“Watch out!  They are pretty quiet you know.  There’s only nineteen of them.  Perfect for marking however…” the teacher tailed off as he bolted out the door to make his day of back- to- back appointments.  As the pupils bustled in, I thought he must have got it wrong.

“Hey Miss, what is your name, are you teaching us today?” called out a crazy- haired girl called Lizzie.  Yet as soon as they were sat down in their places, they fell silent and one serene looking boy got out his book to read as another studied his tables square.  A pin could be heard dropping, well almost, as I called the register and noted the seating plan.

“Right!  Today we will learn about materials and states of matter.  We will find out what on Earth is found as a solid, liquid and a gas!  Can anyone give me an example of a solid?”

No reaction.  I gave an indeterminably long ‘thinking time’ but I was starting to feel pretty edgy until I finally saw a hand rise.  With relief I invited their response ”Metal, miss.”

I gave lots or praise hoping that they could be more forthcoming with further ideas but no amount of wax-lyrical could make them offer more.  I glance down at my sheet of names and I feel every set of eyes watching my every move.

“Amy, any ideas?”  There was no reaction.

A different tack now was urgently required.  Perhaps I had gone in too easy for them?  Bloom’s taxonomy and all that.  This should do the trick:

“What makes shampoo a liquid?”

Not a thing.  Nothing.  Shtum, in fact was that tumbleweed passing by just then?  I would never claim large schools are an advantage but today, with this small a class, things were just not feeling easy.  Maybe I had come across as a little strict or imposing – were they anxious?  I tried to lighten the atmosphere without giving away that the fact that by now I am wishing the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

“Come on all of you, it’s great when people simply have a go.  Perhaps you are worn out?! You had a busy day yesterday, didn’t you, doing your cycling proficiency!”

“That was last Wednesday I am afraid,” the teaching assistant intervened somewhat listlessly.

“Oh…”  Damn it.  Move on.  “Here, let’s watch a video to get us in the science mood.”

Were they awake?  I could not be sure.  The DVD provided an interval for pupils to call out answers to questions.  Silence.  Nada.  The TA and I whispered as the programme advanced and she explained they were always like this: quiet as mice.  Had September hit them this hard?

I craved now for the kind of chatter and bustle where you cannot hear yourself think.  For when the teaching input goes off on a tangent due to plentiful questions, answers and discussions.  Even- dare I say it- for the noisy classrooms where you can barely get silence and you go home with a banging headache.  Most of all, I missed children trying their best, nattering to their classmates and daring to risk they might not get it right first time.

The work planned was in groups to sort cards in teams before finally recording their individual ideas in words or in pictures in their books.  OK, OK not the most ground breaking of activities but they could at least work with their mates.  While they did this the classroom resembled a library rather than a seat of learning for young active minds and our bright lights of tomorrow.  Next time what magic wand would you approach the class with in order to drum up at least a little excited chatter?  What do you think?  …. Is anyone out there?!

How did that happen?  42 days have gone!  The end of the summer holidays is upon us.

Gradually, the evenings have become shorter and the seasons are changing.  You are shocked to realise for a moment you were pining for autumn with its falling leaves, cosy fires and hot drinks tucked up at home.  Thoughts of enjoying Halloween, Guy Fawkes and Christmas with friends and family crosses your mind.

Perhaps the autumn term is alright after all?

Holidays have been good, pretty much, yet deep down we know that they can’t go on forever.  In fact, perhaps there is just a little bit of us starts to wish an itch scratched.  There’s a desire to be productive, contribute to something bigger than ourselves and we miss the whirlwind of the school social scene.

It is quite common (and very human) to have put off your preparations by as many days as you were going to spend in hours doing it.  Google-ing the word ‘procrastination’ only adds to this delay.  Just quite how the deputy gets her planning done in the first week of the holidays no one will ever know.  It usually takes steely reserve, bank holiday rain or those recurring nightmares of walking into a classroom without preparation nor clothes, to get things rolling.

