Time for a
little “oxygen” …
For those who’ve
been following this drivel long enough, you will all know my devotion to my
music. In times of joy, sadness,
discomfort, need – basically, all the time – we can always rely on our musical
loves and highlights to carry us through.
This has been a
very difficult, testing time for everyone at Badock’s for all sorts of reasons,
and so a brief pause for reflection may be timely. Whenever a pause is needed, whenever I have
needed space, I have almost always retreated to the loving arms of one of my
favourite Willy Mason songs (please reread that sentence if you now have Willy Nelson in mind; this is not a blog about On the Road Again) – “Oxygen”. First introduced to this song during a late
night channel surf, it has remained with me throughout as a
dark-clouds-descending, pull up the draw bridge theme tune.
At times such
as this, some of the lyrics are highly resonant.
“I know the
future looks dark …”
Of course, the
journey into special measures, the path on which we now find ourselves and our
(still dearly beloved) school, is, first and foremost, a journey of great
uncertainty. With our destiny no longer
in our hands and the future direction as yet unknown, people are quite rightly
somewhat concerned.
Above that, we
also find ourselves in the odd position of being unable to make any real
tangible decisions. Countless times in
recent weeks have my senior leaders and I been embarked on a discussion about
strategy, when we’ve just stopped and commented “Can we even do that?”
What I found
most unpleasant has been placed into the utterly ambiguous position of being
unable to answer questions. Not out of
rudeness or secrecy, but there have simply been too many things that are happening
around us that we are unaware of. People
have been to me with seemingly innocuous questions to which I have had to reply
“I’m really sorry, I don’t know”, and it has been difficult to watch trusted
and respected colleagues struggling, both with me taking this hitherto unseen
course, and to acknowledge that it is true.
Despite all of
this, even when the journey seems to be getting ever more bleak, we still have
a school functioning, and functioning well.
As you can imagine, we see more than our fair share of visitors over the
weeks, and they each report the same things
-
Everyone’s
really happy
-
Everyone’s
really busy
-
Everyone’s
working so hard
So despite all
the negative messages we have been made to hear, the bad press (both real and
metaphorical) that has been thrown our way, what you would see if you visited
is a school still putting children at its very core, still dedicated to the
business of learning, progress and care, and a place that’s is still –
miraculously – smiling.
“On and on and
on it goes
The world it
just keeps spinning”
Because that is
the crux of it: what astounds me on an almost hourly basis has been the utter
stoicism with which the team and the children – indeed, the entire school
community – has continued delivering this school year. The work the children continue to produce is
stunning. It may be easy for me to say,
but two separate visitors last week said exactly that, without being
prompted. Our children can discuss how
and what they are learning, and why, and take immense pride in showing it
off.
Just this week,
years 5 and 6 have both attacked a trial SATs week with incredible
determination, have gone through their marked papers with diligence and care,
and have taken everything thrown at them.
Our curriculum
is still rich in offering children as many experiences as we can. A few weeks ago, the enchanted forest theatre
inspired all our younger children to write amazing fantasy and fairy stories;
today, all of our classes are involved in dance; hundreds of our children
volunteer to go into choir each week.
Only last week, a string quintet played for year 6, who sat mesmerized and in awe. Once the final applause had
died down, and that took a while, one of our year 6 boys stood, unprompted, and
said to the highly professional musicians “I have to say, that was amazing”.
What you see
most is resilience. How easy would it be
for people to crawl under the nearest stone and wait for the storm to
pass? Yet we see none of it. Our staff are too professional, our children
too determined. People are continuing to
make the world keep
spinning.
“We can speak
louder than ignorance
Cos we speak in
silence every time our eyes meet”
What has also
struck me enormously at this time is the continued, unreserved support of the
community. People have been relentless
in offering their support to the school, the parents’ association has grown and
we have more parents attending our various clubs than ever before.
Furthermore,
when times have been bleak, and we have needed to give out harsh messages, the
community has not only accepted them, but also reinforced them for us. After I had been forced to challenge her over
attendance, one parent made her negative and, frankly, slanderous feelings
known on facebook, and three others joined in.
Normally, I might have been notified of this verbally, but more often
no-one would’ve bothered. This
time? Several people told me before the
following school day had even begun, and some took the time to bring in their
own devices to show me. “It’s not good
enough, Mr Willis” I was told. “Our
school works too hard for this”. Fair
comment.
In addition to
this, we have tried to open channels of communication ever wider. At a recent parents’ breakfast, those who turned
up gave us some amazing ideas for future events and ways to enhance the school
curriculum. Why didn’t we think of that?
We were forced to think to ourselves.
After one of my monthly strategic newsletters, a parent came into my
office and made me go through each of the key points, probing and asking for
more. How amazing is that?
I still
maintain that I never get more “good mornings” than when I am out there each
morning in the rain. I must be one of
the few people who views impending rain on the weather forecast as a
potentially good thing!
“If I’m afraid
to catch a dream
I’ll weave you
baskets and then float them down the river stream”
The thing that
strikes me the most, however, and strikes me repeatedly, is the remarkable
optimism everyone holds. In the grip of
uncertainty and almost unbearable inertia, what I feel and what I am surrounded
by is incredible determination. At more
than one governors meeting recently, we have heard the phrase “It’s going to be
incredibly exciting”. Everyone appears
to be welcoming the change, the challenge, and the wealth of opportunities this
might bring. Just this morning, a parent
came to my office over a couple of things, but ended with the question “Any
news yet?” When I had to (once again)
offer no real answer of any satisfaction, she shrugged, and merely commented “We’ll
get there, and it can only be better.”
So, why do I
love Willy Mason’s song so much? I’m
afraid that I may have been slightly misleading at the outset. The full lyric reads thus -
“I know the
future looks dark
But it’s there
that the kids of today must carry the light”
Whenever things
seem strange / odd / sad / difficult (please delete as appropriate) at this
moment in time, I remember the one basic thing: what I’m in it for. Why do I still look forward to pulling into
the car park every day, why do I still look forward to the first day of each
term, why do I still love what I do? The children, and the amazing things we
share every day.
As Willy Mason
says, things may look bleak right now, but just imagine the possibilities for
everyone, especially the kids of today.
At the very heart of darkness, this incredible team is still prepared to
carry the light. What an adventure it promises to be.
Enough
said? I think so, yes.
One more thing:
thank you everyone. Once again, Badock’s
defies convention and expectation in every possible way.
So, from a
little too close to the stereo, that is all.
