The BIG Questions? Oh, you mean the REALLY BIG questions...?

What is everyone so worried about?  What’s the fuss?  It can’t be that awful, can it?

As a professional, surely we should be taking our creativity and expertise into overdrive, shouldn’t we?  Why should we be asking “why?”? Why aren't we demanding, hands-on-hips indignation, “why not?”?

I think this can be great, can’t it? In fact, could we go so far as to say that this could be our finest hour?

Only when we ask the big questions do we get anywhere, don’t you think?  That’s why we had the idea that the new curriculum should be loaded with questions, shouldn’t it?  These are only our first suggestions – we hope you like them – what do you think?

“How do you make the purple, and how does it sound?”

“How many Bristols are there around the world?”

“Where did that mountain come from?”

“Was Hadrian's building firm the first example of private enterprise?"

“What do those musical notes actually mean?”

Don’t you think that sometimes we get far too obsessed with answers?  When did the questions become less important?  The joy, the craft, the sheer art of discover surely never started with someone saying “I know that already thanks” did it?  Did we get as far as we have by people like Mozart / Moliere / Michael Angelo / Madge from Neighbours saying “It’s alright lads, we’ve got this one covered”? 

Did the code breakers at Bletchley, or the people who deciphered the Rosetta Stone, or the people who attempt to listen to Shane McGowan, all start with an answer?

Don’t you think this could be great?  Shouldn't we be using this as an opportunity to design and build something really exciting?  For once, couldn't we do it as a united profession that shows everyone how creative and passionate we are?  Did I leave the iron on?

Could we not take this new curriculum, with all its little idiosyncrasies, and transform it into something truly amazing that children up and down the land will be desperate to discover?  (Maybe the kid who put question marks after everything in Thunders and Lightning had a point after all?)

It could be amazing, couldn't it? Why not?

That is all….?

What will it be this time around?

Two years ago it was Phineas and Ferb.  I enjoyed that one.  Many of them were intermingled with some Tom and Jerry, but on the whole it was the brothers of fearless innovation, and the semi-aquatic egg laying mammal of action, who took centre stage.  The reason?  I used it as a shining beacon, an example based upon respect, trust, fondness, and good old fashioned fun.

Last year it was Dungeons and Dragons.  We examined each character in depth, then discussed how they made a valuable (or, indeed, negative) contribution.  We considered how each member of this group made it greater than the sum of its parts, how they would each step up - albeit reluctantly - when required.  We talked about Hank's courage and leadership, Diana's dynamism, and Eric's stupidity.  We evaluated how they had to - sometimes subconsciously; often unwillingly, consistently successfully - overcome unbearable adversity, regularly manipulated by a one horned, skirt wearing sorcerer or a 5 headed female dragon.

Isn't that always just how it goes?

Naturally (and I can see all you D&D fanatics getting closer and closer to your monitors in anticipation) I chose as my finale the episode entitled "Dragon's Graveyard".  I can still recall the Thursday afternoon, sat in my Nan's lounge, when I first saw it, and was struck in fear of mortal peril whilst being unable to turn away.  I watched the faces of the collected audience as they had their first experience of the graveyard, and the powerful lessons it delivers of humility, forgiveness and caring.

(I've only just thought of it, but I could use Flash Gordon.  There's a brilliant bit in the film where Flash helps Lord Barin instead of sending him to his doom, and Vultan asks what madness is this.  "Humanity" enthuses Zarkov.  Now there's an assembly for the future...)

Anyway, you may well be asking what on earth I'm going on about.  (That's if, and it's a big if, you've made it this far.)  Of course, I'm talking about my last two term 5 assemblies.  Followers of the SEAL structure will know that Term 5 assemblies are based on "Relationships", and I have used the cartoons and images mentioned above to give children tangible images and examples of how effective relationships work, and , more tellingly, what factors are present when they don't.

