Charter Chocolate

On Thursday night, we had our Y6 parents’ event. In most schools this is about fresh displays, performing kids and the entire staff staying late after a full day of teaching.

I’ve always found these events superficial. I’d far rather be upfront. This is who we are. This is what you get.

There was an excellent turn out. Far bigger than last year. That,  in itself, was pleasing.

Several staff did stay. They chose to. No fresh displays, no razzmatazz. Parents came into the main hall, sat down and awaited a short presentation from me. So far, so dull.

No song n dance routine, no Bunsen burners, no explosions, no choir and it was a fantastic night! I left, beaming!

Why? The kids, of course!

We asked for volunteer pupils to come, chat to families and take questions. Loads turned up. They were bristling with pride. Their teachers were a little choked at times. Charter pupils do us proud. They really, really do.

Some pupils from years 10 and 11 addressed the audience, which must have been around 300 strong. Our kids, all volunteers, shone.

They were articulate, composed, obviously unrehearsed and, even more obviously, sincere.

They spoke of calm lessons, of feeling happy and safe, of strict teachers who can still have a joke, of big ambitions for the future.

Our older kids sold Charter by simply embodying what Charter is all about. They were confident, grateful, passionate and honest.

None of this was rehearsed. It was all very impromptu. That’s what made it so special.

I then asked if any of the younger pupils would like to speak. The cutest Y7 stepped forward. She’d been with us a matter of weeks. She had the entire audience in the palm of her hand.

She told us how she was happy and safe, how pupils and teachers were kind, how at Charter we help and support each other. She was mesmerising.

I spotted an ex-pupil in the audience, year 11 last year, she’d had one year of Charter. I put her on the spot. I invited her to tell the audience what her experience of Charter had been. She wasn’t expecting this at all.

She came to the front. She was a little diffident at first. Then she told the audience what being Charter in year 11 had meant to her.

She talked about calm classes, classes where you can learn, join in, be keen, all without fear of ridicule. That was a new experience for her in year 11.

She talked about teachers just teaching, free from interruption.

She talked about how Charter had made her a more confident person and how that final Charter push, in year 11, had been crucial in helping her secure excellent grades.

I didn’t need to be there to sell the school. The kids did it for us. I told the audience, in no uncertain terms, what we stand for and what we won’t tolerate. I don’t want anyone thinking we’re something we’re not.

We’re unequivocally WARM and strict. We’re both. Just visit. You’ll see. And if you  sign up to Charter you can’t pick and choose the rules you like and the rules you don’t. This isn’t pic n mix.

I took lots of questions from the audience. I couldn’t be any more open.

Because of lies spread on social media, there’s always a smattering of questions about toilets and SEND. They’re easy to put to bed. You’ve only got to look at our glowing February 2018 Ofsted. Or, as is our constant refrain, come in, talk to staff and kids, take a tour, see lessons, changeovers, break, lunch.

There was a question about technology and ict. We don’t do them. We give more hours to core subjects instead.

As far as I’m concerned, computers are not ‘the future’.

Being able to read, write, count, with great attendance, perfect  punctuality, fantastic manners, being able to present yourself with healthy self-confidence, being articulate, being kind to one another, that’s the future.  This is where we focus.

Pupils take 9 GCSEs. They have options, including art, photography, drama, sport, music and child care.

We were asked why we only teach French. We only teach French because we believe in teaching one language brilliantly well and we have phenomenal expertise in teaching French. Ask anyone who’s seen and heard kids I’ve taught.

Beyond that, I reiterated the message,

“Any morning, 10.30am.  Rock up! Take a tour, see what we do with your own eyes. Monday to Friday. Talk to staff and kids No holds barred. We’re an open book. Believe nothing you see, hear or read. Visit! And remember, our detractors have, not once, toured the school, not once seen lessons, not once talked to staff.”

At the end, I hadn’t anticipated that anyone would actually want to look around. Empty classrooms are not that exciting. Surprisingly, lots did want to look around.

Our kids and staff took them around. I spoke to a lot more parents. The ones that had talked with our kids were full of praise! The kids were beaming. They’re proud of their school.

The kids made me very proud on Thursday. One pupil in particular, received a lot of praise  from parents she’d taken around the school.

She’d only recently joined Charter, in the summer term. Her mum had enrolled her with us because she was worried her daughter was misbehaving at her previous school and that she was going seriously off the rails.

This new pupil shone. Full of Charter confidence.

Charter changes people. Kids and teachers reclaim their pride. They grow. They become bigger. They become, what we call, Charter-sized.

When you visit, you see it in their faces, their body language. You hear it in their voices, the way staff and pupils talk to one another.

I always tell the kids, “Remember what my dad told us when we were kids. You’re top of the pyramid! There’s nobody like us. We’re a team, we’re Charter 24/7. Now go out there and be merit machines! Be merit monsters! Be Charter-tastic magic! Be Charter Chocolate!”

On Thursday night, yet again, our kids made us proud, They were, yet again, 100% Charter Chocolate.

Open-minded visitors very welcome.

 

 

 

 

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Just getting started

Today someone posted an edited picture of me, depicting me as the devil with a caption: I will make your school days hellish!

Last week there were lies circulated about me on Facebook saying I take photographs of Y10 girls on my phone and that, on another occasion, I had to be forcibly escorted off a junior school site for photographing children.

All these accusations are completely without any foundation.

As a school, we’re always being accused of off-rolling and not supporting SEND kids. All lies, all without any foundation.

