When the Inspectors Come

My school is inadequate. Or at least, when it had its last full inspection it was.

I took up headship at Charter in September 2017. A lot of lies were told about Charter from the very start. A lot of lies continue to be told about Charter and about me personally.

By February 2018, around five and a half months in to my headship, we got a call around 8.10am one morning. It was Ofsted.

Following a variety of totally unsubstantiated accusations, over a number of months, the inspectors were on the doorstep, ready to do a no notice safeguarding inspection.

They came. They asked lots of questions, often based upon the countless malicious accusations that had been made against us. They plowed through paperwork. They talked to pupils a lot. They talked to staff a lot. They visited lessons a lot.

At one point, in our KIT (keeping in touch) meeting, an inspector said, ‘We’d like to evaluate your behaviour systems. It’s very difficult. We’ve been here two and a half hours.  We haven’t seen any misbehaviour.’ That was nice. They were seeing typical Charter.

The inspectors seemed happy. Talking  to our Chair of Governors, an inspector who knew the predecessor school well, described Charter as a ‘miraculous turnaround’. Again, that was nice.

Around midday another set of allegations was made against us. Again, the inspectors asked questions, sought evidence and were satisfied with our evidence. Another set of unfounded malicious allegations were put to bed.

The no notice inspection didn’t convert to a two day inspection.

As the inspectors left, the inspector who knew the school of old urged us, ‘Don’t let anybody stop you. I don’t think anybody could. But don’t let them.’ That was nice.

The day went quickly. Pupils and staff were honest and passionate.

I urged staff to be themselves, to be Charter. Truth is, they really were on point that day.  To the casual observer, it felt like a typical day at Charter. But, that day, for me, was very special. Staff, who had been on their knees in August 2017, were ten foot tall by February 2018.

Lesson changeovers are always good at Charter. On that day, maybe it was my imagination, but the changeovers were like silk.

I was so proud of the staff. They’d been through so much. They were standing side by side. They were excited. They were desperate to talk to the inspectors about how we’d done what we’d done and in such a short time. It was electric.

We’ll have a full inspection this year. In August 2017 our results in maths and English doubled at 4+ and more than doubled at 5+. We went from worst results in the region, amongs the worst in the country, with only 30% of pupils obtaining 4+ in English and maths, to, arguably, one of the country’s most improved set of results, with 58% of pupils gaining 4+ and 30% gaining 5+. The regional average was 66%.

What will this next inspection bring? We’ve  just merged with another school. Tiny, but lots of issues, and a small Y8 and Y9 cohort to be based on another sight until September 2019. The school we’ve merged with has a very different ethos historically. Merging the two won’t be easy.

We’ve restructured. We have fewer staff than before. We’re still getting over legacy issues associated with the school as it was until July 2017. We’re still reliant upon long term supply in some areas. We’re still subject to regular social media vitriol.

When the inspectors come next time, we’ll be strong. We’ll be ready to challenge them if necessary. I’ll be keen to know if they have achieved what we achieved in such a short space of time.

I hate all the silly badges. ‘Outstanding’, ‘Good’. What do they even mean?

You visit Charter and the behaviour, consistency, calm, focus, warmth, they stand out.

The smart appearance of pupils, the courtesy, the pin drop silence when teachers talk, the smooth changeovers, the smiles, the humour, they stand out.

The transformation in gcse results, that stands out too.

Read the many visitor comments and blogs about Charter, from people who have witnessed the ‘miraculous turnaround’ with their own eyes. They stand out as well.

The glowing safeguarding report from Ofsted in February 2018, that was nice.

The, arguably, most improved gcse results in the country in August 2018, that was nice.

The next Ofsted report, that’ll be interesting.

I defy anyone to visit Charter and not be blown away by how strong and mutually supportive a staff we are. I defy anyone to visit Charter and not marvel at the distance we’ve travelled in such a short time.

If you’d like to see Charter with your  own eyes, we’d love to welcome you!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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We’d love you to see it with your own eyes

I’m the headmaster of a school that’s received lots of media attention over the last year.  You could describe some of the attention we’ve had as ‘school shaming’.

I joined Great Yarmouth Charter Academy a year ago. The school had some of the worst results in the country. Behaviour was bad. Teachers and pupils were often scared.

I came in with an approach I call ‘WARM and strict’. Lots of media attention followed. Some commentators were positive, most were negative, none had actually seen the school in action. This never stopped commentators judging the school or me personally.

