A Modern Folk Tale

In the beginning was an idea, which was to give everyone a fairer chance in life. But how to go about it? Times after all were hard and for the rich barons and merchants times weren’t so bad either.You would think they would want people living in their lands to be prosperous?

Not so long ago, everyone was. The children went to school to learn new skills and about the world their parents lived in. How different it would be when they grew up.Their teacher’s name was Felicity, Felicity Hardshaw. Everyone called her Fliss. She had great big flashing, green eyes, wide enough for a river to flow through. She loved the children she taught, often working late each night to prepare the next day’s lesson. The children were happy and contented. They loved their teacher, especially when sometimes in the afternoons , with a howling gale blowing and rattling the windows, she gathered the children close to her to tell them one of her favourite stories.

The very best favourite was the one about the Bouncy Plum, carried off by a dragon and, just as it is ripening, what happens next with the stone inside, ending up in…oh, well, I can hardly bear it but can’t tell you the ending, can I? Ruin it for you. You will have to find Fliss and ask her to tell you.

Meanwhile, things were not looking so good for the economy. ‘Belts must be tightened’, called the Prime Minister to his cabinet. We can’t go on spending what we haven’t got. People are too wasteful. If we carry on like this, it will all end badly. I will send out my inspector to see what can be achieved.’ And he banged his fist on the table.

It was in all the news. The country owed too much money and was sending the Government Inspector, Devling B. Sonorius, to seek out waste. Everyone who worked for a public sector organisation, paid for by taxes, breathed in, sensing the sudden chill coming.

Devling visited hospitals, tax offices, even lifeguard stations. ‘You’re shut, you’re shut, you’ve got five people left, haven’t you. Get on with it then.’ ‘But what will happen to us and the poor people we serve?’ ‘Be glad you’ve got a job…and don’t look at me like that or you won’t. You’ll end up on benefits or, worse still, in the private sector.’

Everybody shuddered and shut it. They knew what that meant.

The very next day, Devling was due at the school where Felicity taught. There were five schools in the town and four of them had to close. Inside, the headteacher, Rheanna, fretted over her papers. She shuffled them across her desk. her eyes skimming over the lines but barely taking anything in. They detailed all the points the school had to do well in to survive. Getting one wrong meant instant closure. Throwing her pen down and pushing her chair back, she walked heavily across to the window. She was desperately hoping for a sign.

Barely a leaf was left on the trees surrounding the play yard. She watched as the children huddled for warmth. Some made faint-hearted efforts to play tick but they were all waiting for the inspector’s visit, expecting the worst. ‘It won’t be long now,’ Rheanna thought to herself.

The inspector was counting off the list of schools. Mole Hill – gone. Dunford Primary – reduced to half-days. Stagford Pond Moss Comp – reprieved for three months , pending further inspection visit, then reduced to rubble. The site was so much better suited for a new coffee house and supermarket. People would learn. Next was Bog Standard Brow CP, Felicity’s school. ‘Surely the name told you everything’, he grumbled, ‘What kind of people allow their children to go to Bog Standard Brow, anyway?’

Felicity led the children back into the building. The heating had been turned off due to gradual reductions in funding. That’s why they let the children play outside more these days. There was more chance of keeping warm. As she came back in, she bumped into Dizzy, the caretaker. ‘I’ve managed to find an old 2-bar and put it in your classroom.’ he told her. ‘Watch the Head doesn’t find out. It’s from her room and I’ll have to come back for it in half an hour.’ ‘Hear that? Year 9s are going wild upstairs!’ Felicity flinched. ‘Thanks, Dizzy.’ she said. He did all he could for her and the children. He was a kind man who often brought sweets in for the children when he could afford them.

The head looked out of the window towards the gate at the end of the drive. Dark clouds were gathering overhead. It was starting to rain. A black mercedes, headlamps blazing, sped up the drive, coming to a stop outside the school entrance. She watched the door open. Out stretched a long, grey leg, followed by a briefcase. The last rays of daylight reflected off its golden clasp. The full figure emerged, filling all of his 5′ 7″ 3/4 height. Before her stood Devling B Sonorius, Government Inspector for the closing down of public services.

‘Green tea’s just fine,’ replied the Inspector. Rheanna poured, trying to keep her hand steady, thinking of her sadly diminishing pension pot with all those years ahead of her.

‘Now, Ms Tackstock, I’m not here to close down your school but waste is waste. Give me three reasons why Bog Standard Brow should continue to exist on the public purse. Believe me, you would be much better off merged with Aviary Academy. Why, only last year, OffPut judged Aviary as ‘Outstanding’ while, let me see, I have the record here…’ He didn’t have to. Rheanna knew what was coming, ‘…your latest inspection report gave you barely adequate.’

Rheanna was thinking of how much work had gone into the school since that dreadful moment three years earlier. She was just about to talk about the staff training that had gone on, the much improved links with the local community, including sponsorship of free Wi-Fi and Copa Dopa vending machines. She herself had been a relatively recent arrival at the school, joining as a teacher and had gained promotion following the exit of the previous senior management team. And, of course, there was Verity, the school governor. Verity, who, it was whispered, had barely slept for three years, spending all that time painting the school, fixing the plumbing, replacing the ariels, holding bring’n'buy sales and writing and directing the Christmas panto. Where would the school have been without Verity? Verity! Where was she? Not like her to be late. Suddenly, the door burst open and in charged Fliss.

She was holding a set of student work books in two piles under her chin, barely able to hold back the tears. She was so angry. ‘This is it, Ms Tackstock, this is it!’ Devling momentarily felt himself withdraw back into his leatherette sofa, holding his breath. ‘Whatever is the matter, dear?’ Rheanna asked . ‘The ink inside the children’s nibs has frozen, headteacher, and the mice have nibbled their mittens up to the wrist. I cannot go on like this anymore. I am so cross, headteacher, I could kick a government minister in the shins!’

Devling sat wide-eyed during this outburst while noticing that something else, something entirely novel, a feeling so unfamiliarly strange was stirring within him.

Dizzy appeared round the door. He was waving a radiator key in the air, trying to speak but unable to catch the Head’s attention while Fliss was in full flow. When she’d finished, he mumbled, ‘Oh, Head, I’ve fixed the heating, well, sort of, two sticks and a bag of coal should keep us going till our next delivery next month sometime.’

The inspector ignored him and the Headteacher. His eyes were fixed on one person, Felicity. With her passionate entrance and striking green eyes, her firm jaw and her curvaceous calves, he was feeling something he had not felt since his early flutterings behind the bike sheds with Wandering Wanda. He had blocked all of that emotional tat out, dismissing it as only ‘fit for fools and storytellers!’ Strange, what was happening here? He really couldn’t take his eyes off her.