We’re accused of permantly excluding kids for dropping pen tops or wearing trainers. None of it true.

I’ve been accused of calling kids fat, of being racist, of bullying children, the list goes on.  None of it true.

Charter kids, when I see them in the street, are super polite. They’re amazing. We shake hands. It’s magical. I’m so proud of them.

School age kids I don’t know, know me from the press. Invariably, if I’m in the street, some will shout after me, telling me I’m a ‘baldy c*nt’ and that my school is ‘f*cking sh*t’. You get used to it after the first three or four occasions.

Local shopkeepers often tell me how Charter kids have transformed, how they’re really polite and friendly now,  how they hold doors open and say thank you, in a way they didn’t in the past. That’s nice.

Visitors, savvy teachers who know what schools are about, they come, they lavish praise on us. I manipulate the visitors, apparently.  I hide the truth from them, apparently.

Ofsted came, invedtigated all of the lies, were hugely impressed. It was all a set up, apparently.

Our results at gcse have doubled. That’ll be all the off-rolling, apparently.

How much of this are we expected to endure?

Staff are happy and safe. Kids are happy and safe. (Yes, they are. Not one of our detractors has visited the school. Remember that, not one!) Results have doubled. Ofsted loved what they saw. Actual visitors love what they see.

Clearly, some won’t be happy until I resign or I’m sacked. Or do they want me to be so filled with self-loathing that I top myself? What is the  motivation of the haters?

I suspect, in most cases, it’s nothing more than a desire to grab a little bit of fame. I don’t believe for a second that any of them genuinely want to help kids. It’s fame hungry virtue signalling.

Fear not. I’m impervious to detractors. I’m incredibly excited about what we’re going to achieve this year. I’m more determined than ever to keep doing what I believe in.

So where does this self belief come from?

I’ve a fantastic home life. Fantastic. Work is work. It’s part of my life. I love my work but it’s not my world.

I like kids. Kids like me. My entire teaching career, 21 years, kids have always liked me and me them. I know my motivation.

Anyone who’s seen me teach can see how much I love teaching, how much kids enjoy being taught by me. Ask Tom Bennett, David Didau, Tom Sherrington, Doug Lemov. They’ve seen the relationships. They’ve heard my kids speak French.

I don’t believe in gaming and ticking boxes. I don’t do as I’m told to curry favour. I do what I believe is morally right.

I spent a decade teaching teachers and, again and again, I stood up to all the nonsense, teacher-crushing fads.

I gave courses, over fifteen years ago, decrying differentiation, learning styles, tick box AFL, group work, mixed ability. Whatever fad du jour came along, I slayed it.

I did all of that, knowing that I risked not getting paid for the course I was delivering.

As a freelance trainer, I put my money where my mouth was. I lost jobs but I stuck to my principles.

I sometimes wasn’t paid because I refused to offer teachers kinaesthetic games to ‘raise boys’ achievement’.

I sometimes wasn’t paid because I refused to advocate ‘brain friendly’ teaching.

I sometimes lost work because I wasn’t prepared to advocate 10% teacher talk to get to ‘Outstanding’.

So, what drives me to be away from home four nights a week to live in a BnB in Yarmouth?

What makes we get up at 4.30 on a Monday morning to travel three hours to work?

What makes me impervious to the lies of the hate-mongers?

It’s easy. I can see, every day , the difference we’re making for the kids of Charter.

We’re asking more of them than anyone’s ever asked of them. And they rise to the challenge, every day.

Kids who used to cower in a corner and hide under desks, kids that used to cry in lessons, kids that used to habitually swear at staff, kids that never used to participate, now, they’re all succeeding.

Staff who were desperately searching for a way out, staff who were looking to leave teaching, staff who had to lock themselves in classrooms to be safe, staff who, out of stress, used to vomit over themselves on the way to work, now, they’re happy, confident, safe.

I love working with the team at Charter. They’re funny. They’re kind. They’re warm. They support each other. They support me.

That’s why I’m more determined than ever to do the right thing, no matter what lies are told about me and my staff.

Long way to go, just getting started.

Visitors welcome.

 

 

 

 

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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 ploughed 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 July 2017, were ten foot tall by February 2018.

Lesson changeovers are always good at Charter. On that day, 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 site 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 and lies.

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 and in such a short space of time. What makes them qualified to judge us and are they focussing on what really matters?

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. Is that ‘Outstanding’?

The smart appearance of pupils, the courtesy, the pin drop silence when teachers talk, the smooth changeovers, the smiles, the humour, they stand out. Is that ‘Outstanding’?

The transformation in gcse results, that stands out too. Is doubling 4+ in maths and English and more than doubling 5+ ‘Outstanding’?

Read the many visitor comments and blogs about Charter, from people who have witnessed, what’s been called, a ‘miraculous turnaround’, with their own eyes. They stand out as well. Is that ‘Outstanding’?

The glowing safeguarding report from Ofsted in February 2018, that was nice. Where we were and where we are. It stands out but is it ‘Outstanding’?

The, arguably, most improved gcse results in the country in August 2018, that was nice. They stand out. But ‘Outstanding’?

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!

And, in the meantime, just remember, our detractors, firing away outrageous, and totally unsubstantiated,  accusations, not one of them has been to Charter and seen what we do.

The unanimously positive blogs and tweets? They’re exclusively from people, invariably very experienced teachers, who’ve toured, had unrestricted access and chatted at length with staff and kids.

Visit! We’re growing. We need people to spread the word.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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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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