Some families chose to leave the school. Some families chose to join the school. Some found the rules too strict. Some found the new rules liberating.

Adults working at the school were hugely grateful for the changes. Many had wanted to leave the school or teaching alltogether. They felt supported in a way they hadn’t. They felt safe. They saw children transform. Children who had been withdrawn, blossomed. Children who had been habitually rude, became polite.

Behaviour changed rapidly. We encouraged visitors from the start. We still do. Every visitor was amazed by the transformation. Happy teachers, polite pupils, calm lessons. Just a lovely atmosphere. WARM and strict.

Negative media reports continued. Social media attacks and blatant lies continued. Personal and completely unfounded attacks continued.

School continued. Pupils learning in every lesson continued. Teachers feeling accomplished and proud continued. Pupils feeling they could be clever and keen, without fear of peer derision, continued.

None of our, very vocal, detractors ever visited the school. Open invitations were turned down.

We published and retweeted reports and comments from visitors.

Without exception, actual visitors, people who toured the school freely, who talked with teachers and support staff freely, who talked with pupils at break and lunch, these visitors who had actually seen the school with their own eyes, they were blown away.

I told twitter this. I wanted, I want, the world to see what we’re doing. I’m proud of the start we’ve made.

The hugely positive visitor comments, the massively supportive blogs, they got little wider attention from the media.

Detractors, none of whom had ever visited the school, continued to describe the school in the most negative terms. Detractors, who’d never met me, continued to attack me personally.

Ofsted came, no notice inspection, safe guarding. This was as a direct consequences of the lies that had been widely spread about the school and me.

The Ofsted team were hugely positive, as were staff, as were pupils. Read the report. It’s overwhelmingly positive. The positive Ofsted report got a bit of media attention but a fraction of the negative attention we’d received  earlier in the year.

Then we reiterated to kids they needed sensible haircuts for school. No ‘meet me at McDonald’s’. Huge media attention. Avalanche of personal attacks.  Lots of completed unfounded claims.

In school, we just got on with the job. Kids cooperated. Normal school life went on.  Manners continued to be the bedrock of school life. Mutual respect continued to be a thread throughout the school week. Visitors continued to be blown away at the positivity of the place. Kids continued to learn in calm, focused lessons.

Detractors,who had never been to the school,  continued to attack the school and me personally without any evidence.

In August 2018 we got our first set of gcse results. We went from 30% 4+ getting maths and English the previous year, to 58%.

We went from 14% getting 5+ maths and English the previous year, to 30% getting 5+ maths and English.

That’s an increase of 28% in the number of pupils getting 4+ and an increase of 16% getting 5+.

Detractors immediately came up with unfounded theories to explain away the improvement in exam results. They’d done the same when actual visitors loved the school. They’d done the same when Ofsted’s unannounced visit was hugely positive.

We’ll probably get a full Ofsted this year. Detractors, I suspect, will dance in the street at any criticism we receive. They’ll explain away any praise.

Huge media attention for the haircuts, the discipline, the vocal detractors. Pretty much media silence for 28% increase in GCSE results. That’s got to be one of the biggest improvements in the country. Yet, no media attention.

We’re pleased with the exam results. We’ve got pupils going off to do things, a year ago, they would never have dreamed of, but, the bit I’m most proud of, is the school culture.

We’d love you to visit. We just want people to see what we do. We’ve a huge journey ahead. We’ve also come a long way in a short time.

It would have been nice if we’d had more media attention that represented the truth about who we are, what we do, what we’re achieving. But I guess kids learning every day, feeling accomplished, teachers feeling truly valued and supported, gcse grades being amongst the most improved in the country, maybe it doesn’t get people talking in the same way.

Visit! We’re expanding. We’ll be recruiting. We’re a lovely, happy, polite school with pupils and teachers who really do get on well. We’re WARM and strict and we want you to see it with your own eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Turning Heads

On Thursday we took 120 kids from Wembley to Greenwich. It’s the second year running we’ve taken kids to the Observatory. This trip was like every trip at Michaela. The kids really shone.

They walked in single file and in silence, eyes front, from school to the tube. They stood tall and proud. Ties tight, shirts white, shoes shining bright.

As per normal,  we entered the tube car, we stood in silence, we got our books out, we read. When seats became available we sat. When adults needed a seat we immediately stood and offered our seats.

We changed at Canary Wharf. We formed a perfect line again. We stayed in order. We counted down, each person shouting out their number, in French, until we got to the ‘last man’, number thirty.