I have no problem confessing that my original motivation for this was simple: it was often the theme / topic I looked forward to the least, and as we all know from our teacher training days: if you can't get enthusiastic about it, how can you make others enthusiastic?  Over the course of the terms, around 6 or 7 weeks, I have used lots of examples and scenes from these two cartoons, as I have been able to talk to children about making relationships work, the sacrifices that have to be made, the consideration and time successful relationships often need.  We also talked about negative relationships, and what makes them so bad.  Tom and Jerry serves as an extreme starting point, but the lessons don't lurk too far beneath the surface.

So, having already completed all the prezis for this week's assemblies, my thoughts turn to term 5.  In which direction shall we go this year?  Who will serve as our examples this time around?  Who will be our paragons of relationship virtue, and who shall be our poor relations?   Far from thinking about fictional boys in a fictional city in America, and even further than a group of high school children thrust into another realm (and a whole world away from an American footballer on another planet -literally), I'm thinking of a group of people a little closer to home.

Indeed, I'm thinking of a group of people who have made a competition out of how many books they can put on my desk whilst I'm out.  The same group of people who had issues with one another in term 3, especially of a racist nature, but who have worked hard - collaboratively and collectively - to improve this situation.  The same group of people who have worked tirelessly to improve our dining hall, our playgrounds, our corridors and our lunchtimes.

I'm thinking of our children.

I have been utterly spellbound during recent weeks about how much energy, effort and - seems so small but is oh so important - care our children, right from the inquisitive nursery newbies to the seen-it-all year 6 gang have put into school.  One Thursday morning, things weren't quite right: one of the toilets was broken and there was someone not from our school bring disrespectful in breakfast club.  Who put these things right?  Our children.  With sensitivity, diplomacy and (I'll say it again) care, they did what needed to be done to sort out these issues.  The day began more peacefully.  Relationships carried us through.

I was returning from one of my trips to the Children's centre recently when I noticed a group of children - in our colours - on the wrong side of the road.  They also had a load of adults with them I didn't recognize.  Furthermore, they looked like they were having a party.  When I got closer, I was reassured when I saw emerge from the park their teacher with (one of our local celebrities) Mark the Park keeper.  Our reception children, and a large group of parents, had been invited into the park to plant lots of trees and bulbs in the community.

Two days later, upon hearing the sad news that our new park had been vandalised, instantly the thoughts turned not to retribution, but to reconciliation, and as to how we could make these people our friends, hopefully becoming a part of the group who enjoys it, as opposed to an outsider who will not.  One of our year 6 boys was quoted in the Evening Post about what should be done.

Upon announcing the illness of a member of staff recently, I was humbled by the reaction of the class.  "Is she okay?" they asked.  "Can we talk to her?".  "Shall we send her a message on twitter?".  One of our more mature friends made sure it was a quiet moment when she said to me "you will tell us how she is, won't you?"  I felt extremely humbled, and very proud, to be a part of such a web of intricate yet such strong relationships.  It was all driven home when one of our bigger lads, never famed for his sensitivity, came back in after school with his Mum and asked "Is she going to be okay?".

In times when children all too often get accused of not being able to care less, I could not conceive how they could care more.

So the stars of term 5 assemblies may well be the very people in the room.  And, for once, I will really look forward to such a topic.

That is all.

Have you ever seen a beetle on a big dipper in Bristol?

As Term 4 starts and February waves its tear stained hanky in adieu, I though it only fitting that we take a quick peek at what's happening in the world of Badock's Wood.  I also have one eye during these net musings on something lumbering into view in the distance - the new curriculum.

Once again I have to sit here and state, with almost gratuitous smugness, that I am enormously pleased with the curriculum we have built.  Key stage 1 are learning all about minibeasts, and have turned their attentions to transforming their corridor into a subterranean terrorscape.  Years 3 and 4 are discovering how amazing their home city truly is, without even mentioning a bloke in a top hat.  At their rather cool end of the corridor, years 5 and 6 are embarking on their topic of Thrills and Spills, a mechanical and technological tip toe around the fairgrounds of the world.  All in all, you could say, its pretty cool.

Added to that, I sent a year 5 boy in to year 4 the other day to teach numeracy (this isn't budget cuts; this is a #placeoflearning).  I observed reception on Wednesday, and saw how they are developing as confident and inquisitive learners, then observed year 6 today and noticed how the children of Southmead collaborate without any issue.  The children walked into assembly this morning to be greeted by one of our year 3 girls playing the piano.   One of the year 1 boys has been teaching most of his class about hundreds, and our year 4s have been marking each other's (extremely long, detailed and adventurous) writing with diligence and detail.  I awarded my first Aspire Achieve Enjoy award at 10.10 on Monday morning, and my last at 3.15 Friday afternoon.

On my way down to a vibrant and busy early years from my desk in the corridor, I was struck by two things:

1 - How engaged key stage 2 were

2 - How engaged key stage 1 were

The place even smelt busy.  This doesn't happen by accident.  A number of factors must converge and #playtheirpart in order for this to occur.  Primarily, the incredible conscientiousness of my colleagues.  Equally important, the diligence of the learners and of the learning.  The environment has to be conducive to success, and the routines and surrounding / supporting cultures embedded.  And the curriculum has to be exciting.

You can have all the tools, gizmos and gadgets in the world of education and beyond, and as much money as you can print.  Yet if the curriculum isn't right, and it isn't delivered in a vibrant, dynamic package by skilled practitioners, its all for naught.  This morning, this week, have reminded me of that repeatedly.

So, it is with not a little trepidation that I contemplate the new curriculum.  I am most looking forward, I think, to classifying rocks and soils one afternoon in year 3.  That sounds exciting.  Doesn't it...?  Furthermore, I cannot wait to get to grips with looking at British history that must be taught chronologically up to the point at which we emerge from the pondweed.

Where's the fun?  Honestly, I have to ask myself what was in the tea at this meeting.  Furthermore, it seems somewhat counter productive that, in remaining a proud local community and authority maintained school, we have to opt in to this stuff, whereas our freedom friends can opt out.  Where's the equality of opportunity for children there?  Where's the moral imperative?  Once again I cry, where's the fun?

Fear not.  As ever, I have something of a solution, packed in a compromise wrapped up in the cloak of an agreement.  Our children will receive the new curriculum.  Our school, as ever, will meet its legal and statutory obligations.  On our terms.  Our children will get rocks, and British pondweed to the third century, but they'll get it packaged in our own brand of curriculum, something exciting, enjoyable, and irresistible.  They'll get their legal entitlement and their beetles, their big dippers and their Banksys.  And still, year 5 will teach year 4, reception will continue to grow in confidence and stature and the children of Southmead will collaborate in their learning.

There's the fun.  There's the imperative.  It's all too easy to view these issues as a trial.   I see them as a privilege.

From a brilliant term 3, a fantastic February and a promising start to term 4, that is all.

So close my eyes, and start again, anew....

Many people recently have been subjected to my theory on cultures.  I don’t mean the fungus growing in a cup on a window ledge, or the stuff they now spend millions on in order to make yoghurts more interesting. Sadly, nor am I talking about the review pages in the Saturday Telegraph.   I’m talking about social cultures, group habits and expectations, shared practises or established methods – those cultures.

My theory is simple: you can either change a culture, challenge a culture or establish an entirely new one.  Changing a culture needs subtlety, patience and time.  Lots of time.  Challenging a culture means difficult conversations and lines in the sand, having to stand and act as a barrier to the reluctant tides.  And it takes time.  Establishing a culture takes unshakable faith in a good idea, and energy.  But very little time.

It strikes me that – through a happenstance combination of design and weird science – that is what we are currently trying to do on several fronts.  Our success rate, the true markers, won’t be known for some time to come.  But the green shoots, if you’ll excuse me an early Spring metaphor, look promising.

Take social media.  Over the last three years we have taken a massive hit on Facebook and the like.  I have personally become a referee for fights between parents whose issue started on social media.  We have had to deal with children’s misuse of it, despite our frequent term 1 esafety curriculum.  Staff have been harangued, my decisions have been questioned and the school has been negatively portrayed.  So why on earth (or Cyberspace) should we enter into this fray?  The answer is simple: we could never reverse the damage done, nor challenge the negative press without resorting to similar tactics, possibly becoming embroiled in an e-argument that, as with so many arguments, never really has a victor.  Instead, we could create our own version of how to use social media, our own model of how to use this tool for good, our own code of conduct, and our own culture.  Now, our children can share with their parents what they have learned and achieved each day; many social media savvy parents know before they even collect their little darlings.  Teachers can use it as part of a topic or to get parents involved, and you can break new exciting ground at will: last night, we tweeted the results of our staff meeting.  You can’t always challenge, but you can always start anew.

We’re also trying to rebrand our pedagogy, our teaching and learning.  With the children’s centre at the start of its journey, and the school some considerable way into its own, reconciling the two may not be the easiest thing.  However, you know me – if someone says something is impossible, I generally peel a Satsuma, follow it up with a bag of crisps, maybe some chocolate then an apple, and consider the possibilities.  Far from sitting at the SIP writing table last summer and balking at the potential challenge, I lapped it up.  This was time to create a brand new culture, not try and challenge long standing notions or reshape tired efforts. 

Over many coffees and biscuits last summer the leadership team came up with our “phase planning”; an approach to key stage 1 and 2 pedagogy which really got me excited. It’s about  moving proudly away from the teacher-at-the-front model towards a class in perpetual learning model, it’s about learners taking responsibility, it’s about  building stamina, resilience, independence, and about having fun.  Above all, for me, it’s about teachers knowing their class well enough to design exciting activities to make our children think “Wow! I’m having some of that!”.  Okay, perhaps they don’t talk like me at a food market, but you know what I mean.

It doesn't stop there.  In discussion with the people who know me well enough, and those who can just about tolerate me, I knew I had to radically rethink my philosophy on early years to reconcile the good and outstanding practice within the school with that within the children’s centre, but I had to make one offer.  We had to start a brand new culture.

I had to go right back and recall what I had demanded not as a teacher but as a father, sending his young children to nursery and then to reception.  I had to examine my own feelings before I could consider how to articulate my desired pedagogy.  There was much car-thinking (that is very serious thinking, my second highest level).  It came to me in a flash – what do we want every child to have every day?  I want them to have what I demanded for my children every day: 1000 opportunities.  I wanted my own children to walk into a facility full of learning, excitement, vibrancy and (above all) the opportunity and the freedom to design it in their own ideal. What I wanted the practitioners to do was to follow the path, from a safe distance, and help reshape the learning with every new direction they took.  That’s what we’re now pushing across our 0-5 age group; that, in essence, is our new culture.

Regardless of what it is, we have to say one thing: this culture building is really exciting! It is also infectious – no negative comments on twitter; loads of followers for the school and individual classes; loads of school-to-school and teacher-to-teacher collaboration (and lots of children talking to children in a safe and productive way).  Our pedagogy has provoked masses of discussion, some wonderful planning, a real buzz of creativity and excitement and some of the most interesting staff meetings I’ve ever had the privilege to be a part of.

Therefore, I feel I am justified in my standpoint on cultures.  If in doubt, or if you’re short of time, start a new one, and see it flourish.  As the end of January approaches, I hope 2014 has started for you all very well.

With the exception of a little self-indulgence below, that is all.

PS See you Uncle Bill.  Thanks for all the laughs, for ever x 

Intrinsic Engineering - the true meaning of Christmas

Every partner, husband or boyfriend needs to be careful at this time of year.  If we do not tread a delicate course, if we fail to navigate a treacherous pathway, we hear the 5 words that can strike a chord of fear into the hearts of even the toughest man.  An even more terrifying 5 words than “Have you emptied the dishwasher?”, and carrying eminently greater threat.  Even more horrific than “Are those your toenail clippings?”, or the ever more spine tingling than “You leave the toiletseat up?”

Brace yourself. 

The sentence I refer to is “Shall we watch Love, Actually?”

