James had a little more personality than the head. He had a dry wit, explaining that the students were a little challenging, especially those that had come from outside.
‘Does that mean there are students that were living here when the outbreak occurred?’ I asked, ‘people for whom the camp was their home before?’
James looked a little disconcerted, ‘Ah, um, yes,’ he replied, ‘most of the original residents now home school their children, but about half the current cohort were studying here pre-outbreak. We try not to discriminate between the two groups.’
‘And were you a teacher here before the outbreak?’ I asked.
‘No, none of us were, it’s a fresh start,’ replied James, as he walked briskly on. He opened a door to a large hall ‘this is the gym, and also where we hold assemblies….’
A fresh start… I wondered why they had needed that, had the school been that bad, pre-outbreak? I would have to check Ofsted as soon as I could get online. There hadn’t been a computer at the house, but I could no doubt use the computer in my lab. ‘So where are the science labs in relation to where we are?’ I asked.
James paused for a second. ‘We don’t use the labs as such; the students have fixed rooms. Apart from assembly and lunch they stay in those rooms all day and the teachers rotate amongst them, switching lessons when the bell goes.’
I frowned, I hated moving between rooms, it was hard to set up lessons, and even harder to keep track of where everything was. ‘Do the kids behave during the gap- the time after one teacher leaves and before the next arrives?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes, we have teaching assistants who deal with discipline issues.’ He said it so confidently that I was reassured, it was very different to what I was used to, but I was sure it would work out. I relaxed slightly; it would be great not having to deal with behaviour all day long.
The school only had about ninety students; in a building designed for a thousand, I could see why they had changed the system. They had two classes for each year group, so the classes were tiny, some only had six or seven students, others had ten or twelve. The only time they were all together was in assembly, which, oddly, occurred every morning and seemed mostly to involve listing students involved in work projects.
My timetable had me teaching only three lessons a day, but I had to create the resources from scratch. I had been looking forward to creating a new, more relevant syllabus; focussing on human biology, ecology, growing food, exploring the physics of things like bridges and boats and solar power, and discovering the chemistry of water and how it is treated to make it clean. I wanted to make it more relevant and useful, so students would finish school with a good basic understanding of things they would need to know, rather than cramming their brains with tons of knowledge that they would immediately forget.
Instead, I was given another government pamphlet, this time with a science curriculum explained in excruciating detail. The instructions were clear, I was to teach the specification, and at the end of the year, the students would be tested. It was expected that they would all pass. I read it and winced, it was enormous and full of dry facts. There wouldn’t be time for experiments or discussions or exploring topics in depth, just to get through the content would require every minute of every lesson to be spent transferring information.
The rest of that day, I shadowed the maths teacher. She was good, but she also had a syllabus to get through and I could see that a lot of the students just weren’t getting it, the lessons moved on too quickly. The teaching assistant at the back of the room didn’t seem to help much; in fact, he didn’t work with the students at all, just wrote up notes, and took kids out when they began fidgeting too much. I could hear him shouting at them through the door and sat wincing. I knew some schools pre-outbreak that had believed in zero tolerance, but this was something else.
The next morning I went into school, ready to teach. Oddly there weren’t any computers in the classrooms, so no PowerPoints or videos during the lesson; just old fashioned ‘chalk and talk’ as it was called – using the board for explanations and writing tables for the students to copy and fill in. I had planned lessons that would be as interesting as possible with such limited resources, and was glad to start with a class of the youngest kids, aged 11 or 12. They were sweet and friendly and I knew the lesson would go ok. However, the teaching assistant for the class made me nervous. His name was Malcolm and when I entered the classroom, I could see the glower on his face as he looked at me. The lesson was going well and the children were involved and interested. We had a real buzz going and they began calling out answers. Almost immediately, Malcolm was standing beside them frowning. I stopped, and walked over.
‘It’s ok Malcolm,’ I said, ‘a little bit of calling out when they are enthused and engaged is alright. I allow it in my classroom.
He frowned at me, ‘But the school doesn’t.’ he replied dourly.
I was speechless. I wasn’t used to being challenged in my own classroom, but maybe this was what having a behaviour specialist was like. I turned back to the class and was relieved when the bell went.
During lunch, I was sitting in the staffroom, looking through the work the students had done in class. I was pleased; they had produced some nice work and it looked like they had followed the lesson pretty well. I looked up from the books as James came in through the door and walked straight towards me, ‘so… Malcolm says you are having some trouble with the behaviour of year 7?’ he enquired.
I was taken aback, ‘No, not at all, they were a delight to teach, they were so enthusiastic; they just forgot to put their hands up occasionally.’
‘Hmm, well if you can’t cope, let us know and we’ll provide some extra support until you get them under control,’ replied James, ‘we prefer things to be calm and orderly here, it gives the students stability.’ He paused and looked out of the window, ‘and when a teacher can’t control the class it removes that stability.’ He looked back at me and smiled, but I felt alarmed. How had I managed to give such a bad impression on my first day?
‘I’m sorry, I was just trying to get them involved,’ I said, ‘I’ll make sure they put their hands up tomorrow.’
After lunch, I had a year 11 class; 15 and 16 year olds, who I was supposed to prepare for exams. I knew nothing about them and was slightly anxious. I arrived at the classroom before the students and introduced myself to the teaching assistant, Jonathan. He smiled reassuringly; dressed in a grey suit, and with a firm handshake, he looked stern but fair. I felt relieved; between us, we should probably be able to handle any behaviour problems. The bell went and I stood at the door as the students came in. They immediately split into two groups, some at the front, others right at the back with a gap in the middle. This was typical; the naughty kids would always try and sit at the back. I would let it slide for now, just see what they were like. I took the register, writing the names on a seating plan and started the lesson with a sketch of the digestive system. My drawing was basically just a squiggly line, starting at the mouth and ending at the rectum. I began writing the first label but was arrested by a muffled giggled, coming from the front of the class. I glanced sharply over my shoulder to see a lanky, slightly dishevelled boy with overly long hair grinning at me. I checked the seating plan.
‘Alex,’ I said, humour in my voice, ‘shall we agree that I can’t draw, and get on with the lesson?’ it was true, my diagrams were pretty awful, but they got the information across. Alex sobered up quickly and looked over his shoulder.