I was drawn to one seemingly insignificant aspect of my study, which, in retrospect, shone a light on an often overlooked variable—the teacher’s physiological and psychological state in-situ. I wonder if my experience resonates with yours. This discovery ultimately led to all of my initial efforts focusing on a commitment to support teacher wellbeing, culminating in the development of a reflective tool we named Chalkface Check-Up.
If an external researcher had collated quantitative data about my contact time in school, s/he would have found a couple of apparently insignificant five minute slots covering the morning registration of tutor groups in the event of a colleague’s absence. If another researcher sought to record how I established a climate for learning in the first five to ten minutes of the lesson, s/he would likely start recording when the pupils arrived and I began the process of welcoming, organising, and engaging. Sitting at the back of my room, or even viewing remotely, the researcher would be oblivious to events preceding the interaction.
I have observed many lessons, where I have waited for the teacher to arrive and take responsibility for an increasingly boisterous group congregating in the corridor. On many such occasions, I have made a snap judgement, while noting the teacher’s late arrival on my sheet. As I will show, fragmented, decontextualised data and observation notes do not necessarily do justice to the teacher’s lot, especially those on a full timetable or required to teach in different locations.
In an era of accountability, I am also mindful of the propensity for middle leaders and the SLT to arrive unannounced – to ‘take the pulse’, as it were, of learning in their department/school. This extract is empathetic to the teacher and reminds observers to appreciate that their snapshot may consist of a written account, but it does not necessarily capture the whole story.
Harried
Nestled in my research notes were two snippets which I had taken the time to record only as a matter of course. In the normal school day the experiences would not have warranted much attention, and probably would have dissolved into the deep and unexamined tapestry of a teacher’s career. Far, far removed from the world of civil servants, politicians, and journalists, I set down words laced with strong emotion as I conveyed my frustration at having been ‘set up’ for a conflict first thing in the morning:
It was non-uniform day and there was a requirement to collect 20 or so £1 coins from a Year 11 tutor group I was told to cover. The five minute slot in which I also had to take the register, give out notices, etc. was sabotaged by three ‘madams’ who, dressed in their own clothes, had not brought any money and refused my harassed suggestion that they borrow a pound from one of their friends .
Upon uploading this account to my online research diary, it was apparent to me that the measured and reasonable response from my doctoral supervisor (Stephen) – who, quite naturally, was completely removed from the emotion, sense of injustice, and pressure of time – was nonetheless the counsel of an ‘outsider’, just as I had been when advising colleagues caught in their own crossfire. He responded:
Take a long term view. Your reasonableness and apology will be remembered longer than your anger. The kids are also learning to manage anger, and you have set them an example. Give it time.
How irritating, when someone is right but you are not yet in a place to accept it! The digital platform provided me with an opportunity to grapple with my experience and articulate my apparent need to object, to protest at the unfairness of it all, and to put my case forward for those on the front line. I replied:
The literature I have been reading recently writes about the possible discrepancy between academic theorists, who might take months, even years, to analyse the complexities of a problem, and the practical reality of teachers having to address the same complexities by making a decision over a ten minute period. This distinction must always be at the forefront of my thinking when deep contemplation of theory is offered as a factor in trying to solve a problem on the ground. Experiential reality is everything!
Another example of this occurred today as I made my way across the school to cover the tutorial registration of a Year 11 group. On entering the room, the group was already established in their territory with their social allies, coats, hats, and scarves still on, and texting fingers danced over a variety of mobiles. Within two seconds, a cupboard door smashes open as the young lady, who had snapped at me previously, emerged screaming obscenities towards the boy who had leaned against the door preventing her from coming out.
I stood in the classroom doorway. The group momentarily had something to distract them from their texting. “Out,” I said with a clear gesture as her verbal volley subsided. Her face was like thunder. “Out,” I repeated. She stormed towards me as if to barge past me in the doorway. I still had my hand on the handle. “Don’t you even think about pushing past me.” She stopped. I asked her calmly who her head of house was and then quietly directed her to wait at the house office for me. She left in an orderly fashion.
“Good morning,” I said. “I am taking off my coat. I have no scarf on. My mobile is not in use …” They figured it out and joined me.
The short registration and notices passed and I quickly spoke to the boy involved and then went to the house office to see the angry girl. It was being sorted, and so I hurriedly made my way over to the other side of the school where my class were waiting.
I didn’t get more than 30 yards when a known Year 11 ‘face’ came towards me drinking a can of high energy drink. This has been banned in the school because of the hyper effects it has on the students consuming it.
I had no choice but to stop him – it’s my job! Initial enquiry led to me having to confiscate it. He wasn’t happy. “It’s my breakfast, for f***’s sake.” “Sorry, what was that?” I asked. “For f***’s sake,” he repeated’. Great!
I have to march back to the house office to pass on the ‘offensive item’, I can’t deal with the lad at the moment, I will have to follow-up, I’m teaching all day, and I have a club to run at lunch. Oh, and I’m covering those lovely Year 11’s again this afternoon. I’m now very late for my class waiting outside my room. When I get there, they are as high as kites skidding down the icy ramp. Thankfully there was no observer waiting to record that my class were unruly and that I had arrived late!
In a later diary entry I note:
I have just described an 11 minute period.
Where would the theorists start? Do I look at the apparent reoccurring anger issues affecting the Year 11 girl? Is it to do with her home life, as blurted out the last time her anger was directed at me? What effect does relationships with parents have on her mindset – is it to do with something more troubling?
What about the research on the effects of an inadequate breakfast/ neglected kids left to fill up with poor nutrient substitutes?
How about the effects of tiredness to comprehend my condition? My sick daughter had us up in the middle of the night causing me to feel like a zombie as I got out of bed to get to work, and, yes, there I have it: an email telling me to go back out into the cold, across to the other side of the school, to register this Year 11 group!
I am immensely grateful for the reminder to never lose focus of the holistic, dynamic complexities that insistently impose themselves on the teacher situated within the moments of chaos.
Decisions like these and the emotional overspills that often follow represent the site of my interest. Theoretical insights and opportunities for reflection offer signposts to colleagues, but cannot be allowed to distract or diminish from the reality of pressures exerted upon them in situ.
I must guard against the objective theoretical perspective formed in the quiet, calm isolation of my study, luring me away from my experience working on the front line.
This exchange illustrates the distinction between the intensity of the moment and the logical remoteness of an academic or a consultant, far removed from the situation, no matter how well-intentioned. As I reread my notes, and the objective, rational comments made by my supervisor, I was reinvigorated to ensure that my research captures something of the lived reality which defined my daily experience of school life.
It is so easy to forget that my colleagues might not be in a state to see beyond superior/reactive figure discussed in Chapter 1, as I wax lyrical about clever ideas representative of the composed/responsive character. The need to listen – for empathetic understanding and pragmatic short term advice rather than a theoretical model (with the potential to instantly shine a light on the troubling experience) – might be most appropriate in that instant. It is a delicate balance to negotiate: trust, experience, wisdom, and timing are paramount, but even they are not fool-proof in terms of getting it right.
On occasion, a colleague has been nodding away at my advice, only to go off and complain to a line manager about what I have suggested! There is no doubt that we humans are complex and unpredictable. It is essential that, as we come alongside relative strangers, we should always be mindful of the dilemmas of teaching and be empathetic with their lot.
I would love to confidently announce that I have found the solution, but that is unrealistic: schools and teachers have to find a way of operating in this contrived educational system. I can, however, present a number of tools, strategies, and a framework which may positively contribute something to classroom life.
(Living Contradiction: Warren & Bigger 2017, pp.279-282.)