When the door had finally closed behind Fliss and Dizzy, taking her back to her classroom, the Head turned to the Inspector and said, ‘I do apologise, Inspector Sonorius. You can see how passionately she cares about the children and how difficult this is for us.’ ‘Yes, yes, quite alright,’ Ms Tackstock, ‘times are hard for all of us. I would quite like to have a quiet chat with that young lady later, if you can arrange it, Headteacher. But, come now, back to business. I’ve not come here to close your school but to save it. We can’t stand still, you know. There is no extra funding. It’s time for all of us to get on the Big Society Bus or hop it! Are you a driver or a rabbit, Ms Tackstock?’

Ms Tackstock was staring bemusedly at the inspector. Before she could find the words to reply, there was a loud tapping on the door. It swung open firmly, allowing first a well heeled foot, then the tweed-clad form of Ms Verity. ‘Sorry, I’m late, Rheanna, bit of a problem at the dual crossng. Axle from the diesil express came loose, backing up traffic all the way back to the bypass. A bit of lick and spittle and a handily placed hair pin soon had it going again. But I’m here now. Tell me, what have I missed?’ ‘I’d like to introduce the inspector,’ started Rheanna but , for the second time that morning, Inspector Sonorius seemed lost for words. ‘Wanda, is that you?’

‘Why, hello, Devling, how good to see you again!’ Devling B. Sonorius sat rigid in his chair, mouth agape. The only sound in the room coming from the rattle of his china cup. ‘Here, let me take that off you, Devling, ‘ said Verity, ‘or should I call you “Bad Boy”?’

Rheanna stood wide eyed, looking at the pair of them. ‘So, you two know each other then?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said Wanda, quickly taking control of the situation. She remembered snivelling Devling B. Sonorius in short trousers and snotty nose. She occasionally allowed him to hold her little finger behind the bike sheds, she recalled, in return for carrying out her bidding, running errands, taking messages, that sort of thing. ‘Wanda’s my first name but everyone here calls me Verity. Have done for years now.’ She looked directly at Devling. The head stepped in to rescue the poor inspector who was clearly taken aback by meeting this ‘flame’ from the past. ‘Lunch, Inspector, shall we go?’

‘Erm, sorry, what did you say?’

Would you like some lunch? I’m afraid we can’t offer you anything special, just typical school dinners. Or you may prefer a packed lunch. I know I do.’

‘Oh, yes, that would be good.’

‘Well, then, Ms Verity, or Wanda, as I shall have to get used to calling you, would you like to lead the way? Leave your briefcase here, Inspector. It will be perfectly safe.’ The light from the clasp flashed momentarily in the lamplight. ‘Oh, no, can’t do that. Must keep it with me at all times. Government regulations, you see.’

And so, we see the shaken body of Devling B. Sonorius following the retreating form of Wanda Verity, as the head closed the door behind her. ‘Whatever next?’ she thought.

The Secretary of State pounced backwards and forwards in her office. She’d just been looking at the graphs. Spending was still too high. She would have to go to the Prime Minister to ask for more borrowing. That wasn’t good. She told herself she must stay calm. If only everybody would just stay calm, then in three more years, there would be an election. The party would win praise for its careful handling of the national purse. But how would the country take it now? The cuts had barely begun to bite when already we’ve had summer riots, banking collapses, record numbers of young people on the dole, the Euro on the brink and the possibility of the break-up of the UK, if Scotland goes its own way? Things could hardly get any worse. Front it and stay calm. That was the only way. And what was that fool, Sonorius, doing? He should have been back by now with a full list of unfortunate but inevitable closures, saving millions. I hope I was right to put my trust in him. Still, there’s plenty more where he came from.

There was a knock on the door. Her PPS entered, indicating it was time to see the PM. She took a deep breath, collected her papers and, chin up, shoulders back, pounced out of the room.

Fliss was inconsolable back in the classroom. ‘It’s no good, I will have to resign.’ The kids were hanging about outside during their lunch break. The only other person in the room was Dizzy. He couldn’t bear the thought of Fliss leaving. ‘…and right in front of the inspector. What an idiot!’ ‘You did right, Fliss. You stuck up for your kids and for fair play. More than you can say for him!’

‘Dizzy, you’re right,’ said Fliss, ‘where is he?’ ‘In the canteen with the Head and Verity.’ ‘Right, I’ll go and see him, talk to him, plead, do anything. He can’t close this school. I won’t let him.’ She stood up straight, blew her nose on the tissue Dizzy offered her, cleared her head and focused on the unguarded door. ‘Wish me luck,’ she said.

From his seat in the cubicle of the gents, Devling took out his mobile and dialled the Minister’s number. Things were not going to plan and he needed to talk. It rang three times before diverting to voicemail. ‘The Secretary of State is not available to take your call right now. Please leave a message after the beep and she will get back to you as soon as she can…..beeep!’

“Minister, Sonorius here, everything well, Minister. I’ve arrived at Bog Standard Brow CP and, just as I thought, we’re throwing away good money after bad, keeping it open. I am going to sign the closure notice this afternoon.” He ended the call and replaced his mobile in his case. ‘I will be glad to get away from here,’ he shuddered.

‘This gives me no pleasure’, announced the Inspector, drawing a termination notice out of his briefcase, ‘but the sub-standard performance of this school leaves me with no alternative. You and your staff will all have the opportunity to apply for postions at Aviary Academy.’ Ms Tackstock’s eyes were downcast as he spoke. Inside, she was filling with rage.

She remained calm, however, when, before the assembled staff and school, she informed them of the Inspector’s decision. ‘We’re to close by the end of the month.’ Her eyes fixed on Fliss. ‘This is all your fault,’ she thought.

Then a voice spoke up. ‘But what about an appeal? Surely, we have the right of appeal?’ ‘Till the end of the month,’ the headteacher’s voice trailed off weakly. She turned to her deputy. ‘Tell Ms Hardshaw to come and see me straight after class finishes today.’ With that, she strode off back to her office.

Fliss tapped at the Head’s door. ‘Come in!’, called Ms Tackstock, ‘and sit down, Ms Hardshaw. I have something to tell you. Your conduct today in front of the inspector was intolerable and has led, in my view, to the direct closure of this school. As a result, take your coat and your pen and leave now. I do not want to see your face back here ever again. Goodbye, Ms Hardshaw, you are dismissed.’

Stunned, Fliss could hardly believe it. Rather than remind the Head that, under fairness and best practice teaching agreements, signed with all the recognised teaching unions, the Head could not sack her there and then. But these were strange, uncertain times. Her mind went blank. Next thing she knew she was out of the building, walking away. Where to? She had no idea. For the first time in her life, she didn’t have anything to get up for in the morning.

Months passed. Under the new government regulations, she no longer qualified for benefits and was made homeless. Her only friend was Dizzy. He had handed in his notice and left the school the very next day and had often visited her at home. His lot was even worse. They had become friends, all that they had. Most of the people Fliss knew had stopped calling. She’d almost forgotten what Facebook was, so long was it since she’d logged on. Sod the notifications, she thought, and started crying.