On busy, but narrow, pavements we stayed eyes front, silent, single file. Not a second was wasted.

Again and again, and this always happens when we take our kids out, members of the public congratulated the kids, congratulated the teachers, stopped and pointed, took photos as a perfect line of Michaela pupils proudly walked by. Michaela kids turn heads.

As ever, staff at the venue said they’d never seen such polite children. The kids shone in the shop. Their manners were impeccable. They spoke clearly to shop staff, they wished shop staff, ‘Have a nice day!’, they made great eye contact.

As we queued to enter the planetarium the kids showed off, reeling off loads and loads of French, using a broad range of structures, projecting beautifully, their accents stunning members of the public. French tourists were overheard discussing how smart and how polite our kids were. They also went on and on about how good our kids’ French was.

In the planetarium the kids were exemplary. You could hear a pin drop. They asked some superb questions. They demonstrated impressive science knowledge. They did themselves proud – yet again.

This is what ‘being Michaela’ is all about. Our kids turn heads. We’re not ‘normal’. We don’t want to be ‘normal’. We’re Michaela.

If you fancy working in a school  where kids are grateful, kind, hard-working and polite, if you believe in  didactic teaching and holding kids and parents to account, if you believe in ‘tough love’, if you’re willing to jettison everything  you’ve ever been told about ‘good practice’, if you believe the term ‘outstanding’ is a nonsense – you should get in touch.

 

 

 

 

 

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Pace, Progression, Checking for Understanding

I was talking to a lovely, keen, young teacher earlier this week and she said she’d been told that she needed to work on, “Pace, progression and checking for understanding.”

I hate words like that! What does any of that actually mean? It’s so “teacher speak”! It’s so, “let’s self-flagellate”, so “I’ve heard this from “expert observers” so it must be true”. That’s not to criticise the super keen teacher who said these words. It’s the dreadful nit-picking, “mean anything you want it to mean” nomenclature of observations that does my head in! Grrrrrr!

This kind of language doesn’t encourage useful self-reflection, I’d argue. I’d say this kind of easy-sound bite feedback sows the seeds of self doubt, often needlessly and even harmfully. And you reap what you sow. Throw meaningless, nebulous, ill thought out feedback at someone enough and what you get are teachers who beat themselves up instead of building themselves up.  You get teachers who, instead of looking at the reactions of the kids in front of them, focus on the reactions of the “expert observer” behind them, furiously tick-boxing their every move.

So let’s have a look at what these words might actually mean. What does “pace” mean? Well, I reckon it can mean a million and one things and it very much depends upon who is saying it. I reckon that, too often, people are told to work on their “pace” when the observer feels that the “outstanding” lesson needs to be buzzy and whizzy, with loads of activity changes, where, as I once read in an Ofsted document many moons ago, “a tangible air of enthusiasm fills the room.”

Too often observers aren’t keen on the teacher talking, on the kids listening, soaking up the wisdom of the sage on the stage. I was told, just today, by a PGCE student soon to graduate from Cambridge, that a lesson should  be 90% pupil talk and 10% teacher talk. That’s the rule apparently. Though a think the word “student” was used rather than “pupil”. Grrrrrr!

So, “You need to work on your pace.”, in too many cases, can mean, “You’re expecting the kids to listen and learn. That’s not much fun is it? You’re demanding too much of them. Make it active! Make it “engaging”!” “Engaging”, another one of those bloody awful words that are simply a euphemism for, “Dilute the learning! Give the kids something light and fluffy that’ll distract them and not demand too much of them intellectually! With any luck they won’t kick off!” Grrrrr!

I’m always going to say that, generally, kids need to listen lots. Their teachers should have lots to say. And it should be cracking stuff!  It should be delivered with aplomb, charisma, energy, passion, conviction and savoir-faire. There’s the rub! If you’re boring, if you’re delivery is flat, if you don’t love what you teach, if the intricacies of effective delivery don’t excite you, then yeah, chances are your lessons will be like watching paint dry.

I’m not advocating teacher as stand-up comic, though a bit of humour does go a long way, but I am advocating stage presence. Why stage presence? Because, a lot of the time, you need to be centre stage, teaching didactically, emphatically, explicitly and unapologetically. There is no magic ratio for teacher: pupil talk. But oh how we love a formula! Tick! An acronym! Tick! A sound bite! Tick! An exclamation mark! Tick! Oh, sorry! That’s just me!