Most of us can sneak through a yuletide without being subjected to this bloodcurdling 2 hours.  Some of you may think I’m being over the top in this (moi?), but I would also argue that there are other people out there – other men – who feel the same way I do.  We have to sit by and watch, generally covered in the debris of wet tissues and chocolate wrappers, as Firth and Grant look all sad and forlorn, as that cute little boy runs through the airport, as Firth makes that grating speech in cobbled Portuguese.  Yule? More like Yuk.

However, there is one bit I always appreciate and nod along to (thankfully, towards the beginning).  Richard Curtis’ words are correct: if you want to see the human race at its best, look at places of meeting, such as airport lounges.  I strongly believe in the sentiment that put so well: apart from a few faulty machines and some lingering problems, the human race is intrinsically engineered to good, and it’s probably our saving grace.

Christmas films are full of it.  When George Bailey “misplaces” that $8,000, people cannot help enough, except for one “faulty machine” (mean old Mr Potter).  Through the power of good, redemption is achieved and celebrated.  Intrinsic engineering.

My previous Christmas blogs are littered with Dickensian references, but you cannot deny it: upon seeing the error of his miserable ways, Scrooge becomes as good a man and as good a… you know the rest.  Simple really – intrinsic engineering.

The list goes on – Miracle on 34^th Street, Meet me in St Louis, and (for younger bloggers) Elf.  My children recently subjected me to Arthur Christmas – same thing.  Regardless of the issues, barriers and problems placed in our way, the human race will overcome – it’s all about intrinsic engineering.

This topples over into music videos; have you ever watched the vid for Pipes of Peace?  Based on a story as old as the hills, but even more monumental.  There, in the middle of the worst battleground in the history of war, intrinsic engineering.  If you watch the vid for Greg Lake’s I believe in Father Chirstmas right to the end, the last slides are of war and destruction, until the very, very last second, when the scene is of a soldier returning home to his son, both with arms outstretched.  Intrinsic engineering – we’re wired for good.  The ultimate Christmas song, the Fairytale of New York, is all about two people struggling in a foreign land which should have held promise and wonder.  Instead, what they have is no more than one another, and that is their key strength.   Intrinsic engineering.

I know what you’re going to say.  You don’t even have to raise that eyebrow of disbelief.  You’re about to counter with the simplest yet most powerful argument imaginable:  “It’s all fiction Chubs!”.

I would answer simply thus.  You are correct.

However, before you strode too far into the smug zone, I would call you back by saying that although I have only mentioned fiction so far, surely this year has seen more real life examples of this state than usual?

When we awoke a few Saturdays ago to the awful news of the helicopter crash in Glasgow, I was as sad and horrified as the rest of us.  My wife watched the news reports, clutching her mug of tea, with an attention bordering on the macabre; I had not the stomach for it.  Not that I didn’t care, and not that I wasn’t interested, but I could not (and I am not too proud to admit it) listen to the sad requiems for people lost without it tearing me to pieces. 

However, I ventured into the lounge at one point to replenish the tea (she’s less likely to want to watch L, A if she’s full of bromine) and stayed to watch for a few moments.  And in those few seconds, there it was.  The news reporter was appropriately sombre and dignified, but must have felt his heart lift when he recounted the incredible bravery of those people who had got themselves out, and then formed a human chain to help other survivors out of the wreckage.  When all around was despair, there you had it: intrinsic engineering.

Then, not a few days later, we heard the reports of the terrible weather hitting the coasts around the country.  The picture of the house that fell into the sea will surely be one of the abiding images of the year.  The house owner on the news, devastated of course.  Watching it on a handheld device, you got the option to watch the man’s full interview, which, entranced, we chose to do.

His full interview – full of hate?  Full of unfairness?  Bemoaning his fate?  Not a word, not one.  The man (who, a few Christmases ago would have been a candidate for one of my wise man blogs) first told of how he was sat in a local club, supporting a charity event, when a complete stranger came and told him that the weather was getting worse, and, if he lived on the coast, he needed to take care.  So he rushed home, and the impending ruin was clear. 

His first action?  He rescued his cats.  All life is precious, after all.