They were left with no choice but to take to the streets. All they could carry was all they had but it meant damp sleeping bags and soggy cardboard nights. People weren’t friendly either, staring at her, making her feel uncomfortable. ‘Let’s move on.’ Fliss caught sight of herself in a shop window from time to time. ‘Who is that strange person looking back back at me?’ Dizzy grew a beard, partly to help with the cold and, partly, where was he going to shave anyway? Occasionally, they would come across someone, often a complete stranger, who would offer them a shower and a sit down, a chance to feel normal. But not that often.

They sought the quiet, warm, vented places at night behind the restaurants. Trouble was so did everyone else and, as they had seen, it could lead to trouble. So, they learned to avoid people and watch the world go by.

Everyone seemed in a hurry, afraid of missing something. What exactly? Fliss and Dizzy didn’t have much. Dizzy made her laugh. He told her stupid stories and could sing! Funny, she never knew what a nice voice he had before. Right after Christmas, they’d come across a discarded acoustic guitar in a skip. It had half its strings missing. Fliss had asked a kindly guitar shop owner for the other half. To her surprise, he gave her a full set of strings and even tuned it for her. Dizzy wasn’t great at the mechanics. The loss of sensation in some of his fingers at times didn’t help. They were able to make a few bob busking. Their favoured spot was in the underground passageway, leading to the railway station. It was well lit, warmish, with passing fair acoustics and people were generous. Enough to get them a sandwich and a cup of hot tea. Keep them going, anyway, through the winter.

One year on the road gave way to three. They never spoke anymore about returning to Bog Standard Brow. It had gone, anyway, buried beneath a supermarket car park and drive thru-burger place. What little they had, they spent on cheap drink, anything to numb the cold and the pain.

The police moved them on. Sometimes, it was a blessing to be arrested if only to get a night in the cells. One or two of the officers were pleasant, gave them a meal and a cigarette but it was best avoided. They split them up and that felt terrible. Whatever else happened, they could cope as long as they stayed together.

The swelling on Dizzy’s finger grew bigger and bigger. He avoided looking at it but when the pain became too much, Fliss made him go to the Walk-In centre. That was the last time she saw him. Whisked away in an ambulance, she had no idea where they’d taken him and was left all on her own.

Soft drugs offered one outlet. A couple of people she’d got to know were also on the game. It was easy money, they said. You just had to keep your wits about you. She missed Dizzy, her job, her previous life. Where had it all disappeared? Her friends persuaded her to go with them one evening. She noticed a dark, expensive car pull up to the kerb. A man stepped out and walked towards a group of women. He was bent over, stooped somewhat. As he turned, with one of the women in tow, she noticed he was carrying a briefcase. Its clasp flashed briefly under the streetlight. For a moment, she saw his face. ‘Devling!’ He gave no sign of recognising her but limped as fast as he could back to his car, armed with a girl.

She started going down there with the other girls for something to do. Waiting under the bridge one evening, she caught sight of a single white feather in the arc light floating gently down to earth. ‘Where on earth did that come from?’ she mused, looking around her. Then, along came a bustling woman in a baggy overcoat. She pushed a trolley on which were laden flasks and sandwiches. ‘Cup of tea anyone?’ she cried out. Fliss thought she looked vaguely familiar but too much had happened. She struggled to keep it all together. A few nights later, the woman came over to her. ‘You don’t know me but I remember you’ she started, ‘You used to be a teacher at Bog Standard Brow, didn’t you? Fliss, isn’t it, yes, Fliss, that’s right, isn’t it?’ Fliss flinched at the sound of her name. ‘My name’s Verity. I used to be a school governor.’

Verity took Fliss to a nearby greasy spoon. Four mugs of tea, two helpings of egg, chips and beans later and she at last started to feel warmth flowing inside her. Verity explained she’d given up being a governor in disgust and gone to work for a local charity, helping people get back on their feet. So many people were losing their jobs these days, no-one seemed to care. It was frightening. She said it was her idea to do the trolley run. If it helped her get to know the girls and perhaps offer them a way out, if they wanted it, then it was worth it. She’d noticed Flliss early on but hadn’t said anything, afraid she would drive her away.

Verity worked part-time at a local community centre, where people would drop in for warmth and company. There were activities too. Nothing complicated and she needn’t join in, if she didn’t want to. ‘Well, what d’you reckon?, Verity asked, ‘fancy coming along one afternoon?’

Verity encouraged her to help out with ordinary volunteering tasks at first – making the tea, setting up the room – small things but necessary. People were depending on Fliss being there and this slowly brought her confidence back. Verity had contacts too with a local adult education provider and had asked them to put on some courses: painting, creative writing, even sewing skills and there was a need for online bill paying classes too. All proved popular. Above all, Fliss looked forward to the creative writing class. It helped her connect with something deep down inside.

At break time one day, Fliss sat opposite Verity over a cup of coffee. ‘Sometimes, you know, I wish that miserable what’s his name…Devling B. whatever had never come near our school!’ Fliss said. ‘If not him then, would have been someone else with the same result. All these cuts, not enough in the coffers to carry on as before. Something had to give and we were one of the somethings, sadly.’ ‘But do you think they know what they’re doing?’, Fliss asked. ‘Sometimes, I think they’re like kids, given the key to the toy shop. It’s just a game to them. They don’t seem to realise what they’re doing to people…’, she trailed off. What did she know about economics and politics? ‘I can’t remember anyone from the government ever coming up here, staying long enough to get to know real people and find out about our lives, what makes us tick, that sort of thing.’ ‘In those old fairy tales, at least the emperor or the sultan puts on a disguise to go about their lands to see what really goes on.’

‘Not much chance of that happening, I’m afraid. By the way, I fixed our Mr Devling B. Sonorius, you know.’ ‘Did you? How?’, asked Fliss. ‘Well, you know he was quite sweet on me at school. Wandering Wanda, he used to call me. Well, when we went for school dinner that time, remember, the day he closed the school down…oh, you never got there, did you? The head saw to you first.’

‘What happened?’, asked Fliss. ‘Accident, like, but only poured the whole bowl of piping hot bouillon all over his canonicles, if you know what I mean. You should have seen him, hopping and squealing, jumping around. No-one could find a cold compress to give to him, oh, for ages, less still to apply it. It brought tears to the eyes, it did. Some said he walked with a limp afterwards.’ ‘He does,’ murmured Fliss, ‘I’ve seen him. And the head, you mentioned the head. What happened to her?’

‘Oh, she got a job at Aviary Academy alright. Acting Head of Geography and Head of Year 9s for Pastoral Care she is. Bloody well, serve her right. But what about you, Fliss? What are you going to do? Do you fancy going on this teaching course or not?’