Progession? God knows what that means! At one point it was crazy, meaningless NC levels that, in MFL certainly, straight-jacketed kids and teachers alike. Progress? You tell kids stuff, they practise stuff, they memorise stuff, they then own the stuff you’ve taught and they can draw upon it at will. The more stuff you teach, that they remember and re-use, the more “progress” they make. Is it any more complicated than that? I don’t think so.

In French nothing is “hard”. It’s just a case of remembering, practising, owning the language. That takes an eye and ear for detail, exposure, time and patience. No miracle formula I’m afraid.

Checking for understanding? Some kids are shy. You don’t get much out of them through Q&A. But you’ll look at what they’ve written down and you soon see if they’ve got it. Is it too easy to rely upon the same kids all the time when doing Q&A? Yes. Shoot me! I’m human! But forgive me if I don’t make a grab for the traffic lights.

(I’ve recently started giving a kid in each class a paper register and he takes off who has answered questions in the session. It’s an experiment. It’s interesting to see. We’ll see how it goes.)

But you know, I think we ask too many questions anyway. I think we should be telling more and asking questions less.

(Though I am loving this kind of choral to and fro that I’ve recently started with classes, whereby I say the French and they reply in unison with a word for word translation: Maintenant/Now, Si/If, vous voulez/you want, vous pouvez/you can, enlever/ lift off, vos vestes/your jackets.)

Where was I?  That’s it, I think we should all “mind our language” and think a little more carefully about the observation feedback we give.

We should avoid the all too easy throw-away jargon that doesn’t even remotely get close to the nuts and bolts of teaching.

We should be more aware of what we, personally, believe brilliant teaching to be.

We should focus much less on what we think we’re supposed to say, like and do.

We should do all we can to free teachers from their slavish desire to do things “right” and instead nurture in them a desire to do the “right” thing.

And yes! We should use fewer exclamation marks!

As ever, if you fancy working in a school where you’re paid to think, where kids do as their told and where teachers focus on what works as opposed to the vagaries of edufashion – think about Michaela for September 2016. September 2015 is all wrapped up. Thanks

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Monsieur “Bad Practice”

I talk too much. I talk quite a bit of English too and that’s really, really bad because I should only ever speak to them in French. I don’t do starters. I don’t do plenaries. I don’t do targets. I don’t do written objectives. I don’t give them written feedback. I never ask myself if the stuff we do is “engaging”. I don’t differentiate with loads of different sheets. I never tell them how to get to the next level. I kind of go off piste in lessons quite a bit. I don’t do lesson plans. I make kids copy sometimes – especially the weakest ones. I don’t do group work. I don’t do much pair work. I don’t do powerpoints. I don’t use pictures. I scribble on the board a lot. My writing isn’t very good.

Yet my Year 7s readily use past, reasons, opinions, future and subjunctive. They read out loud with aplomb. They read new words they’ve never seen before  – most of the time. They’ve mastered all of the high frequency vowel combinations of French. They almost never say the silent letters they come across. They make lovely liaisons. They memorise long scripts with varied tenses and eye-popping idioms. They break language down and build it up again really beautifully. Their accents are coming along really, really well. Guests are always impressed by the kids’ accents. Bit weird when they listen so much in lessons and do so little pair and group work. Instead they listen to me lots and they read as I speak and then they read out loud, one person at a time, sometimes reading the same passage several times. You think they’d be bored but they really like it. They’d probably be better off  not listening to my French accent. I’ve only been learning French for 35 years and I listen to hours of debate and discussion on French radio daily. They’d probably get more out of a few “sondages” where they are a bit more kinaesthetic and talk to each other.

Their spelling is cracking. They always use the French alphabet and they love spelling out loud. They love words like “beaucoup” and “malheureusement” because, according to the kids, these words are “fastoche”. “C’est simple comme bonjour!” and “C’est un jeu d’enfant”. I guess I’ve just been lucky.

Can you imagine if I were a “proper” French teacher and if I did lots of games and group work and carousels and they worked stuff out for themselves? Wow! The kids would be able to….who’s to say?