Some of the simplest tasks are the most satisfying as they address the most immediate back-to-school needs.  Preparing the seating plans, groupings and timetables are printed with enthusiasm and of course look particularly efficient if they are on coloured paper and laminated.  A quick check of your school email can get you up to date with everything, usually, unless the head has visited the cc’ing department over the break.  There might also be some pleasure gained in streamlining some folders on the network so you will be able to find those Jam and Jerusalem resources in a flash.

Yet, when you get started you realise the paperwork it isn’t so bad and it doesn’t take as long as you remember, especially now your colleague finally found that supplementary DVD and you can use your professional judgement to cut and paste.  One year of experience on, it is good to know that you won’t be repeating that game using custard and puppets to learn fractions although the activity using bed sheets to teach plate tectonics might work in the hall.

Some hours are happily spent surfing the web searching for interactive games and different resources that will light your pupils’ imaginations, and they absorb you.  You recall the conversation you had with an artist earlier in your holiday and you email them an idea for a topic project.  You purchase a fascinating tool that looks promising for tackling literacy misconceptions and you order a stack of tempting scratch and sniff stickers.  In fact, it becomes quite exciting as you realise that you are going to have your best year yet!

D-day approaches.  You make your lunch, fill your shiny new pencil-case, pack your bag, put out your school clothes, text your work friends, set your alarm and suddenly you realise your new pupils will be mirroring exactly the same jobs too – gulp.  And then the blissful realisation that the INSET day will give a minimum of twenty-four hours head start before battle commences and soon victory is won!

It’s the end of term and trays are cleared, artwork comes off the wall, PE kits go home and those Harvest Festival crossword sheets that fell down the back of the book corner are put firmly in the recycling bin.  Still no one claims that school jumper but those trainers just have to go.  There is certainly a sense of calm on its way.

Receiving a deluge of chocolate, smellies, cuddly toys and the occasional bottle of wine means that skipping out of the school gate is now not an option.  Remarkably, wherever the school is that you work in bears no relation to the quantity of the gifts although occasionally it does affect the quality.  Just how did Tyler know Lambrini was my favourite?  But let’s face it, after the ninth bottle that evening it would be hard to be anything less than appreciative.

SIX FULL WEEKS!  42 DAYS!  The days stretch out endlessly.  This really is a superb job to get paid for SIX WEEKS!  42 DAYS!  Have I mentioned that already?

Holidays for teachers begin in one of two ways, depending on your personality type.   Either it will be a trip of a lifetime with a flight out of the UK dashing after the school bell rings with neatly packed bags.  Or it will a slow starter with a well deserved treat built into the end.  Neither is right or wrong but it is crucial to arrive back in September with a significant story that can entertain colleagues on the INSET day.

If you stay local it will give you a chance to catch up with friends who frequently are teachers who you haven’t seen since last summer!  Restaurants and places that other people have been gassing about are there to try out.  It is an opportune moment to attend to any household chores too so that you can enjoy your home since you work so very hard to pay for it.

Going abroad has its many advantages too.  Going somewhere hot and exotic can rekindle your sense of adventure, your youthful zest for life and your sense of self.  It can also rekindle that rash again and a phonecall from your bank manager but let’s keep quiet about that bit.

Having time away from your pupil and classroom responsibilities, the planning, the assessment and the meetings, is vital.  Late nights, lie-ins, eating when you want, being with friends and family, exercising outdoors, all make your mind and body spring (or saunter again depending on your mood) to a different level.  However if you find yourself counting down the weeks until school starts again then please beware.  Try to think instead of six weeks not as one long break but as x14 bank holiday weekends!  Marvellous isn’t it?  YES!  FOURTEEN BANK HOLIDAY WEEKENDS!

Examination periods can be a quiet time for supply as schools cancel courses, drag any poorly colleagues out of their sickbeds and teachers come forth to support their pupils.  Students, whom they have tried hard to learn to love and taught them everything they know, will hopefully show off their vast knowledge: in particular to just read the question properly.