‘I don’t know, Verity, teaching adults, well, it’s not me, is it? I’m just not sure…’ ‘Look,’, said Verity, ‘adults are just like big kids, half of them, anyway. Believe me, I’ve met lots of them! You just have to suss ‘em out, find out what makes them tick and you’re good at that.’

‘I don’t know, you’ve done so much for me already. I don’t know where I’d be without your help, what with helping me find a place to live and sorting out my benefits. I had no idea how complicated it is nowadays. Just having faith in me again that I can do something. That’s meant a lot to me. It’s a lot of money as well…I can’t afford it’.

‘That’s just the kind of person I am. And I’ve told you, in your circumstances, you would get the course free and the centre can help with the exam fee. You’ve paid taxes all your life, Fliss. Take something back for once. You’re entitled…’. Verity paused, looking at Fliss. Her once young face showed the pain and hardknocks of the last few years. Did she have it in her? Maybe, she was asking too much of her? She leant across the table, ‘You still want to do it, Fliss?’

Fliss paused for a moment. What if she couldn’t do it? Adults! Yes, but she’d been through so much these past few years and learned a lot. Besides, she was a qualified teacher already. How hard could it be? She looked back across the table at Verity and nodded. ‘Right then, great, I’ll go and ring the Tutor Organiser right now and get you booked on before you change your mind. He’s a good bloke, bit of a dreamer but he does what I tell him!’ She winked at Fliss and picked up her mobile.

Fliss proved to be an inspirational tutor. Within six months of completing her teaching course with a distinction, she was running her own creative writing and drama group. She loved the moment when people realised they had learned something important, helping them to see what they could do with encouragement and fun. She was so happy she’d had a second chance herself.

One day during a particularly hectic session, reading out part of a script the group had written, the door sprang open and in came Verity, followed by a stranger. ‘Room for one more?’ she chirrupped. ‘Oh, no,’ moaned Fliss to herself. She looked around the already bulging class. Some weeks, she would have twenty or more people and was just about to remind her about the waiting list when Verity said, ‘I know, I know but you’ll find room for this one. In you come, me duck.’

In came a clean shaven man with bags under his eyes. He walked in, looking sheepishly around him, trying not to bang into the furniture. ‘Hello, Fliss, how are you?’, his voice nervous and unsteady. She gazed at the man before her in wonder. ‘Dizzy, my Dizzy, oh, Dizzy, come here!’ She ran to him and they held each other in a big hug. ‘Where have you been? How are you? What happened to you? How come you never got in touch?’ The class just stopped what they were doing, looking on at the scene unfolding before them. I believe one or two had to wipe a tear away and I’m fairly sure there was one person in the corner, taking notes.

Postscript

As for the election, that happened too. Who won, you ask? Well, that’s the subject of a whole new story. One thing I can tell you though. Rumour has it Verity stood for election and got in…as a member of the Green Party! Would you believe it? Fliss and Dizzy, Dizzy and Fliss took up right where they left off and were fine.

And what about you? How are you getting on? Go on, tell me that story…

The End is the Beginning…

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Listening to Mozart’s C Minor Mass for the first time

I’m listening for the first time to Mozart’s C Minor Mass because Beth Allen recommended it in her 2007 Swarthmore lecture, Ground and Spring. The cd I’m listening to is by Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient Music (Decca, 2008)

It starts with a Kyrie Eleison, sung by a beautiful soprano voice. I feel sleepy, drowsy till – bang- I’m woken up by the chorus. And it’s a mass! I mean, a proper mass. I used to be a Roman Catholic once. I feel a bit dim, not realising that Mozart’s C Minor Mass is actually a mass. It’s a long time since I’ve last been to mass. ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…’.I try to remember how it goes but I can’t. The cd is in Latin. Kyrie Eleison, what does that mean? It’s familiar but I can’t remember…Everything is high octane, the orchestra so full of energy.

I look down and see my foot tapping. More high trills and we’re onto the Agnes Dei. It’s no good. I feel frustrated I can’t remember the opening words of the mass. I take out the booklet and read what’s happening. The words are spread out in four languages, if I need them. Two of them are Latin and English, which is helpful.

Kyrie Eleison, Lord have mercy. Of course, I’m in a mass, a catholic mass. The music is moving and powerful. I feel it flow through me but so much sin! It’s the words I object to. Glory as in ‘Glory be to God on high’ or ‘We give thanks for thy great glory’. Where do these words come from and why do they make me feel different, removed, apart. ‘For thou alone art holy. Thou alone art the Lord. Thou alone art most high’? I’m starting to remember the experience of attending mass. It wasn’t like listening to this music.

And Lynne Dawson is one of the sopranos. I’m pleased I even know her name. She sings on a cd of English songs I bought recently. ‘On this Island’, fabulous stuff.

Still, I’m listening to a Catholic mass, sung in Latin. This doesn’t cause me nearly as much grief as it once would have. In fact, I have been to the occasional christening and service and appreciated them, if that’s the right word. It is a religious experience to share in, even if it doesn’t speak to my condition (is that the right phrase?) any more in the way it once did.

But how stupid am I? A mass, of course, it’s a mass. I thought of my upbringing – church every Sunday. I was spared catechism and benediction. How much worse might it have been? I was taught by priests at secondary school. They were alright. Once, one slapped me for not getting quick enough into line. Another carried a cosh, as a warning. Yet another introduced us to Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘A Bridge over Troubled Water’ and let us think for ourselves. And that experience started me off on a journey which led eventually to Quakers. Here, I hold my earlier experiences with thoughts of becoming ‘Being Godless for God’s Sake’ and holding conversations with trees.

Anyway, stupid, back to the music. It’s a mass. I imagine it blasting out at church. If every mass had music like this, I’d probably be still going. It’s glorious. Oops, there’s that word again. I’m reading the Latin text. Obviously, going to a catholic grammar school, I studied Latin with Classical Studies to O’level. Another benefit, see. I’m trying not to read the English if I can help it but it’s good to know it’s there. My intention was to listen to the music without the words, to see how the music affects me. Does it make any difference reading the words while listening? It helps me make sense of the piece but does it detract from the musical experience? Yes and no. I want to listen more to how how we communicate not only through the written word but by music and movement, by drama and film and art too.

Choral part singing has just come in. It is so breathtaking. The credo rocks! Such glorious music.The soprano is singing now ‘Et incarnatus est…’. And is that an oboe accompaniment? Backed by a bassoon, no, really?

It’s a good story. Whatever you believe, however much you believe, it’s a good story. It’s so relaxing. I try to remember a phrase used by Sandra Cronk in her pamphlet ‘Gospel Order’, about coming to Quakers where she speaks of ‘a place where you can be yourself’, not necessarily a comfortable place to be.

I’m listening to the ‘Sanctus’. Who or what is ‘Hosanna’? I feel I’m searching for my grounding. Where is it? Do I feel too much gilt (pun intended) here, lavished by this sumptuous music?