Next?  Well, what would you do?  I haven’t a clue.  Nor, by his own confession, did he.  Until he heard a noise on the other side of his house, the roadside.  His community, comprising his neighbours and total strangers, had come to lend a hand.  They each collected something from the house and took it to a local pub, many doing several journeys, to save the belongings of the man and his family.  Cynics might ask “what went missing?”  His answer – not a thing.  Not a coaster.  Not a flake of pot pourri.  When the situation had plunged into chaos, intrinsic engineering kicked in. 

I’m not one to jump on a bandwagon of emotion, but you have to take a few lessons from the recent passing of Nelson Mandela.  One lesson might be: don’t sit too closely to a strangely attractive Scandinavian politician.  However, I would rather hope that the lesson comes not from his death but from his life.

Having served 26 years in prison incarcerated at the behest of a racist regime for crimes that should not exist, he was released to great pomp and ceremony.  A celebrated figure, it was little wonder that he quickly headed into public service.  At his inauguration as president, he had the world at his command, and the guest list was the talk of the globe.  It was to be the most widely anticipated event since the queen’s coronation, or the reforming of Take That.  So who would he invite?

Other members of his party? Of course.  His supports?  Naturally.  Other African and World leaders? Without question.  His jailor?  Yes. 

That’s right: his jailor.  James Gregory oversaw the custody of Nelson Mandela for over two decades.  Far from it being a relationship of hate, borne of a power struggle , it became the epitome of a story of friendship borne of adversity.  Intrinsic engineering. 

I hope I have gone some way to convincing you that I am not merely some film-buff-sentimentalist, and that my argument carries some weight.  I genuinely and deeply believe in the power of the human race to effect good, even when some of our member may act to the contrary.  Furthermore, it is at exactly this time of year that we notice, appreciate and celebrate our intrinsic engineering, our pre-wired instinct to do good, on many fronts.

Still unconvinced?  Allow me to mention one more element. 

Whatever the true and deep nature of your religious persuasion and beliefs, surely a simple re-examination of the nativity, in whatever credo, would stand the test of this thesis.  Look at the evidence.

Joseph is engaged to a woman who is supposed to be pure, but he then discovers she is with child.  He has every right to jilt her, every right in fact, under Hebrew law, to see her punished.  Yet he does not.  When the census is announced, he fulfils his obligations, despite the protestations of others, and acts with decency and care.  Intrinsic engineering takes over.

Whatever possessed them we do not know, and shall never know.  Perhaps that is more romantic.  However, something convinced one business man or woman, one hotelier, to throw aside all convention and offer up his stable for human habitation.  After all, even the meanest heart has a rethink when he sees a pregnant woman.  Entrepreneurialism or intrinsic engineering?  You know my thinking.

On the birth of this baby, he is attended by the richest and most knowledgeable men imaginable, and the lowest social class in the entire continental region.  Does one spurn and mock the other?  Is there social warfare, snobbery or spite?  No.  Rich and poor alike may share this moment, because they know it is right to do so.  Intrinsic engineering. 

At times of great sadness, at times of despair, at times of need, even in times of rapture, our intrinsic engineering makes us what we are.

I hope in years to come, when my son is asked the question What was your first record?”, he will answer not with some of the bilge he has tortured us with, but will answer Band Aid 20.  He probably won’t, as he didn’t buy it. I bought it for him, 6 weeks before his birth.  I wrapped it for him, before he was born, and his Mum opened it, and we listened to it together.  Sentimental?  Of course.  Yet I really wanted my son to be born to the power of positive messages, and the human race putting aside their differences to attempt to do good has to be one of our most positive. 

Intrinsic engineering isn’t just our DNA; it’s our privilege, and aren’t we lucky?

As in other years, I shall conclude by apologising for any offence caused (although this year, I feel that - Colin Firth aside - I’ve been non-controversial), and I wish you and yours nothing but the most special of Christmases, and a healthy and happy 2014, during which, I have no doubt, our intrinsic engineering will continue to make our world the place we all know it can be.

For 2013, that is all.