G.I.G.O.*

I was delighted to read yesterday that Huntingdon School in York, where John Tomsett is head, received Outstanding judgement at its recent Ofsted inspection.

I have not met John but have followed him online for several years, and corresponded with him on a few occasions; indeed his comments regarding the compassion with which he believes one should treat one’s staff were what led me to the world of educational blogging in the first place. He also helped me, a total stranger, with a particularly knotty problem I needed to resolve a couple of years ago.

I suspect John’s school has its share of petty frustrations like any other, but it is refreshing to see in black-and-white a statement of faith from a school leader that places integrity and human values above the rat-race of results and league tables –  and his being acknowledged for it. He is absolutely right on two things:

  1. Life is not a zero-sum competition: enhancing the experience of each individual is what matters, not who comes first (thereby devaluing the efforts of all the others). In this country’s current cultural climate, this is a mistake that too many make. Competition can of course add challenge – but the only competition many people actually need is with themselves; the need constantly to ‘beat’ others is neither healthy nor necessary. And I suspect it is only really important to those alpha-individuals whose own motivation is the acquisition of status and power, even in the education system.
  2. Treating people properly pays dividends in terms of the loyalty and motivation they will show in return. This is a day-to-day truism, but it is particularly so when times are tough and a lot depends on goodwill. A memorable feature of my own career was watching the systematic destruction of such goodwill.

Meanwhile, it sounds as though another school of my acquaintance continues soullessly to chase ratings, while treating its people as dispensable pawns on the path to league-table glory. Some school managements give a strong impression that they think they are running an industrial production facility, rather than a human enterprise; I wonder what on earth drives them to do so, other than selfish ambition. It is certainly not compatible with any greater ethical, humane vision for education.

The only surprise is that they still seem surprised when people who have been treated with disdain return the favour in kind; quite how they feel entitled to expect so much while giving so little is a constant mystery to me.

Perhaps they should remember that it is no more a privilege for teachers to work for a school, than it is for the school to have them. Knowing that, I think is the key to John Tomsett’s success; I wish I knew of a few more head teachers who were following his lead.

*Garbage in, garbage out.

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Take care of yourself – seriously

I remember the first lesson I ever taught. It was in a typical 1950’s-built school in the suburbs of Norwich. Monday period 1: 3rd year (as it then was) French – and I wasn’t even a French specialist. The Head of Department had approved my plan with his habitual phrase, remembered to this day: “It’s all grist to the mill…!”

The lesson was, in what I suspect is a fairly common experience, a hammer blow. My preparation hadn’t been half thorough enough; there was a flaw in one of the activities, and I hadn’t reckoned seriously enough with the gratuitous bait-the-student-teacher disruption… I guess that’s why we have teacher training.

It took quite a few years for feelings of confidence to emerge; I remember my father saying it took him about ten to be reasonably satisfied with his teaching. I don’t think there was ever anything wrong – indeed on several occasions more experienced colleagues told me in no uncertain terms not to be so hard on myself. By the time I reached last year, I was even reasonably comfortable with describing myself as unconsciously competent in the classroom – if that isn’t a contradiction in terms.

But in the light of experience, I can’t help reflecting on the several posts I wrote on the subject of introversion, most relevantly here:

https://ijstock.wordpress.com/2013/12/07/groucho-was-right/

Also here https://ijstock.wordpress.com/2013/11/15/shhh/ and here https://ijstock.wordpress.com/2017/01/06/feeling-nervous/

If you happen to be a sensitive and not outgoing or gregarious individual, the damage the rough and tumble of teaching does can be particularly serious. A colleague of thirty years expressed incredulity that I felt such characteristics applied to me, so effectively had I masked my inner self for all that time. I was always my own harshest critic – but, I reasoned,  how many teachers would say the same? It must be in the tens of thousands….Still, I did the day-job week in, week out, swallowing the pressure, trying to reconcile the irreconcilable, doing the things I was told to even when I had deep reservations about them – without any serious thought that it was storing up harm…

My point is this: everyone who does it knows that teaching is a high pressure game – but we still don’t know it – in the sense of being aware of the impact it can (or should that be does?) have. We become so habituated to its demands – the pressurised day-to-day working life, the pressure from managers and politicians, the fact that our evenings and weekends are barely our own – that we treat it as normal. It is not.

As the years went by, I became dimly aware that other people did not experience the same relentless pressure as I did, such that my waking life was utterly dominated by my work; theirs weren’t. Which is not to say that other jobs are not pressurised – but few somehow seem to consume people like teaching does.

As more years went by, the cumulative impact on my health increased – but so gradually that I barely noticed: each little niggle was simply a little niggle, that happened to be a bit bigger than it had been before. When the gloom that was the early signs of depression started appearing, it was just that I was having a bad day. Except it wasn’t.

It is probably true that these things have a harsher impact on the quieter, more introverted people – but just read Bottomsbray’s latest post here https://bottomsbray.wordpress.com/2017/11/25/anatomy-of-a-breakdown/  to show that it can happen to anyone.  He and I are roughly of an age; our careers have tracked each other. If anything, he has had a narrower escape than I did. But looking back, it is clearer than ever before, just how significant the impact of teaching over those last thirty years of constant, turbulent change in the profession has been. I wonder how many more people there are out there who are nursing the same scars, and who may (heaven forbid) be heading in the same direction. If you are, as Bottomsbray says, seek help and don’t be proud about it.

I said it numerous times, but even I didn’t believe it until I saw it: the effect of putting intelligent, conscientious people under that amount of pressure for that amount of time is not pretty. In effect throwing them on the scrapheap to fend for themselves at the end of it is worse – a lot worse, and that still hurts.

But after a year without teaching, I now have a life that more closely resembles those of other people: work is work – and the rest of life is my own. Around the home, many things that had been neglected for years have gradually been put in order; I have time to spend with my wife and friends, and just to cook nice things for dinner. I have time to engage in projects in our community, that I just didn’t have the time or energy for before. I have a more balanced life – and if it weren’t for the remaining ‘head’ issues, it would be great.

It is not inevitable that a career in teaching destroys all that: my parents managed a better balance in their day – and my Swiss friend Alfred always retained a better work-life balance even while he was still teaching. It is just the utter madness that the British education system has become that is doing the damage; a madness that is making a few executive head teachers rich and powerful, delivering a sterile, hollowed-out ‘education’ to the next generation – and burning this one out in the process. It cannot continue.

I have been doing plenty of ‘work’ during the past year, not least finishing a book expanding many of the above ideas much further, developing much else that I have covered over the years in this blog, and examining ways in which a different, more sustainable model could achieve benefits all round. It is currently in production with John Catt Publishers and should be out in the New Year. More details in due course.

Well-rounded people

bench

Autumn term 1975. Monday morning started with double woodwork – and for me the slightly strange experience of learning in my father’s department. Although it’s perhaps a pity it didn’t come mid-way through the week, I always looked forward to the lesson (which was not taught by my Pa…).

Given the academic routine of the grammar school, I found great pleasure of making dovetail joints or turning bowls on the lathe for a change; in present-day terms, there is something very mindful about it. Unlike certain of my father’s colleagues, I never saw practical lessons as inferior, and I think it is where my now much-valued aesthetic appreciation and streak of perfectionism came from. I well remember my father’s fury when, one day he was summoned to the Headmaster’s office (where he was still seen as the chippie) and instructed to repair fifty wooden exam desks. He replied that he was not the odd-jobs man. Indeed, he was and is a highly-skilled cabinet-maker.

It was also interesting how some of the best in the class during those lessons were not the academic stars (though there was crossover); I think it was good that this gave those with different talents a chance to shine – and the academic ones a taste of what it was like to struggle a bit.

This recollection is particularly in my mind at the moment as my father, now 83, (and still turning out violins for a hobby) is currently collaborating with a young friend and me to construct a facsimile of a mid-century Scandinavian piece of furniture by Kai Kristiansen in American black walnut (shown in rosewood above). It is a wood he has never worked before and he is quite excited by the prospect; it is proving to be a most enjoyable experience, which has ranged from researching the original, to analysing the construction, adapting it for the workshop and personal taste, to sourcing suitable timber. A specification and price has been agreed, and construction will start shortly.

Practical skills have been repeatedly looked down on by educators in this country; it is though they are somehow insufficiently worthy, given their apparent lack of intellectual rigour. My former teacher Peter Whitton also knew this was not true, for despite being a Classicist, he was never happier than in his woodwork shop, where he too turned out fine pieces.

At present, I am starting to look at what I do next; the medication is gone, and I can feel my mental strength returning little by little. Amongst a number of ‘irons in the fire’ I am tempted to branch part-time into interior design, a field I have followed for many years. I defy anyone to claim that the processes involved are intellectually weak; indeed, I know of few so demanding exercises as solving difficult design dilemmas. And then there is the fact that one (hopefully) has a beautiful end product, which can be admired by those with the aesthetic sensitivity to do so. It is very tempting to sign up for that diploma.

Last Friday, we went to the opening night of Grayson Perry’s exhibition The Life of Julie Cope at FirstSite in Colchester; I am also currently reading his book The Descent of Man, and despite Perry’s lurid persona and less than rigorous academic background, let no one claim that this is not both a skilled and highly erudite man.

At the other end of the spectrum, I know individuals educated to the highest academic levels, who are not able to perform the simplest practical tasks for themselves, and who seemingly lack any ability really to appreciate (in the deep sense) beauty or fineness of work. They may have a trained minds (and I’m all for that) but they seem impoverished in other ways. Is this the cost of the narrow emphasis on academia? The ultimate sadness for my father came some years ago when the Craft & Design department he had founded and developed over forty years was closed to make way for a computer suite. No more opportunity for today’s sixth formers to do something practical as part of their week’s programme.

This is deeply short-sighted: many highly-educated people do also appreciate the arts and practical crafts; they provide a complete diversion into another deeply-rich aspect of life which I for one would never be without. Peter also knew this, as did the many clearly-thoughtful people at the Perry exhibition.

Only target-chasing educational managers seem snooty enough to disparage the personal empowerment to produce and appreciate tangible works, and to operate in the practical world as well as the intellectual one, that comes from learning these things. Our neighbouring nations such as Germany have never disparaged practical skills either – and a comparison of the two nations’ economies says all that is needed in that respect.

Bring back double woodwork on Monday mornings – especially in the most academic schools. Breadth, depth and richness in education is important.

Hustle

I’ve always resisted joining Linkedin – not sure I like their strapline (It’s who you know rather than what you know) however true it probably is…

But I am able to see some of their content, and this blog post struck me as eminent sense, perhaps one of the most to-the-point writings on the topics that I have seen. It is all the more interesting as it comes from that Heartland of Hustle, the United States.

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/work-life-balance-only-losers-bernard-marr?articleId=6327795572057210880#comments-6327795572057210880&trk=prof-post

I’m not entirely sure how much of the article in the link is openly available, but it is certainly worth a read if you are able.

I think the word Hustling sums the issue up: the general mindset that says if your life is not whizzing past at 900 m.p.h. then you are a loser. Even since I stopped teaching, I have encountered many people who seem to be trying to cram so much in that they never have time for anything. And while one might naively have hoped that a sector like education, which supposedly majors on its insight and superior world-view would know better, there is little to suggest that it does.

In fact it seems to glory in hustle: the sense that to be someone ‘who matters’ you have to be rushed off your feet. And it goes even further: if you disagree, then you need to be hustled out of the system because you’re clearly not up to it.

I spent a good bit of my latter years in education urging both my pupils and colleagues (though CPD sessions) to try not to hustle. The self-harm that it causes is simply too great to be justifiable, and I would argue that organisations that deliberately propagate hustle are neglecting their duty of care to their staff. There is plenty of evidence that it is not productive either – and one might have hoped that enlightened school leaders would have appreciated this.

But in my own experience, even while the words “work-life balance” were being reluctantly and unconvincingly murmured by those in charge, their actions were still promoting precisely the opposite.

I realise that am writing this with the luxury of not having to get up and work every day   – not that I would recommend the reason why to anyone.   I am however fully involved in productive activity of several other sorts – but the impact on my own well-being of easing up has been visible enough for me to conclude that the advice is correct: human beings are simply not meant to spend their lives at the pace now being expected.

And the really concerning this is that schools are possibly the single greatest place where expectations concerning this can be transmitted to upcoming generations. What more evidence does one need to conclude that much of today’s education sector is working directly contrary to its own supposed aims?