Despite the swarms of staff hovering about to keep pupils calm and answer any last minute concerns, it is still known that there is the odd surprise before any test.  For example, last year it was the normally quiet Quintin picking a fight with what emerges is his lifelong enemy Antony: their tears made the carpet virtually a safety hazard.  This year, it was a football through an enormous classroom window during a playground football match during break time.  And each and every year, there is a threefold loss of pencils, rulers and erasers, despite the strict issue of stationary items by Ms. Military.

Once sat down ready to go, there is a sense of anticipation, a feeling we can only do our best and knowing that it is now or never.  The clichés go immediately when we teachers wonder what examiner thinks a non-fiction piece on the igneous rocks will engage most eleven year olds, or that sixteen year olds really enjoy analysing histograms about typical waiting times at a dentist.  Pupils do their best though, it must be said, and there will be a flurry of writing and rubbing out in equal measure for 45 minutes.

Whatever words that might have softened the reality: assessment, mock, practice paper, internally marked, we all know the score.  Well we do, it’s the students who don’t have a clue, which is good as they have 101 more exams to do that week.  “It wasn’t too bad,” or “It went alright,” are typical comments on leaving the exam centre.  Some pupils might reflect on the odd question they got wrong “Ahhhh…. It was 76 mpg not 67 mph,” but most leave with the rush of relief that they are out of that room and free once more!

It will be staff left to peek at their wrong answers and that sinking feeling as they mark ‘But we went over this last week/term Tyrone!’  Please be mindful of our colleagues in tiny primary schools or secondary departments who have to admit that ‘But we’ve been doing this for the last seven years Yasmin!’  No doubt young people, staff and parents will all be glad revision and exam season is soon over and that they can get on with something perhaps a little less testing?

I thought I’d write an occasional blog about my trials and tribulations (and hopefully adventures) about starting up my own business.   I’d love it if you read it occasionally.  I might ramble on for a bit but there might also be bits that interest you or whet* your appetite!  Stop reading now if you hate ….(ellipsis) as I use them all the time….

It’s been a year since I gave up full time teaching and what a year!  I’ve done lots of things which have been completely out of my comfort zone (those who know me know I am a complete scaredy cat but put on a brave face).  There’s still a long, long way to go but it’s an exciting road to follow.

Oscar speech bit coming up…I couldn’t have done it without my lovely friends and family who have listened to all my random and over-ambitious ideas, listened to the supply teaching moans and put up with a skint Strakes .  They’ve sent me links to places to visit, told me I CAN do it everytime I’ve faltered, offered their services for free and been wonderful research assistants for coffee and cake (Riggsy & Rose especially and Lizzie at around 4:30 most days).

But the one person who needs a special mention (and I don’t usually get all slushy – “she loves us from afar” (mum 2012)) is my man.  Never doubting; always encouraging; putting my happiness above everything.  I wouldn’t even be on this journey without him and can’t thank him enough.

Ah, first one done.  That wasn’t too painful!

* is that how you spell whet?

The blog title given to us by Bruce was My ’56′ Up but after reading his blog I feel it should probably be re-titled something like ‘Incredible Achievements By ‘Normal’ People’ or ‘Who Said Supply Teachers Are Not Special?’  This may seem slightly cryptic but it will all make sense…..

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My ’56 Up’

Just recently, ITV has been showing ’56 Up’, the latest in a series of programmes that started nearly fifty years ago with ’7 Up’ in which a group of seven year olds were asked of their dreams and aspirations. The subsequent programmes have followed them every seven years. As my wife and I are both the same age as the participants, I thought I would do my own, especially as at every time, I have been involved in education, either as pupil, student, parent, teacher or governor.
7 Up
The child smiles out from a black and white school photograph; blond hair cut in a fringe and severe short back and sides. