Results day

It's That Time of Year again. 'A' level results are out today. When I was a Secondary teacher, this was the day when teachers were as nervous as pupils, wondering how they had all done together.

I went into teaching relatively late, in my thirties. I've never forgotten the day our Head of Department, who happened to be a Linguist, talked about perceived changes in standards. I felt very insecure as a 'wrinkly' amongst all the bright young new graduates. John gave us some French exam papers from 1973 and asked people to guess what level was being examined. There was some discussion as to whether they were second year 6th form or 1st year University. I kept silent, feeling very disorientated. John smiled at me and asked, "What do you think, Gill? What level are they?" Feeling rather foolish, as though my memory had let me down, I stammered, "Well - I was 13 in 1973 and - I think - this is pretty much what we were doing then..."

Cue derisive laughter, to be silenced when John turned to the group and said, "Yes, Gill's absolutely right! This is a Y9 exam from 1973."

I was treated with great respect after that!

I wrote a brief paper based on interviews with local heads of Sixth Forms and University Lecturers, in which I highlighted their unanimous opinion that there was a huge gap opening up between the end of school and the beginning of University. Many of them spoke about having to do refresher courses which were in effect a recap of the last year or two of school.

I did a little research into why this was happening and with my fairly unscientific methods, decided it was mostly down to the existence of the League Tables. Children were not being taught to love their subjects, but to get the school the desired position in the tables. So they were fed the knowledge needed for a good grade, without the breadth of subject knowledge.

As a Languages teacher, I saw very quickly that Key Stage 3 was largely a waste of time, as everything taught was covered again in years 10 and 11 and this bored the children. (I'm generalising of course, but sadly there is a lot of truth in this). My theory was backed up by a family member missing KS3 through illness, sailing through KS4 and going on to Uni and an MA. As an NQT I was given a class of 'UnTeachables' and the curriculum for the French Certificate of Achievement. I engaged them, got through the first part of the Certificate in the first term, and when I went to the Head of Department and asked for the next part, he looked at me in horror and said, "That's meant to last the Whole Year!" Thus was born my theory that a lot of misbehaviour is due to boredom, and a lot of boredom is due to low expectations, and those expectations are fed by teachers' need to concentrate on the brighter children who can bring glory to the school in the league tables.

Years later in my capacity as a Behaviour Adviser, I would bang my head against the wall of a school toilet having seen a teacher ask a class of 7 year olds, "So! What kind of question is this?" I was impressed at children of 7 knowing the difference between open and closed questions, until a pupil volunteered the answer, "A TWO POINT qeustion Miss!" and was rewarded with a hearty "Yes! So don't forget to answer it!"

I think it is unfair to blame exams per se. I do however believe the Curriculum is not healthy. I am incredibly uneasy at the number of schools where I am told there is 'no time' for Art and Music. I once headed up the Infant Music in a school where I was on long term supply, and introduced the children to some classical pieces. which they loved but which they all told me 'made them sad'. I eventually unpacked this to discover that they had no other word for the strong feelings which classical music aroused in them, and it was a valuable starting point for work on emotions.

I estimate that preparation for SATS in primary schools probably removes about 8 weeks' teaching time from the school year. I was asked to deal with a boy of 10 who had become very violent in school. It turned out that he was terrified of 'failing his SATS'. When I asked him "How do you fail SATS?" his eyes widened and he gasped, "If you get less than a 4!" We went on to discuss what the other levels meant, in that case, and (very unprofessionally I'm sure) I told him that SATS were a load of rubbish which only meant anything to the Government, and that when he was in the pub at 20, nobody would even ask him about them. I watched him in the tests, sitting in a huge hall, and I observed at least 3 children hyperventilating with stress.

I frequently remind anxious parents that in many countries, children don't begin formal schooling until the age of 7. Here, we are already formally testing them by that age. I am convinced that our system is driven by poor childcare facilities. Where is the encouragement for parents to spend time with their children, time which feeds into their social development and which can never be regained?

So we teach our children early on, in the UK, that we can fail miserably. And no doubt in a few hours, the papers will all be saying how easy it was for them this year, that their efforts mean very little. What with the vast amounts of money needed to go to University, the scant job prospects and expensive housing, it's a wonder any of them are still standing.

I'm not sure exams are 'easier' than they were. They are very different. They look strange to those of us raised on 'O' and 'A' levels. But they take a tremendous amount of work to pass with high grades. We ought to be congratulating our children and building their self-esteem, not giving them the message that their efforts are worthless and their futures grim.

If you know a young person who has got exam results this summer, commiserate or congratulate as needed. Remind them that the world doesn't ask what you got at 'A' level for the rest of your life, that they now have time to enjoy themselves, that they are valuable human beings... do whatever it takes to build up our young people, because they deserve it, and they are our future.

NB I've just re-read my entries for February. They seem prophetic now!

Away Day

I've been meaning to go on retreat but haven't had the means. Yesterday dawned bright and sunny so I made my first visit of the year to the local lido, which is set amongst high green hills. The air smelt as fresh as if it had never been breathed before. It was a delicious day, made all the better by the realisation that I'd forgotten my phone. I relaxed into a true retreat. In the Present.