Here to finish are a few choice quotes from Bernard Marr’s article for those who may not have access to it. I hope he wouldn’t mind.

A hustle mentality isn’t new to Americans; hard work has been heralded as the silver bullet to achieving the American dream since the founding fathers penned the Declaration of Independence. Today’s version that edgy entrepreneurs… preach as gospel includes 12- to 15-hour work days to achieve your professional goals—even if that means sacrificing your life. But are you truly successful if a singular focus to achieving the pinnacle of your career or success as an entrepreneur leaves little room for things that make you happy?

The hustle mentality is an unwritten expectation that’s pervasive in many company cultures that it seems impossible to avoid if you have any hope of getting ahead...

Yet, our organizations suffer from extraordinarily low employee engagement, high turnover and disgruntled employees. Our people are stressed out and unhealthy.

In the frenzy to get results, are we losing the meaning and joy in life? What’s being lost in the hustle is room and the precious time needed for creativity, the fun, pleasure and restorative nature of enjoying activities we love outside of work and nurturing our families. 

Being creative requires space, silence and slow time. When you give yourself that, you will likely be more innovative and more on your game.

It might be time to trade in those hustle-themed T-shirts and coffee mugs for another mantra showing you don’t buy into the hustle movement any more. Embrace the 9 to 5. Go on those vacations. It’s time to start living life, because it’s the only one you get.

 “You can’t truly be considered successful in your business life if your home life is in shambles.”

 

The God of Small Things

bresciani

It may seem rather pathetic that an established teacher, with many years’ experience and a professional blog to his name should be reduced to blogging about…. socks. But in the year since I stopped working, certain things have come into sharper perspective. Even though I worked hard to prevent it, I hadn’t realised the extent to which a regular sixty-hour week comes to dominate your life. Even while not at work, or travelling the thirty miles to and from school, much time was spent chewing over professional matters. Pretty much everything else was shoe-horned in around the edges, at least mentally, even when I was supposedly doing other things. It did me no good.

So it is remarkably pleasurable to be able to get up in the morning and have the time actually consider what clothes I want to wear, rather than just flinging on the usual work-compliant suit and tie. I have always enjoyed men’s style, and even tried to carry this through to the rough-and-tumble of the school environment. I felt it was part of setting a good example, and maintaining high personal standards.

But now I can appreciate such niceties for their own sake, along with the pleasures of fresh morning coffee or an autumn walk. For reasons unknown to me at the time, during my period of convalescence I had the urge to renew my wardrobe, and again I have had time to choose carefully. It was remarkably cathartic.

Bresciani socks are about as good as they get, being made from top-quality materials by a skilled manufacturer in Italy. There are few outlets that retail them in the U.K., but a good choice can be had from meschausettesrouges.com in Paris. Twenty pounds for a pair of socks may seem outrageous, but as with many beautiful things, it is only when you receive them that one can appreciate the craftsmanship, the excellent fit, and the superb materials. So the price perhaps becomes a small one to pay for a small taste of excellence, and the fact that the article itself is so mundane somehow adds to the pleasure.

It’s easy to sneer at such apparent vanity, but it occurred to me that there is a deeper and more significant point here. The key to appreciating fine things is a willingness to see rather than just looking, to sense and savour the material qualities of the world around us rather than taking them for granted. To stop what one is doing and just appreciate our sensory surroundings is akin to the ‘living in the moment’ that Mindfulness promotes as an antidote to mental angst. It is  a tendency that can be developed with practice. I think it works – it is not shamelessly materialistic to appreciate the sensory qualities of material things – and all it takes is the time and restraint to stop and do so. In fact, the appreciation of what one has, rather than envy at what one does not, is the antithesis of the status anxiety that afflicts so many lives.

But that, I fear, is the one thing hassled modern lives deprive us of: the time to stand and stare (or feel). I suspect it is also the thing that we hurried north-Europeans yearn for in our envious perceptions of the South – the time for the leisurely savouring of life’s pleasures, in a way our cold-climate Protestant-ethic culture does not really encourage. And the more you do it, the more one learns to value superior quality, not in the envious sense, but simply for the extra pleasure it brings. I suspect that is the secret of southern European brio, and it is a cultural meme that we would do well to learn.