I don’t play games. I tell the kids the literal meaning of the French. I say things like: I like to play at foot, I am gonED to the centre sporty, My teacher of French me takes the head, He me taps on the nerves, He is break-feet. Poor kids. Loads of them are listed as being EAL. I don’t even show them any pictures. Yet they are really good at French. They memorise all of this stuff and recycle it and break it down and play with it. One of them the other day wrote on  the board : Je prefererais le francais sans Monsieur Forgeron parce qu’il parle trop et il est completement chauve. (Sorry! I can’t do accents on here. The kid’s accents were perfect. That’s another thing! I don’t use technology. I’m truly rubbish!)

My Year 7s give oral answers like this. I say “Comment dit-on: I went to the cinema.” They give me the answer but then they add stuff like: “Mais il faut un accent aigu sur la lettre E” and “Evidemment il faut ajouter un E si c’est feminin.”

I  say stuff like: La langue francaise – they reply in unison – the language French – n’est pas – isn’t – compliquee – complicated – en fait – in fact – c’est plutot facile – it’s rather easy – en general – in general – elle est une langue – she is a language – plus ou moins – more or less – logique – logical. We go back and forth like that me providing the English and them the French or vice versa.

I give instructions in little chunks where they provide the English. Maintenant – now – on va – one is going – faire – to do – quelque chose- some thing – un peu – a bit – different – different. Mais – but – tout d’abord – all first/first of all – il faut – you must – copier la date et le titre – copy the date and the title – comme d’habitude – as usual/of habit.

We go back and forth like that a lot. They understand every single word. I should really make them guess and use gestures or pictures I suppose. But, as I said, I am “Monsieur Bad Practice”.

They always do long dates and titles and they always underline double or triple vowels. They always add little dots under the silent letters – or as the kids call them – “les lettres muettes”.

Dates are sometimes in the format: aujourd’hui c’est le huit mai mais hier c’etait le sept mai et demain sera le neuf mai

Titles are often something like: Franchment j’en ai marre de mon prof de francais. Il me saoule je te jure. Il est casse-pieds. Et en tout cas il parle beaucoup trop.

We read out loud a lot. We look at patterns in words a lot. I talk loads! They have to listen to me speak French loads. They have to answer questions, in French, about things like this.

I say: C’est tres ennuyeux – I don’t do the liaison – they then tell me – la lettre S a la fin n’est pas muette parce qu’il y a une voyelle. Il faut une liaison

They know loads of stuff like: il faut souligner toutes les voyelles evidemment. Le ordinateur? Il faut enlever le E et puis il faut ajouter une apostrophe – ca creve les yeux! They use these type of expressions all the time.

As I say, I’ve just been lucky I guess. If I’d given them group work and games, lots of pictures, a few card sorts and let them work the French out for themselves, like a “proper” French teacher, I guess they would be really good by now.

If you fancy working in a school where you think for  yourself, where you can experiment, where your subject expertise is prized, where kids behave beautifully and thank you for the lesson as they leave, whilst shaking your hand, you might like to think about Michaela. We are fully staffed for September 2015 but you might fancy a move in September 2016. We will have 3 year groups in September 2016 – Years 7,8 and 9. We’ll be looking for lots more teachers to teach across the curriculum. If you fancy a visit sometime you’re always welcome. It’s a happy little school right next to Wembley Park tube station – dead easy to get to.

 

Cheers

 

 

 

 

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Praise Where It’s Due

At my school we have a behaviour system built around merits and demerits. I’ve never been keen on these systems. In lots of schools horrible kids tend to get bucket loads of merits just for sitting in a chair and being slightly less abusive than usual. Lots of nice kids tend to get ignored. The basics of good manners seem to be praised to a ridiculous extent when really they should just be part of the fabric of normal human interactions.

Some teachers hand out merits like dolly mixtures. Some just can’t be bothered. Then of course there are those schools that tell you for every negative comment you must give four positives. How on earth anyone is supposed to track that stuff I’ll never know. Also logging merits on the computer is a pain. And of course, give it a few month into Year 7 and the appeal of merits soon starts to wane. So no, I’ve never been a fan of merits.

As for demerits – what actually happens to these kids who are a real pain in your lessons?

‘Demerit!’, ‘That’s your second warning!’

‘Big deal! Tell someone who gives a monkey’s!’

The same kids keep getting demerits. Nothing really happens to the kids. Teachers get sick of logging stuff only to find nothing’s ever done and so demerits crumble away too. And of course there are the schools where the teacher who gives the most demerits or detentions or uses ‘on call’ most is under the microscope. There are always those schools where the awkward, lazy, mouthy kid encounters the determined, focused, perhaps a bit naive, teacher who actually thinks the behaviour system is meant to be applied to the letter.

