Regular and frequent sufferers of this emumble will know I
am a great fan of songs and, to be more precise, song lyrics. This blog has been largely inspired by the
little known “This Life” by the wonderful (and should be more famous) Kristina
Train. It is a beautiful song all about
longing to live and lead an exciting and fulfilling life, then suddenly
realising that that is exactly what she is doing. She sings in the chorus
One day, I’ll call
That life I dreamed of
This life.
Poetic, eh?
Anyway, its lines struck me when I was, to be honest,
struggling to come up with a decent subject.
Attendance is, as ever, a prominent issue. Recruitment, strategic planning, budgeting all
highly pertinent right now. Chances are
though you’d turn away from this claptrap even sooner than usual.
So, what to write about?
It has been bothering me, in the midst of all these exciting projects I’m
being invited into, in amongst all the great work I’ve been seeing, all the
interesting discussions I have been privy to and the ability to look on in
Christmas Eve-esque anticipation at some of the great things happening in
education this moment. Yeah, what to
write about…
Then, like a (Kristina) train, it hit me. Especially now, when the election (only
mention, I promise) is reducing education to a we-care-more-than-they-do
football, it seems only right that we spend time celebrating what we’ve
actually built, and been privileged to be a part of.
I know it has its detractors, but I think the current
educational landscape is incredibly exciting.
We have so much to celebrate that we didn’t have a few years ago, yet we
never take the time to say how fortunate we are, to be both architects and
beneficiaries of the new view. The
different styles of schools has been a previous topic of mine (http://badockshead.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/whats-in-word.html)
but I still believe it is an exciting state of affairs; yes, scary and
potential confusing, but it has made schools of all styles and shapes thoughtfully
consider what and, ultimately, who
they really are.
Never, in my time in education, have schools communicated,
co-operated and collaborated so openly, and with such good effect. It was always somewhere on our wish list,
often a long way down, and more lip service was paid to it that real
energy. Yet that has changed, and it is
a strong and privileged position to find oneself in. We now collaborate on teaching, learning,
assessment, staffing, training, you name it, more effectively than we have ever done
before, and with far greater effect. If
you asked some of the teachers in my
school to name another school that has had some impact in our own, I hope all
staff could name at least three – hopefully our Trym partners, but possibly
some of the local schools with whom we work and some further afield who may
have shared a good idea. I don’t recall being in that situation before.
When I moved to Badock’s Wood in 2008, there was in the city
a little half-soaked sentiment about schools working together. It was underwhelming, and slightly embarrassing,
sending me away from the table for a few years.
Now, however, there is genuine desire and passion to be collective
leaders of a system, not individual silos within it. The lip service has been replaced with
action, the sentiment with strategy, and the heads talk as one. It is fascinating, exciting and not a little
humbling to play a part.
Only this evening, I have been to a meeting about our local
teaching school alliance, and I was so pleased to be invited, but more than
that, I was a little awestruck at the potential of what this team had already achieved,
and how far we could potentially collaboratively go.
However, the most amazing this is this: this is the
landscape we have built for ourselves.
Yes, we have had to succumb to certain limitations, and pretend to
follow certain rules, but ask yourself this about what we have created: who
does it suit better, the politicians who will take credit for it or the
children who will enjoy it?
“Thing is, your life may be brilliant already” Andy Cope
And the impact back in our own schools is tangible and
undeniable – we’re all reaping the benefits.
Far from waiting for a (hopefully decent) course to crop up, we can now
get on the phone to another head and arrange CPD of far greater value for the
very next week or even day. Teachers now
talk to colleagues in other schools like never before. LSAs lead on subjects and projects in a way
unthinkable 5 years ago, but that’s the landscape we’re building.
Our new curriculum, decried and bemoaned by many a Daily
Mail reader, is, I’m not ashamed to admit it, wonderful. We love it, all of us, from our youngest newest
nursery children to our most cool year 6.
Why? Because we have professionally, collaboratively and with a great
deal of tender loving flair created something deeply enjoyable and meaningful.
Those young nursery children make binoculars and then create
tally charts of the birds they have spotted – yes, tally charts for three year
olds. Those most cool year 6 walk from
their class to the suite with the earphones and headsets ready to get onto the
web and compose music, using some of the most complex coding I have ever
see. In between, year 3 and 4 compose
music using notes on staves, performing their compositions on a whole range of
instruments, and year 1 and 2 are planning what they would grow in their garden
… if they lived in Japan, or the Arctic, or wherever they took their place as a
global citizen.
“Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.” Helen Keller
I consider myself unbelievably lucky that I am the person
who gets to take pride in all this when I show more and more new parents
around. Furthermore, I am privileged
(and I have deliberately used that word repeatedly) to be invited and involved
in several discussions and projects at the minutes which are all about Badock’s
Wood benefitting from exciting and purposeful collaboration. Times have never
been so exciting, and we should grab every chance, savour every moment, and
squeeze every drop out of it.
Otherwise, aren’t we just guilty of watching a potential “this
life” float on by?
Thank you Kristina, I needed a good kick for this one, but
what a kick.
Let me finish with a story I’ve always enjoyed. Henrik Ibsen, a born worrier, was dining with
his mate George Bernard Shaw. Ibsen, as
ever, was being all existential. “But
Shaw, what if there is no point; what if there is nothing more; what if life is
a really all one huge joke?
“Better make it a good one,” replied Shaw. Enough said.
That is, quite merrily and happily, all.