If education is about promoting well-lived lives, I am deeply uncertain that the  aspirational, target-driven approach is doing that. While young people are unsurprisingly future-orientated, the present manic approach seems to me to thrive on dissatisfaction and anxiety; instead of devoting time to fire-fighting on mental health matters, maybe it would be better to dedicate good educational time to promoting the appreciation of the small pleasures in life that might make emergency action less necessary.

Like an innocent appreciation of the simple, tactile pleasures of a small piece of superb fabric.

https://www.meschaussettesrouges.com/en/  (usual disclaimer)

The original version of this post can be found on my other blog: https://sprezzatura.blog

Peter Whitton

On 2nd August, one of the inspirational teachers of my life passed away. Peter Whitton will not be known to a wider public, and he always utterly played down the only public connection he had – the unlikely fact that he was the cousin of glam-rock star Alvin Stardust.

Before I knew him, Peter was a colleague and friend of my father at the Boys’ Grammar School that I later attended; Peter’s wife Ann was similarly a colleague of my mother at the town’s Girls’ Grammar School. I remember our calls to the Whittons’ rather chaotic ex-farmhouse as a very young boy while my both my mother and Ann were on maternity leave.

Later, Peter taught me Classical Studies and then ‘O’ Level Latin; having drained myself slogging through French grammar, I never really repeated the task with Latin, and was never one of his best pupils. But I remember his lessons with great fondness, not only for his academic rigour, but for his gentle humanity and willingness to treat his pupils as proto-adults who just happened to be discussing matters of great import. Despite his refined intellect, he was always extremely direct and down to earth, and not above sharing a smutty (but clever) joke or shaggy-dog story with us. We also admired the fact that he was utterly his own man, and a known maverick on the teaching staff.

He was born in East London in the early Thirties, and his experience of the War left him with pacifist sympathies for the rest of his life. He was deeply affected by human suffering, and one on occasion he drove my wife and me a considerable distance from his latter-day home in a remote part of the Limousin to see the only war memorial in France that commemorates conscientious objectors.

Peter was recommended for Cambridge but being from a poor home was not able to afford the social trappings required for entry in those days, and so went to London University. He moved to Somerset in the 1960s, where he made our family’s acquaintance.

He was a big man in every sense of the word; he appeared older than he evidently was to us boys on account of having lost his hair early – but he then seemed scarcely to age at all into his eighties. He was always a great Francophile, and I also owe my ability in French to the individual tutoring he gave me to ‘O’ Level – even though my dominant memory is gasping for air amidst the garlic fumes of his close presence…

When he moved to France he lived in what for a while were frankly primitive conditions in an old farmhouse near Limoges, and was in his element tending his allotment or chopping trees in his wood. He converted a barn into a workshop and was rarely happier than when turning out furniture.

We first visited him there in the scorching summer of 2003, and remember sitting for long hours over lunch in his garden. By then he was almost more French than the French; his face ruddy from rather too much pastis, he was totally integrated into the local community, his French fluent as a native’s and even his appearance in his habitual serge-de-Nimes dungarees only lacked a string of onions to make the picture complete. And yet he never appeared contrived; he was not enacting some middle-class Anglo-French dream. This was just the way he wanted to live. Equally, he had the knack of bringing in an armful of lettuce from his plot, tearing it up, flinging on oil and vinegar, bringing some paper-wrapped cheese from the depths of the ‘fridge – and producing an utterly delicious lunch.

We saw him again at my father’s home in Somerset; being a teacher’s son produces some rather surreal moments, such as this one, when as teacher myself I witnessed the reunion of several of may father’s colleagues, all my former teachers in our living room. Peter immediately fell into an in-depth discussion of Middle Eastern geo-politics with my old history teacher in a way I doubt many present-day teachers could even manage; such was the unassuming learnedness of such people.

We last visited Peter and Ann two summers ago, by which time Peter had fought off four bouts of cancer. He seemed general well, but his age was beginning to tell. He was still at the woodwork and wine, though.

Peter started (and remained) my father’s friend; he then became my teacher and tutor and ended up as my friend too. As so often it took the benefit of hindsight to appreciate his influence as a role-model, but this is something all my old school friends are agreed upon. With the passage of time, I also came to realise that he was one of the people upon whom I modelled my own teaching persona.

