SATs

I've now been at my new school for 4 days. Today was the first time I've had to tell someone off.

The best word I can think of, when comparing my current class to the other children I've met over the past six months or so, is . . . subdued.
Do I have a class made up of much quieter children than the rest of the country? Unlikely.
Do they get quieter and exceedingly well behaved as they get older? - Ask my housemates who teach secondary pupils; NO.
Has somebody come round and injected them all with a "quietness" virus?

Well, maybe . . .

In three and a half teaching weeks, these children will be sitting their Key Stage 2 Tests, or SATs. They are currently working their way through a frantic revision programme, cramming facts, exam techniques, drilling rules, wading their way through endless homework and sitting countless tests in class to monitor their progress. Not only will their future "streams" be determined by the results of these tests, but so will the "rank" of the school and the staff. I suspect that the pressure they find themselves under explains the unnatural, ghostly quietness of the ten and eleven year olds I see each day.

Last week I witnessed the grief of a parent who had to be told her child would not be entered for the tests. Her child would not pass, even with a 'scribe' and a 'reader', and it was deemed, quite rightly, that the school would not set the child up to fail.

Today, I looked through the child's school reports, tracing her development from when she began school. Her earliest reports delight in her sunny nature, her sociableness, her pleasantness. She sang through every task her teacher set, and in music lessons her beautiful voice set her apart from her peers. Her art was colourful and confident, and her self-portrait on her reception report depicts a huge grin. She happily dived into practical tasks and was curious about how the world works and people around her. She then took up violin lessons, and her teacher consistently rated her effort and achievement as outstanding, recommending her for the Junior Orchestra. As she got older, negative comments started to creep into her reports. Weaknesses in spelling, Mathematics, problems in Science, difficulties in History, her Geography was labelled "poor". She was still seen as sociable, but her social skills turn to paranoia; she worried about what her classmates were thinking. On her most current notes this is seen as her single most hampering factor; she is constantly distracted by what others are or potentially could be saying about her.

For her, not being entered for the tests must seem catastrophic. Equally, going through the stress and heartache of the exams only to receive three "n" results would be just as catastrophic. Either way, the presence of These Tests are in no way having a positive impact on the quality of her life.

In fact, I suspect, The Tests force teachers to increasingly focus on spelling, calculations, Science, Grammar; areas in which this child will never excel. Her strengths are continually marginalised, not valued by The System. She in turn, no longer values her strengths. Instead, she focuses all her energy on researching and combating rumours which she believes the others are spreading about her. The violin has long since been abandoned.

The staff at the school have tried everything they could to help this child. They have decided not to enter her for the tests so she would not be set up to fail. I think it is far too late; she has already "failed". She was set up to fail as soon as she entered Key Stage One. For a child who displayed so much sunshine at the start of her life, I think the true failure lies within the system. She has not failed. The System has failed her.

Dry Clean Only

All our work is handed in. The 100 or so adults comprising our course, could be found last week on the concourse of the education block frantically cutting and sticking their way to a post-graduate qualification.

Everything is now handed in. All that remains between us and our very own class (i.e. in my case my very own small army to begin the revolution) is The Final Placement. I'm at Big School. A Very Big School. With medium-sized ten and eleven year olds.

On the first day, there were no questions about Scotland and hyenas or my marital status and reading abilty. Instead, on the way in, me and my placement partner walked down the (long, long, long corridor) and two medium-sized boys held open the doors for us. In a jolly teacher fashion, my partner said
"Ho ho ho, there, do you want a tip?".
Unimpressed, the boy replied "No. Got any fags?".


Later. A lesson about nouns. Proper nouns, common nouns and collective nouns. Teacher explains that "people" is a collective noun.
"If I say . . .'the people voted no', then "people" would be singular. Can you give me an example of plural people?"
"Yes, Sir. 'I see dead people'".


Spatulas abound. The next few weeks are going to be very different from my last School Experience!

In memory

. . . of someone who was IMPOSSIBLE to keep up with in the pub. Good-bye Polly-Anne. We'll miss you, you sexy beast.