help them, push them, challenge them. And whatever it is, it isn’t letting students do whatever they want.”
They had reached June’s car, and she carefully loaded her books into the back seat. She blushed and looked away as Michael thanked her. Nadia turned to the gate, with a “Tomorrow Mikey!” Michael reluctantly headed back to his classroom, and the waiting books. The only light in the department was in his room. It would be an hour before he left now, but Michael walked slowly. He barely saw the familiar scars along the corridor, as he wondered whether he could pull this off.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Michael didn’t see Nadia again that week, but on Monday she ducked into his room, her thick coat and bright cheeks conveying how windy break duty was, even before she complained it was “A tad breezy… anyway, did you do it?”
Michael stopped laying out books and looked up – “Do what?”
“Did you press the big red button, like she said?”
Michael grinned. It had taken just four minutes lesson time. “Yup. Coby and Leah just would not stop talking. I gave them a warning, and then I asked them both to leave.”
“Leah Constantinou?” Nadia said, surprised.
“Yup,” Michael smiled. “I know her grades are great, but she wasn’t working, and she was distracting everyone.”
“Then what?”
Michael grinned. “A few things. Coby made a big fuss, but he actually went. He was out of the classroom in two minutes. On call came and picked him up. Leah apologised profusely when on call arrived, and I let her back in. And then we had – probably the nicest lesson we’ve had yet. I realised some of the quieter kids had been taking stuff in, had loads to say, even had some good questions.”
“How has Coby been since?”
“I mean, Coby is still Coby. But he’s on report as a result, so he was quieter and more focused last lesson. I didn’t have to ask him to leave or anything. And the others seem to have calmed down too. But the best bit was that Leah’s mum called the school that afternoon, as soon as she heard what had happened, and Leah has been good as gold since, coming and asking for extra work: it turns out she’s really into this topic.”
“I guess June was right.”
“Yes, I haven’t seen her since to say so, but she really was. It’s not kicking kids out – it’s believing that they can actually behave, if we help them do it. And believing that I can make it happen.”
“You’ve fixed it Michael.”
“Not really. I mean, I still don’t think my lessons are making much sense to them, and I’m so behind with my marking.”
“One thing at a time love.” There were shouts outside – a few students were braving the freezing weather. “Duty calls – have a good one!” Nadia grinned. Michael looked at the clock. Just time to finish laying out his books, and get a cup of tea.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With acknowledgements to Eliyahu Goldratt and the Early Career Teachers I’ve worked with this year.