We often talked about teaching; he was distressed to hear what the British education system has become; his repeated response was simply, “But where’s the human touch?” I learned more from the likes of Peter about what it means to be a teacher, than any present-day corporate professional training session will ever even appreciate. And I think that is a fitting epitaph to a fine man.

PeterSummer 2003, Murat, France.

Notes from Beyond: The Educational Prism

“You’re looking very well”.

Several people whom I’ve met in recent weeks have all said the same thing. It makes me wonder just how I was looking at the start of the year, at the lowest point. I looked hard in the mirror, and I think it is true: nine months free of the stresses of teaching life have indeed done something to recharge the physical batteries, even though the head still does not always behave itself.

Increasing distance has continued to present a changing perspective on how I have spent the past thirty years. I certainly don’t regret going into teaching, but the impact that this unique occupation has had is now clearer. I had always thought that I just about managed to keep the work-life balance in an acceptable place, but looking back it is becoming clear just how the job had  totally dominated my life, and indeed my mind. I saw almost everything through an educational prism; my entire existence was dominated by the concept of personal improvement, even as the demands of the job were sending me in the opposite direction. Much of my sense of life-purpose, even of the person I was ‘supposed’ to be was in effect dictated by the demands of the profession. I guess this is inevitable when one does any intense work for a long period, but that does not make it healthy. It’s clearer too, why many of the non-teachers I know seem to lack a sense of perpetual harassment: they aren’t teachers.

For those who would like to know, I am well on the road to recovery, though still ‘taking the tablets’. Hopefully in the next couple of months that too will cease, and I will have a better sense of where I stand for the future. Some supply work has been offered, but at this stage I really don’t know whether I want to go back into the shark-infested waters.

For that is what education has become, for those who work in it. I hope not everyone has my experience – only now am I starting to feel real anger, as well as sadness, at what happened to me. Not only were thirty years of good service to a school thrown wantonly onto the scrapheap by a management that appears no longer to set any value whatsoever by its duty of care to its staff, not only were they willing to push me to the brink of breakdown in order to get their cost saving, but I have not even had a letter of thanks for my service, which I think should be a formality, whether they mean it or not.

I suppose I’m fortunate to be in a situation where I could afford to take this breathing space, but it cannot last: somehow the income gap has to be closed by next summer. But I think that the physical improvement that people have noticed is testament to what teaching can do to individuals; it is nothing short of scandalous that the educational Establishment is prepared, despite all the high-minded talk, to treat its employees in this way. I know of about six other people who have left teaching prematurely this summer for related reasons.

Teaching always was more demanding that it perhaps appears to the public – but for it to have reached this extreme is inhumane folly. For a profession that majors on the life-enhancing benefits it delivers, to treat its staff so wantonly is hypocritical, self-defeating and a disgrace. I’ve always felt that schools should be doing what they could to mitigate the impact of stress on teachers; instead some at least, seem intent on magnifying it. It’s a pity it has taken the experience of the past nine months for me to realise the full scale of the matter. This isn’t to advise people not to go into teaching – but realise that you may not realise what it’s doing to you – and take care.

For anyone who enjoys my scrawling, I have started a new, more general blog. It can be found at https://sprezzatura.blog/

Notes from Beyond 1: The end of Time

I’m glad to report that something like normality is being restored here. The drug-induced fug of the last seven months is receding as my dose has been cut and the mind heals itself; there are days when I even enjoy living – something that has been grimly absent since last autumn.

I still feel shocked when I think about the speed of change in my circumstances: this time last year, I was teaching full-time, with no expectation that the next decade would be any different. But a routine has established itself, with which I am not unhappy, and which is perhaps revealing some of life’s greater truths.

I am able to get up when the body is ready, rather than when the alarm clock dictates, eat a breakfast that sets me up so that the hunger pangs of mid-morning don’t happen. I’ve never been a ‘morning person’, so the ability to start the day in a gradual way is a huge improvement.

I have received enough messages from people I value, including some from colleagues of many years ago, for the inevitable crash in self-esteem to start to ease a little. There are enough people complimentary of my work for me to start to be confident again that it was not All My Fault.

And there has been a leap in my ability to think clearly and creatively about my position on all sorts of issues. I am getting involved in local community activities and a number of my dormant interests have revived.