This teacher gives merits when deserved and demerits when warranted. This teacher uses ‘on call’ liberally because the kid’s behaviour is bang out of order. This teacher complains to the HOY and SLT because the system isn’t being applied. This teacher soon becomes known as awkward, out of step, unrealistic, too demanding. He can’t cope. That’s why he uses ‘on call’ so much. Or else he’s just too old school. If he did a bit more group work, you know a bit more ‘kinaesthetic’, like on your pgce, he’d be ok. The kids wouldn’t kick off. And, of course, in lots of schools there’s that insidious climate of, ‘Don’t use ‘on call’ too much! They keep a log. They’ll use it against you when looking at performance management.’

So, yeah, on balance, I’ve never been a fan of merits and demerits and prizes and…

For goodness sake! Is it too much to ask that a kid brings a pen, shuts up for five minutes and then makes a decent stab at some work that I can actually read?

It is very early days at Michaela, we only have 120 Year 7s, 7 teachers and 4 TA’s – so we’re a tiny school. But merits & demerits actually do seem to be working very, very well. And, to be honest, it blows out of the water everything  I’ve seen visiting hundreds of school and training thousands of teachers during a career of around eighteen years.

With us, much to my surprise, kids value merits, kids come up to you at break and spell 48 word medical conditions they’ve found on the net, using the French alphabet. They do that, partially, for a merit. Kids do extra homework without being asked – for a merit. They’ll reply to the most banal question like, ‘Comment dit-on, the weekend last?’ , with ‘Mais c’est évident M. Forgeron, ça crève les yeux en fait, c’est: le week-end dernier’, they’ll do all that for a merit.

It’s not purely for the merit of course, though they are competitive and they do remind you if they find you haven’t logged a merit when you should have. They like showing off, feeling clever, stretching themselves, standing out from the crowd.

We can give merits for kids who SLANT beautifully – sit up straight, arms folded, no fiddling, listening attentively, asking and answering questions, kids who ‘track’ the teacher and don’t let their eyes wander.

We can give merits to kids who use STEPS beautifully – sir, thank you, excuse me, please and smile!

We can give merits for kids who go to town on HEAPS – hands away from your mouth when you speak, good eye contact, don’t mumble – articulate! And of course, project! Everyone needs to hear your answer. And yes! Of course you’ll repy in extended full sentences.

There are loads and loads of rules. And because there are loads of rules there are loads of reminders about what ‘Being Michaela’ really means. There are loads of opportunities to receive praise, to receive positive recognition.

The kids like the league tables for IXL completion, they like the 100% badges for perfect attendance and punctuality across the half term. They like  the bronze, silver, gold badges denoting the number of merits gained and your ranking in the year. They like the reward event where, at the end of half term, if your attendance, punctuality and merit/demerit balance are good, you get to watch a film with the rest of your form – you have popcorn too. Our last couple of films have been Invictus and Long Walk to Freedom – they all know the poem by heart and they’ve all read the book in class.They like the subject prizes given twice year. This year maths gave out 4 Rubic cubes and humanities gave out rulers covered in hieroglyphs. Every kid in the school can spell ‘hieroglyph’. The vast majority can spell it using the French alphabet.

We shake hands a lot. We give them responsibilities a lot. We give them opportunities to demonstrate, as I always tell them, that they’re ‘top of the pyramid’ people. There are squillions of people at the bottom of the pyramid, taking the easy choices, developing bad habits, searching for lame excuses.  There are millions that resolve to change but never really commit. There are thousands and thousands who do have a go, who do try to make the right choices but fall by the way side pretty soon. There are only a handful of people who know what they really believe in, who constantly keep their commitments, who always get back up and refocus when things go wrong. They’re the top of the pyramid people. Elitist? No. You get to the top of the pyramid and you stay at the top of the pyramid, because of  the millions of choices you make every day.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, merits are really working for us. It’s early days. There’ll be ups and downs. Merits are  just part of the jigsaw.

Are the kids ‘intrinsically motivated’? There’ll always be the early adopters and the laggards but, yes, I think, very largely, our kids ‘get it’.

Merits aren’t the whole story, doing stuff you can be proud of when no one is looking, doing stuff you can be proud of even though nobody else but you may ever know – that’s getting through.

Next time I’ll maybe talk about the demerits.

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Yeah, but what about the visual learners?