Wow! This music really rocks your socks off. It knocks your block off.

Mozart is the Springsteen of classical music!

I just want you to know

‘We just want you to know, it wasn’t us. We’re not like them.’

A friend of mine told me this story. She was visiting her neice who had recently given birth to a beautiful baby boy. She had only been inside the house a few minutes when she heard the sound of breaking glass. She saw the back window of her car, smashed. They’d taken her laptop from under the passenger seat, gone.

Net curtains twitched as people looked out, unseen, through their windows. She called the police, who were there inside five minutes. They took details, said they’d come back the next day to check for prints and left.

Out of nowhere, three youths on bikes, wearing hoods, appeared. Two of them dismounted and one came over, stopping inches from her face.’We don’t like you here. Get out!’

He was grunting, growling. She could smell his breath. His hand was in his pocket. The one on the bike, hissed, ‘Don’t waste a bullet! Don’t waste a bullet!’.

‘Why are you calling me names, threatening me? What have I done to you?’
‘Grunt, grunt, f****ing grunt,’ his answer came back.

She held her ground, eye to eye, trying to stay calm. The youth was getting agitated. Suddenly, he moved away from her. With a final shout, ‘Get out of here. You are not wanted here. We’ll be back for you if you don’t get out!’, the three of them mounted their bikes and took off.

An old man came out from his back garden at that moment. ‘Bastards!’, he called them. ‘I hate them bastards…’ My friend was too shocked to answer.

Four small boys came across. She had noticed them watching her earlier and was suspicious. ‘We just want you to know, it wasn’t us. We’re not like them’, said one of them. My friend didn’t know what to say. She was new to this neighbourhood. Is it always like this, she wondered?

She returned to the house. She’d brought with her some food to cook a meal for her neice and husband when he came home from work. Since they’d moved in a few weeks earlier, the neice hadn’t felt able to leave the house for fear of insult or injury. Her aunt is trying to get them rehoused.’They’re an incident waiting to happen. The little shits…’, she said.

I wonder about those young men in hoods on the bikes.They are still children. And the neighbours? They need something too.

Setting Out

As I entered the room, the conversation was about Unite the Union and Ed Milliband, the leader of the Labour Party. As reported in the news that morning, Labour will persue policies based on sound economic principles. UNITEtheUnion will, its General Secretary announced, vigourously oppose public expenditure cuts, whatever the colour of the ruling party, where it jeopardises jobs and services. ‘How can you run a country without principles?’ one tutor asked . ‘Surely, you need principles?’ The question was left hanging in the air. Then someone said, ‘ Well, given that statement by UNITE, don’t you think Labour is suddenly so much more electable? Could it be part of a well thought-out plan? It does make you wonder.’ And so, the next session of Seedbed began.

There were a couple of people who hadn’t been able to attend the last session so I quickly recapped what we’d covered. I emphasised the importance of carrying out a Language, Literacy and/or Numeracy (LLN) audit of your course session plans. We then explored how this might link to different ways of teaching and learning.

We went on to look at how you find out what starting level your students are at when they join the course. Given how much emphasis is placed on identifying each student’s starting point, it is easy to forget we are working with a real person, not a set of SMARTly* written learning targets. Learning does not happen in boxes, it happens in heads.

We read that one of the lesson plans we’re studying is at Entry level but the audit we’ve just carried out indicates some activities are at level 1 and even level 2. This is quite often the case  in community provision where tutors are unsure about or don’t know how to check for a level. We discussed working collaboratively or allowing more time to achieve a task, set at a higher level. Alternatively, the tutor may decide to take it out of the session altogether. Students at different starting points and levels can work together if the tutor has clear assessment critieria. Nevertheless, keep it simple and relevant or you will lose the students’ interest and motivation. As an example, one of the groups presented their ideas for an initial assessment for a mosaic’s course. It was made up of three parts, covering kinaesthetic, numeracy and speaking and listening approaches.  If the picture of the student arising out of completing the initial assessment is to be of use, the results need to be mapped to the core curriculum, a set of LLN standards, which provide a baseline and show progression and achievement. I sensed the fog was descending again.

The previous exercise clearly got everybody thinking.’Why did I put that there?’, referring to  percentages, bar and pie charts. It shows that tutors may have gaps in their knowledge and need a refresher themselves. ‘But can you make initial assessment fun?’, someone asked.

I’d asked both groups to make an initial assessment for a healthy eating and a ceramics course. The tasks or questions they chose were based on what they had found when they did the audit. Questions kept on rising. ‘How do you know that someone hasn’t copied the answers?’ ‘What if a student is repeating the assessment and remembering the responses?’

Suddenly, one of the tutors spoke out. ‘This is really important. It has to be done but it has to be done in the right way or else it can really put someone off coming. I was saying to one of the tutors I work with about doing a PTLLS** course. They’ll ask you to do some writing, I told him, that’s all.’ But his friend turned white. ‘I’m a brickie,’ his colleague said,  I haven’t done any writing for over 30 years!’

‘This reminds me of working in school. Some teachers have really detailed schemes of work which look marvellous but they end up going through the motions, taking the dollar’.

‘Literacy is so important,’ said another tutor.He went on to tell us about a trip he’d made to visit a literacy scheme in Nicaragua. The adults had been unable to read out letters of the alphabet at the start of the course but, only a few weeks later, they had learned how to write a short letter. They move later on to thinking about how to deal with some of the key issues facing their community. He likened it to a ‘flowering’ within the person and the group. Over the last year, some of our WEA tutors have had the opportunity to explore this approach a little by attending some Training for Transformation (T4T), workshops.

Back to earth, more questions kept coming. Is initial assessment a test or can it be an activity? Where do you find the time to do all the assessments  for literacy, numeracy and IT during the first lesson?

One tutor said he was keen to get going. He could clearly see the value of  assessing starting points, of planning and delivery, taking individual starting points and needs into account; of appropriate assessment, recording and evidencing. I noted with interest that this tutor had yet to start teaching a contextualised SfL course, while some of the former were already working with groups and trying to make it happen.

Reflecting on my own experience as both a tutor and a curriculum manager, I am asking  my tutors to follow what is standard good practice in the sector. This is how it’s done. However, listening to tutors around the table, I felt my way in, if not without its difficulties, had been more straightforward for me. I had started out as a basic skills tutor, then had had the opportunity to develop contextualised SfL courses in local history and creative writing. It seemed to me harder to try to do it the other way round.

One tutor offered us the example of a group successfully making cakes together in a class. All the learners were involved, some with learning support. I wondered out loud if the successful outcomes for a SfL cake making course might be if each learner feels able enough to make their own cake outside of class ?