Do I miss School? Very little, actually. The company of my colleagues defintely, and the better type of relations with the pupils too. But most definitely not the humourless grind of targets, scrutiny and compliance that the job has become. I don’t miss the regular assault on my better judgement from people whom, I honestly felt, sometimes had less insight and fewer principles than I – nor the consequent sense of having to live my life to someone else’s agenda.

But perhaps most bizarre is the sense of fluidity to one’s time. Having lived my entire life to the drum-beat of the academic year, having known precisely where one was and how things were progressing by the hourly, weekly and termly pulse of that system, it is quite disorientating not to have that. I even almost failed to notice that it was recently Half Term. But equally, it is lovely to be able to appreciate the onset of summer, rather than wishing it away for holidays that only begin when it is half-passed. I generally consider myself fairly self-aware, but only now is it becoming clear just how institutionalised a life in teaching had made me.

I am concerned that as time progresses, I may have less and less worth adding to the education debate. But that may be no bad thing – from a greater distance, it begins to look increasingly like a talking-shop whose main effect is to over-complicate what is still a fairly simple process. Of course, when it’s your daily life, perspectives are different – but I still feel that education is being over-complicated, and for all the wrong reasons.

I’m very fortunate that there no immediate need to seek new employment, and much of the above experience may seem to have little relevance for those who still need to earn a crust. But if there is one thing it is this:

The rat-race that consumes teachers and gobbles up children ever younger, is not only unnecessary but also counter-productive. Education should be about life, not the reverse. The ridiculous amount of pressure being applied to all concerned both risks crowding out the very things needed to think and learn effectively – time. It is very noticeable how much easier it is to think creatively and productively without the pressures of The System bearing down and obliterating everything else.

The pedestal upon which ‘Learning’ is put by so many talking heads is not authentic. In their world, subjects are simply the means to exam passes and league-table positions. They are the passport to a world of often-subservient, deskilled employment from which too often the main beneficiaries are the bosses. And they are the opening for those same people to throw you on the scrap-heap when they have had enough of you. Not a noble, higher aim in sight.

It is so much easier to bloom personally and intellectually when life is not one continuous, needless race against time.

Another one bites the dust

So that’s it. I am told that today is officially my last day of paid employment as a teacher, at least for the time being. Although the paperwork has not come through yet, I must mark the day in some way. I was 23, not long out of university when I joined the school; now I’m just a few years off retirement. Sixty percent of my life spent with teaching as (time-wise at least) the dominant waking activity. I now join the growing ranks of EX-teachers: how many more can the system afford?

Many people comment about how stressful it must be working with kids. They assume that is what did for my health. It wasn’t; it was the continual fight with The System to keep the job sensible. We are paid to deal with immature people, and they are mostly manageable – but not so an immature education System. In the end it was the ‘friendly’ fire that did for me, from a system that would apparently rather have no teachers at all, than ones that know their own minds and who adhere to their own sincere and justifiable principles.

I tried to interpret Teaching in a liberal, humane sense. I have no issue whatsoever with intellectual or personal rigour – but I cannot accept that that means nothing more than a Sisyphean chasing of targets. I note a husband-and-wife couple who managed a very successful primary school have recently decided the same thing.

https://www.theguardian.com/education/2017/apr/28/headteacher-and-deputy-send-resignation-letter-to-parents-longparish-primary-school-hampshire

Education is ultimately about developing human beings, not robots, communities not corporations – and it requires a wide perspective on what it is to be human to do that. I believe I have that perspective and I developed my skills to match; in its wisdom, the system has decided it can live without them.

There is not much more to be said. I did my best.

I have no plans to close this blog for the time being; it is possible that in due course it will morph into something wider – but my observations will inevitably be coloured by my new remove from daily life in the classroom. It seems like an appropriate point to thank my growing number of ‘followers’ for their interest and supportive comments, especially over the past five months. Keep watching this space!

Declining – if not falling. Part 2.

I think it was the shadow education secretary Angela Rayner who, some days ago, said something like, “Selective education does not promote social mobility and therefore it has no part in the British education system.” (my emphasis).

It could not be clearer: the Labour Party sees education primarily as a form of overt social engineering. But the Conservatives are saying exactly the same thing, though they couch it in terms of individual opportunity, of course.