Spelling tests in MFL – I think they went out of fashion didn’t they? Most of you reading this probably can’t recall a time when they were ever in fashion. To be fair, it was a bit draconian expecting kids to get the spelling right and take pride in their work. You know, actually checking what they’d written. Yeah, spelling tests, they’re boring, they are.

You’ll laugh, but there was actually a time when people used to believe…

we need to memorise stuff for instant perfect recall. Because, if you remember stuff you can, speak and write stuff too. You can break language down & build it up again. You can, with a bit of thought, recycle language you learnt earlier and adapt it, kind of make it your own.

spelling precision really matters. If you don’t take care with spelling people will think you’re thick, lazy and slapdash.

accents actually help your pronunciation on words like: allé, joué, écouté, regardé, évidemment, canoë, première and  so on. So accents really, really matter. Accents are your friends!

high frequency letter combinations teach you there’s no such thing as a totally ‘new’ word so you are able to write and say ‘new’ words by linking them with your knowledge of the old stuff: fille, famille, feuille, feuilleton, fauteuil, intéressant, intelligent, informatique, dessin, lapin – they’re just the same letters being used again & again. So if you learn to spell properly, you learn to speak properly. It’s easy!

understanding the patterns means you didn’t just guess at ‘new’ words and you can always have a decent stab at pronouncing them. So: ont, sont, font, vont, habitent, jouent, écoutent, regardent – they are, in fact, all easy to say & spell. If you can spell properly, you can communicate easily and you’ll avoid typical mistakes. Typical mistakes will never embed.

looking out for the double letters means ‘je m’appelle’ and honnêtement and intéressant and ennuyeux and paresseux and loads of other words are really easy to spell. In fact, because you paid attention first time, you’ll never really make mistakes on these words ever. That saves you loads of time.

apostrophes teach you that j’ai, j’habite, j’aime, je n’aime pas are really separate words squished together to make it much, much easier to speak French. Once you click: j’habite and j’ai are really je habite and je ai – it’s suddenly so much easier to understand precisely what you’re saying & writing. Apostrophes are your friends!

cognates, you should look out for them. If you link with English words rather than pictures, it’s so much easier learning another language. Also it’s a great way to develop your English vocabulary. In fact, look at the etymology of words, look at their prefixes and suffixes, look at the roots of the word. You’ll remember better and it’s actually really fascinating.

faux amis, these show you how languages change over the centuries. You know what happened in 1066 right? Load of French came over. We’ve never been the same since!

links between English and the target language, they shouldn’t be avoided! No! We should be actively going out and making as many silly, memorable links as we can. Be daft not to exploit the links between languages when they are so close to one another. And translations – they’re great because you think about every single word.

breaking words down into syllables and counting the letters means you look at every single letter and you really pinpoint exactly where you tend to mess up. Also breaking words down means you’ve got no excuses to give up before you’ve really got started: mal.heu.reu.se.ment – 15 letters – where’s the problem?

mnemonics, whether it’s the pronouns with Justin Timberlake isn’t energetic, not very intelligent either or school subjects with madragfish – maths, anglais, dessin etc. Mnemonics really work – if you use them properly.

copying out repeatedly, yep, looking at every single letter, actively searching for high frequency letter patterns, especially the vowels, recalling the silly stories we used in class, writing your accents a bit too big, deliberately, underlining every double vowel, copying from the resources every single time, not copying, making a mistake, then copying your own mistake. Really thinking as you write out each letter.

count the number of letters in the word and focus on the precise letters causing the problem. Sœur, cœur, beurre, fleur, j’aime, je n’aime pas – focus in! Where, precisely, do you mess up? When you count the letters you see long words arent really hard at all ! In fact, you’ve seen all these patterns before.

underline vowel combinations like ai, au, eu, oeu, ou, oui, ui. Beaucoup? Oiseau? Château? What’s ‘hard’? Why? How can we make it easier?

place a little dot under silent letters until kids master pronunciation, that really really helps build confidence & good habits. Stop thinking like an Englishman!

make links between words explicit even though they aren’t  in the same unit of the scheme of work . So not just: mère, père, frère but première and  dernière. The text book is your servant not your master!

Yeah, you’re right! Silly ideas! That’s just boring! No pictures, no barking at power points, no hours and hours of teacher prep, no silly voices, no hand gestures. That’s crazy. Memorizing stuff so you have it for a life time, so the more you learn the easier it gets, so you feel you really can speak French. That’s just boring. And anyway – what about the visual learners?

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