A week later, I went along to a curriculum meeting, attended by the regional education team. The Regional Director had asked us to write up an activity for a particular curriculum area of our choice. I chose numeracy, a task involving research skills. I was fascinated by the statistics, presented in the Spirit Level book by Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett. Taking questions after listening to a presentation on the Spirit level, a member of the audience stood up and commented that she had never been so engrossed by graphs and charts! ‘What a shame they don’t teach this in schools!’, she said.

I thought then these charts would make a really good maths lesson. Maybe, they do teach this in schools. I hope so. But with all the requirements of assessing levels and for having differentiated outcomes, for tracking progress and assessment, how would it work? Is a lighter touch possible, involving everyone who wants to take part? What of the liberating developmental model, proposed from T4T? Could that offer us a way forward?

‘A beginner reader is not a beginner thinker’ is the maxim I have tried to teach by all my Basic Skills teaching life, which is most of it. How would a curious person with gaps in their maths fare on such a course today? Would they even get past the skills check and onto the course? Was it true, as I’d heard, that many experienced basic skills tutors leave the profession because the paperwork grinds them down and stifles creativity?

How to foster a learning, thinking culture while satisfying the requirements of internal and external auditors remains a key question? Is it possible? In my view, it is. I’ve seen it done. I’ve observed and experienced it many times. Tending to favour the actual learning over the recording process at times, when it felt like a struggle to do both, I nevertheless accepted the need to have both to a reasonable standard if I was to do justice to my students’ progress and achievements.

My conclusion is that you only set out along this path if you feel committed to this area of teaching. It is hugely satisfying and rewarding and can set people who would have thought learning is not for them on a whole new path. You also need to work at the recording aspects of the role. This does help you improve all round as a tutor. Ideally, a tutor should be in a position to offer two versions of the same course; one which is subject-based and a second, which follows an embedded SfL approach. Based on identifyng the needs of students first, the tutor can decide on the best way forward.

Well, that’s what I think. What do you think?

*SMART is an acronym for writiing individual and group learning outcomes for a course which are specific, measurable, achievable, realistic and time-bound.

**PTLLS – Preparing to Teach in the Lifelong Learning Sector, an initial teacher training course for working with adult learners

Planting On

Butties and biscuits were at the ready and the kettle was on. I clicked play to start ‘School kills Creativity’, an animation about learning, by Ken Robinson. It was playing on the SMART board. People were chatting about their day and I wondered whether anyone would take any notice of the film. I nipped back to my office. When I returned, all eyes were fixed on the screen. One of the key questions Ken Robinson poses is why do so many of our children start out bursting with curiosity and end up asking so few questions? Good question.

Does it seem strange to you that this was the introduction to a session called ‘Planting On’, as session about embedding Skills for Life in other subjects. Isn’t it part of the WEA’s approach to encourage critical thinking in all our classes and, perhaps, understand why this is difficult to achieve? Not only our students but our tutors too have come through the same system.

We were meeting to discuss how we can link together all we have covered during the previous four sessions. ‘How would you define embedded teaching and learning?’, I asked. Both small groups gave their suggestions and I shared with them the one from the National Institute of Adult and Community Education (NIACE):

‘Embedded teaching and learning combines the development of literacy, language and numeracy with vocational and other skills. The skills acquired provide learners with the confidence, competence and motivation necessary for them to succeed in qualifications, in life and at work.‘

Does our school system do this for our children? Not according to Ken Robinson, at least not for the majority of them. We suggested that the embedded knowledge and skills would flow naturally from the subject matter and were likely to be used creatively. That is our challenge and are we up for it?

What do we mean by ‘embedded’? This term can cause confusion. NIACE offer three models of embedded provision. The first is an integrated approach, where opportunities to address LLN skills are identified in all session plans. Learning activies are mapped to the core curriculum. The curriculum can be delivered by one member of staff with knowledge of context and understanding of supporting LLN skills development and planning support from other specialists, as required.  We have tended to follow this path in the North West region.

Secondly, there is a ‘sandwich’ model. Literacy, Language (ESOL) and numeracy needs are mapped to and drawn out of the context. Each session is staffed by a different member of staff where double staffing is not practical for staffing and funding reasons. Learners have two Individual Learning Plans (ILPs) – one for each strand of learning.

The third one is called the ’overlapping’ model. This combines aspects of both of the othr models and allows single or double staffing as appropriate. 

Next up, we did a little group activity. I split the group into two and asked them to divide subject cards into three sets. The name of a possible course title was printed on each card, for example, Digital Photography, Nail Art, Family Finance. I asked the  groups to sort the cards into three piles – one where there is a clear link to basic skills, one where there is some link and one where there is no link at all. One of the groups had a couple of cards in the third category but moved them, following discussion.

Is there any subject matter which cannot be delivered through an embedded approach? Throughout these training sessions, I have continually emphasised the benefit to learners of working in groups, talking to one another. Tutors ask how they are to do all of this and teach their subject outcomes in the time allowed? The key to this is to identify which specific LLN skills are needed to achieve the course learning outcomes. You don’t have to cover everything but you do need to know what skills are needed on your course and at what level.

‘For most contextualised courses’, I told them, ‘there is a pecking order. The majority are likely to focus on speaking and listening skills. Next comes reading and, lastly, and only if it’s an integral part of the subject matter which learners have to do, writing skills.’ Why’s this? Because developing writing skills requires so much time and work that learners needing this level of support ought to be signposted to discreet LLN provision. Of course, learners will still be reading and writing. It means that tutors will not be specifically addressing those skill areas in the planning and delivery of their courses.

This took us on to talking about our Learner Journeys. Some of us felt it important to let learners know how much time they had to complete a task in class. How many of us look round and feel under pressure not to finish last? Where does that feeling come from, I wondered? Yet, if one who takes the time given to consider a problem fully, s/he may well have a deeper or different  insight. Or they may just be going at their own pace. The tutor should allow a reasonable amount of time and stick to it, so as not to rush or fluster people.

The other point that came up was speaking and writing in plain English. This is something we would all sign up to but we all lapse back into teacherspeak at times. If someone, not necessarily the tutor, explains something clearly and simply to you or to the class, then you have done well. Remember those words. Learning isn’t, indeed, cannot be restricted to what takes place in the classroom. There is a quote from R H Tawney on the wall in our training room, which expresses this. He writes

 On the nature of the WEA class

“And the classes are classes, not lectures. Thanks to the fact that they are small, tutor and students can meet as friends, discover each other’s idiosyncrasies, and break down that unintentional system of mutual deception which seems inseparable from any education which relies principally on the formal lecture. It is often before the clssses begin and after they end, in discussions round a student’s fire, or in a walk to and from his home, that the root of the matter is reached both by student and tutor.”

(R H Tawney, 1914)

The moment when we understand something fully is a wonderful one. We’ve all experienced it. Quite often, it happens when we’re not expecting it.  Suddenly, one of the group took us in a new direction. Saying she had been educated abroad, she asked why so few English people ask questions. She notices it at work. Colleagues don’t ask if they are unsure about something whereas she wants to ask lots of questions, yet feels discouraged. Is that your experience too? Is it cultural, socially conditioned, gender-related…other? What are the consequences if we stop asking?