I’m not going to disagree with people trying to optimise their time on this planet – but as the years have passed and education policy has blown this way and that, I have had a growing sense that the whole thing is utterly, profoundly mistaken in its approach. It is at risk of becoming little more than a huge waste of effort. This blog, and my (still unpublished) book were in part an effort to reconcile this, both for my own professional sanity and partly because I genuinely believe that something fundamental needs to shift in the tectonic plates of the British political/social/education systems.

Education works – of that there is little doubt. It permits people to improve their diet and health, to form productive relationships, to reduce their family size, to follow complex procedures, to make more rational decisions and to improve their material conditions. Largely forgotten to policy-makers, it also opens the wonders of human culture and knowledge, and it may encourage people to act more responsibly towards the planet. It can tip the balance of life from suffering to joy. But it is not a panacea.

It does not do those things because of bits of paper with certain letters on them – nor because of green pens or triple-marking. Its success is not measured by league table positions, nor by the size of managers’ salaries. I don’t think it really even does those things because of teachers’ choice of methods. And it certainly does not do it because lessons danced to any particular drum-beat of “progress” in a set amount of time. All of these things are nothing more than the immature preoccupations of an introspective and surprisingly insecure profession.

I don’t think it even really does it because of the specific things that children are taught. It is true that some people develop genuine interests or skills as a direct result of their schooling, but they are probably a minority. It is also true that important information can be passed on – though it’s debatable how much of it is ever retained, let alone acted upon given children’s inherent immaturity. It is pretty certainly not true that people’s attitudes change deeply because of soul-searching during PSHE lessons or the like; in my experience, moralising in schools – even when it contains practical information – often does little more than antagonise.

The problem is, education is nothing like as predictable as so many want it to be. For a start, its societal benefits are primarily trans-generational. There are plenty who benefit from it as expected – but there are also the widely-publicised cases of people who ‘did well’ only ever having been to the School of Hard Knocks.  I know several cases where access to the best education seems to have made little difference and has arguably not prevented those people from heading in the other direction down the socio-economic scale. More schooling does not automatically lead to better lives.

This is why it is so mistaken to require schools to be social engineers – the issues that really hinder life outcomes run at a deeper and less visible level, and often establish at an earlier age, than we can control. There is only so much that fire-fighting by teachers can achieve. My own educational progress was not mostly down to the quality of the schools or teachers, so much as my coming from a home that established appropriate values to begin with.

I don’t think I have experienced any great social mobility in my life – but my education has nonetheless helped me to access many fields that are a source of perpetual fascination and reward. It has also given me a perspective about to relate to wider society. I am about to be jobless – but education will provide the resilience to keep me interested in life in the interim. It was not achieved through targets – the nearest thing we had to those in the 1970s were firmly in the ‘demotivating’ camp; it was achieved purely and simply through awakening the intellect.

In some ways education’s success has been its own failure:  by encouraging those who can to capitalise on their skills – while politicians were busy removing the social restraint that used to accompany overt greed – we have facilitated the opening of the inequality gap that now troubles so many. And what of those left behind? Few of the social engineers have much at all to say about those who just don’t bother: it’s another expression of the ‘everyone a winner’ syndrome.

The causes of inequality in Britain run far deeper than anything that education alone can tackle. The current view starts from the questionable assumption that the present system does not already allow those who will to flourish. It is about class envy and replacing one elite with another. It assumes that those who fail do so for reasons beyond their control – which real-life examples repeatedly show to be only partly the case.

I’m not suggesting that undeserved privilege does not exist nor that it shouldn’t be tackled – but a better way would be to remove the concept of social hierarchy – whether defined by money or anything else – rather than simply equip a different group of people to profit at others’ expense. This might sound utopian – but my impression is that the relative classlessness of many continental countries is one of the reasons this issue does not trouble them as severely as it does us.

We may achieve isolated wins, but most of the desire to push people up the hierarchy is worthy but pointless hope. The failure of even many educators to appreciate that it is far more subtle and complex than that is the greatest educational  failure of all.

Teachers would be far better doing what they really can – awakening individual intellects – and then leaving them to make what hopefully-enlightened sense of the world they will. It is what I tried to do as a teacher; isn’t that enough?