I begin my day with a lot of breath-holding so that I can gaze at the pattern of shining ripples on the bottom of the pool. The shallow end is home to tiny children being encouraged to practise leaping into the unknown - yet always landing in the nurturing arms of their mothers.

After an hour of blissful (and Factor 30- protected) sun-bathed swimming, I make my way to the grass by the side of the pool and enjoy watching people splash and just Be. We are a small community of escapees from the Rat-race.

I leave and go on to Castleton, a favourite of mine. A ruined castle sits high on a hill above the entrances to caves, a sparkling river, numerous sheep and ducks, and a picturesque village with plenty of provision for the hungry tourist.

Sitting at a table on the pavement I watch as women lead tiny horses along, teachers lead slightly bigger children along, and walkers amble happily towards their lunch. I fall into a conversation with an elderly woman whom I'll call Mary; I don't ask her name, it would break the spell of her lilting Devon accent and the rhythm of her tales of life. The gist of what she says is, "Find out who you are, go and be that person, and be happy!" She sounds to have had a hard life but has skipped happily into widowhood and now travels the world - wherever takes her fancy. Lithuania, Russia, China, "And one of those Vampire Castles!" She regrets having taken forty years to realise she has a brain, but is now getting on with using it.

A lively crocodile of ten year olds makes its way past, a teacher rather ominously holding an enormous number of wooden swords. Are they going to re-enact some battle by the river? Or has he had to confiscate them? In calm and weary, well-rehearsed words he says, "Yer in't'middle o't'ROAD Mason - yer doing wrong." I am impressed at the delivery of such judgement. So is Mason, for he quietly finds his place on the pavement. The children and their noise disappear around the corner, and the day closes around them as though they had never been there.

The sun continues to bake the village. A woman emerges from a car in a long-sleeved, leopardskin mini dress. She must be roasting, despite her long bare legs, which draw the gaze of every man in sight. A group of Germans discuss first where the Men have gone, then where the Women have gone. Those who are presumably neither find a table and resignedly sip coffee as they wait.

After lunch I'm not sure what to do, so I sit on a wall and write. Write this, in fact, as well as jotting down snippets which will some day germinate and grow into poetry.

I think about Mary. Was she some kind of messenger? I'm thinking hard at the moment about the role of ambivalence in my life. I hope to meet someone else who might shed a little more light. Mary advocates the single life and lots of travel. I know for sure... I do know... that I don't want to work behind closed doors for the rest of my life. Is it possible to find some other way? A compromise perhaps, where I work part time for other people, and make the time to write during the rest of the week?

I decide to find some water - I love to sit and contemplate its noise, its movement, the light-play on the surface... A small stream runs by the car park; I stand and gaze at the unthinking beauty of the scene, and a tree leans across to hold my hand, its leaves brushing my fingers.

I think about how my father would have loved it here, and feel the familiar pang of regret that I simply don't know what my mother would have thought of it. My love of such places is surely the fusion of their lives and psyches? Perhaps not. I have no idea whether I brought a new 'me' to my experience of the world, or if I tread the traces of others. It troubles me, this easy connection with my father and not my mother. I feel the need to carry something of her forward into the world, even though I'm aware that the traits I ascribe to her may be pure projection.

I walk on, and come to a burial ground - a place of real peace and solitude. I read the gravestones, weep at one, and ponder our frailty as I often do. Why should I waste my life doing work I don't believe in? The answer - for me - has to be that I shouldn't.

As I walk back through the village a strange synchronicity occurs. Yesterday I went with a friend to a place many miles from where we live, and met a woman known to both of us, a former teacher. We shared a coffee and many memories and I asked after her cousin, whom I'd also known. I hadn't seen either of them for about 5 years. "Oh, she's happily retired and globe-trotting!" came the reply.

So it is with some surprise that as I walk along to find a tea room, in this place also some miles from where I live, the cousin herself greets me with a joyful cry of recognition. It is quite a coincidence, and as such I search for meaning after she has gone.

I buy an ice cream instead of a cup of tea, wanting to sit in the warm sun. I find a bench and two sisters come to sit next to me. They tell me how they left Holland in the war and moved to Australia. The one who lives nearby still has a strong Aussie twang, the other (who lives a 14 hour flight away back in Australia) has a heavy Dutch accent. They, too, have just travelled all around Europe and highly recommend it. They, too, are man-free and happy. Like me, they are eating ice creams and enjoying the sun.

I ponder it all as I drive home. Have I just been given a glimpse of how happy I shall be in retirement, or is there some more urgent message for me here? I have met people who are relieved to be out of their former jobs and who are happy travelling and Being. Is that something I dare aim for at this stage in my life, or must I wait it out?

I recall the startling words of one of the Dutch sisters, as she suddenly leaned across and smiled at me with her piercing eyes on mine: "This place is calling you!"

And so it is - ah, but WHICH place? The geographical one, or the metaphysical?