We left it there for now and carried out an audit of a session plan for healthy eating and ceramics course. I asked them to think about what maths and/or English knowledge and skills were needed to achieve the learning outcomes. One tutor commented that it was like a light going on. Before, it had been implicit. Now, she realised how much maths she was expecting her learners to know already in order to do what she was asking them. I said,’Well, now you know, you can come up with a good initial assessment tool which enables you to find out what they already know when they join the group, can’t you?’ I could tell she wasn’t entirely sure she could but that is, as they say, the subject to the next session.

And the sole learner who liked working on his own was fine about this too.

Sir Ken Robinson (born 4 March 1950) is an author, speaker, and international advisor on education in the arts to government, non-profits, education, and arts bodies. He was Director of The Arts in Schools Project (1985–89), Professor of Arts Education at the University of Warwick (1989–2001), and was knighted in 2003 for services to education.

Originally from a working-class Liverpool family, Robinson now lives in Los Angeles with his wife Marie-Therese and children James and Kate. For anyone interested in viewing Ken Robinson’s animation, cut and paste the link below into the search bar at the top of the screen:

http://nw.wea.org.uk/learning/information-resources.php

Double clicking on the image will take you straight to Youtube.

Inspired by…

I took the train to St Helens on Tuesday evening. I was going there to see a celebration of learning event, organised by Arch Initiatives St Helens. It was in the library and I had to be there by a quarter past five, Nicky told me. I dialled her number. ‘I’m outside the Town Hall. Where’s the library?’ ‘Just a minute, look….turn to your left and you’ll see someone waving out the window. That’s me!’ ‘Hello, I see you!’ and two seconds later I was shaking her hand and meeting Jo again too, her colleague and close collaborator.

They had organised a showcase event of all the work the students had completed over the last few months. Two WEA tutors, Lenny and Celia, had been working closely with the groups, producing lots of personal writing, scripts, poems, art and craftwork. They had created an exhibition of their poetry and writings, their paintings and objects they’d made , such as the wonderful creative hands reaching upwards. Lenny was chatting to someone, as I sat down. They were talking about the dark nights, the cold, how it takes you down sometimes. The man explained how he’d come to deal with this. He would get stuck into housework and he also kept a diary. Writing helped him keep life in perspective. I chipped in with how I’d just spent a morning, sorting piles of papers at home. What a good feeling that was. ‘Helps you get things back under control,’ Lenny said. I nodded.

The first show started. It was a play called, ‘Leggin’ it to Spain’, all written by members of the group with support from the tutor. The cast of eight was made up of students too with Nicky, the sole staff member. We were treated to an uproarious tale of diamond smuggling, missing legs, awful snobbery between air hostesses and, not least, the whiff of romance. Less Christian Dior, more Pit d’Arme, it has to be said. Sailing very close to the wind at times, everyone loved it, especially the librarians. Well, we know what they’re like, don’t we? It showed how much learning meant to them, how they’d grown in confidence. Not only the ones performing too. 25 people, we were told, had helped put the drama and art shows together! The script cracked and whizzed with pace. The actors delivered with relish in all seriousness.

Next, we heard from people who have worked with Arch Initiatives and WEA, trying to come to terms with problems of drug and alcohol addiction. There were a number of men who, in overcoming their addiction had gone on to work as mentors within Arch. Some had found other employment arising out of the mentoring. They highlighted the value of the support they’d received from Nicky and Jo, from the tutors and, above all, from each other. The help and encouragement, probably giving a kick up the backside too, when needed, had been vital. What came across to me is how important it is for all of us to be treated with warmth and respect. The Inspire programme gave them the possibility of having a stable, secure space every week. It gave them a good reason to get up in the morning. As a parent, two stories, in particular, struck a chord with me. Both told of how they had been reunited with their children and families after years of addiction. Their words held out a hopeful prospect for us all.

Then, some of the current students got up to speak. No mean feat, given that there were at least a hundred people, including the Mayor, in the audience. And yet, they did, and spoke out loudly. Sometimes, Nicky stepped in to continue their testimonies, if it got a bit too much. They all spoke movingly of heading towards a more stable lifestyle and their hopes for the future. As a WEA Organiser, I was struck by how much each one appreciated the opportunity of being able to turn up for classes. There are often difficulties with attendance when someone starts. It takes a while before the ‘penny drops’. Perseverence can really pay off, though. My second thought was how good are our tutors! They were making a real difference to these people’s lives. And I know they also had benefited from the involvement personally. ‘The best two hours of the week,’ Lenny said. Later, one of the men passed me by, calling out, as he did so,  ‘Albert Mansbridge would be proud tonight, if he were here!’. Indeed, he would have been (A M was instrumental in founding the WEA in 1903) but how did he know? I found out later he’d written a project about the WEA while on his teacher training course. Good man and  great Tweed jacket! I think I’ll get mine out again. Cool!

They spoke about what learning meant to them. It brought colour back into their lives. Unsolicited by me, they even said how they were looking forward to gaining maths and English qualifications. Each person spoke of the camaraderie of the group, of how they couldn’t have managed it on their own. They needed the support from each other, from Nicky and Jo and from the tutors, Celia and Lenny. They spoke of having a structure to their lives which gave them stability. We heard how some of them had gone back to bad habits for a time but had come back to the group and moved on. At such events, we do see the success stories more. Not everyone does or can suceed, sadly, but here were real people telling real stories, offering rays of hope, arrows of practical support and solutions. Crucially, each one involved a moment when they realised they had to change or else carry on as they were. So many spoke of reaching a point when they decided they were going to do something about whatever was troubling them. They stopped seeing drugs and alcohol as the great things they thought they were. Quite the opposite, in fact.

We broke out to appreciate the art work exhibition. Big headlines on the walls proclaimed ‘Crafty Sods’. A golden vein of humour ran through the whole event. I’d like to say my own big thankyou to Celia and Len. I didn’t fully appreciate how far they had done the extra mile in preparing for this showcase. True, we’d run lots of courses in creative writing, writing for radio, patchwork art and craft classes, even a ‘Banner for St Helens’ course. So much of what they created was on display here. Paintings depicting a drug addict’s day bared their innermost fears. Models of hands reached up but for what? Photographs coloured the walls showing the groups in action, focusing on a task or smiling in the group. In my own contribution, I spoke of visiting a session in 2008, not long after we first started working together. They were preparing to put on a pantomine about blood-borne infections. Each person was focused on stitching their costumes for the show. You could have heard a pin drop… but one didn’t.

All this takes time and committed hardwork and support over many years. Relationships need time to grow. Lots of encouragement is needed if trust is to be grounded. There are many setbacks along the way. So many people in the room had turned the corner, had succeeded in making concrete changes in their lives. Evidence of the impact of this work was in plentiful supply for us all to see and hear.

The evening was rounded off by a short sketch involving a CAB volunteer and a visitor from another planet, an alien, seeking advice. Sharp, witty script, great acting, it made you think about how we relate to people we perceive as different from ourselves.

Leaving the library on my way back to the station, I passed a group of happy, excited students, laughing and joking with one another. They were clearly on a high after such a good night, and why wouldn’t they be? They were brimming with endorphins. I  hope some of that confidence remains when they wake up tomorrow and start going about their daily lives again. They’ll have to relate to all those who weren’t in the audience that night to hear their stories. Whatever happens, they know that next week there is another class with their tutors, another session with Nicky and Jo, another chance to meet up with their friends and, hopefully, learn more about themselves and the world.

Seedbed: Sowing the Seeds – Numeracy

What do we mean by Basic Maths? Is numeracy the same as maths? I was expecting that one. It always comes up. Does it matter? I always feel a sense of deflation about the use of the terms. Maths is around higher level stuff while numeracy is the basics, the simple stuff that everyone leaving school is supposed to know and do, isn’t it? Yet, as I’ve found out over the years, sometimes when taking out a mortgage, other times sorting out a divorce settlement, basic maths can be anything but basic. I prefer to see the connections, the overlapping areas between numeracy and maths. In between, joining them together as the glue or jam are common sense, experience and imagination.

One of the tutors had brought along a new initial assessment she had made for her course, jewellery-making. She gave it for us to practise on and get feedback. After finishing it, one person had drawn very curvaceous, flowing lines for a matching pairs exercise. I was struck by how artistic it looked. What’s in a name, she asked us?

‘Get into Shapes!’

It raised lots of questions. What information will it give you about individual strengths and levels to start off with? How important is it to present the tasks in a relaxed and postive manner? Why not announce it as the ‘Test’? Surely, better to introduce it as part of the course naturally, the front end, and explain how helpful you and they will find it; that, without this background knowledge, you will be wildly guessing. And how can you make it fun!

When do you carry out initial assessment? What does it look like? Among our group, we suggested it is a process over the initial period of the course. For some groups, it is right at the start, the first session, or even better, before the course has started, especially if they are aiming for something specific. For others, it’s ok to spread this out over one or two sessions, if that works best. If it’s linked to the subject matter the learners are studying, so much better! I particularly like this approach, although it is the most demanding. It requires a great deal of careful thought, of trial and error but I thing the effort and practice will reward you in spades. It can look like a series of questions and/or practical tasks, observations recorded by the tutor. It’s nearly always reinforced by the first pieces of coursework handed in. Don’t be suprised if you find some learners have improved greatly in a short time. Scores are often affected by levels of confidence and anxiety.

The problem my tutor with the shapes identified was how do you know what level your learners are at if your IA only gives results at a particular level? She had realised she needed to know how to map tasks to the core curriculum for numeracy to tell her what she needed to know about each individual learner.

My own feelings about maths were just below the surface. Please don’t ask me any difficult questions. I thought in horror. Why am I delivering this module? I should have got a maths specialist to do it. The one thing I’m not going to do, I told myself, was try to work out a maths question, unprepared, on the flipchart (the SMART board being temporarily unavalable). My own experience of learning maths is chequered. I’d failed O-level maths twice at school and, consequently, had a bit of a block about it. On a Saturday morning, though, delivering loaves of bread for Scott’s Bakery as a teenager, I’d no problem doing long multiplication in my head, as I worked out the cost of 4 white, two brown and a tray of buns. Give me simultaneous equations or Venn diagrams though and my heart sank. I can still feel it.

My confidence in understanding aspects of maths grew when I started to teach it to adults. This was in the days before the core curriculum came in and specific teaching qualifications were introduced. It slowly came to me what percentages were all about. The sense of achievement was enormous! Was I in any way letting the learners down by not being a ‘proper’ maths tutor? I fretted about this often. Yet, I was learning a lot and drawing on my language skills, particularly listening skills to help me. A lot of my learners felt like me about maths. What they needed most was their confidence building and the numbers game demystifying. Most of what I was doing involved effective communication, working together and trust building. The maths part became increasingly straightforward by comparison. When learners were ready, they would move on, I hope, with greater confidence.

Meanwhile, back to the session. The first activity we did was to draw segments on a circle representing 7 areas of numeracy. Most estimated the size of the segments. Some used rulers, others drew freehand.  One person calculated each angle before transposing them onto the chart using a protractor. It showed there was more than one way to do it.

We discussed how we each of us, even within our own communities, use language to express numerical terms every day. How many different ways, for example, can you decribe the symbol +? We found there were many. I argued that, based on my own experience, the single most significant discovery I had made while teaching maths was to ask the student to ‘talk me through it’. This helped me understand where the learner was going wrong and why. It also reminded me of the futility of showing how I did it and expecting a light to go on inside their head. The fact that I could do it one way was no guarantee of my student picking this up too.

We spoke of keeping it relevant. We shared stories of buying rice in cups or using rules of thumb often related to body measurements with which learners are familiar. Get them to say what they do. It can enliven a lesson as well as being informative.

The language we use is important. It can include or divide us. There had been a headline on the radio that week telling us that for the first time in Britain, there were more people living alone than with others, 52%. Yet each person is part of a larger grouping in their area, We call it a community or common, implying more than one. How important is it for people to be able to understand and express maths terms? How comfortable are we with financial language – apr, interest rates, loans and payback times, for example? How does this affect the choices we canmake?

By chance, I came across this quote a few days later:

The root meaning of the word “integrity” calls for wholeness. The word comes from the Latin integritas, which refers to a state or quality of being complete, that is a condition of wholeness. The word “integrity” and the mathematical term “interger” have a comon meaning. When we look at this common meaning of “integritas”, or “integrity”, it points to a unity, that, when applied to persons, we call community. Integrity creates a sense of togetherness and belonging when applied to persons in community. Integrity forms the basis for a covenant relationship in which persons exercise a sense of responsibility and accountability toward one another.

We need to begin to live the way we want the world to become, rather than the way the world is now…(Wilmer A. Cooper, 1991, quoted in Whitmire C, Plain Living, 2001, Sorin Books)

I cannot help but relate this to the debates about sustainable living and economic justice now taking place as I read this.

Time rushes on. We had performed a subtraction sum and were sharing how we had worked it out. We’d all used the ‘borrow and pay back’ method. I enthusiastically started telling them about other methods.One, decomposition I found so simple to use when my children were learning it that I dashed to the board to show them. Oh, no, I’d made the classic mistake of trying to work it out in front of the group. It certainly generated a lot of interest, though.

Well, there you have it, what do you think? Do you need to be a specialist maths tutor to teach maths? You tell me!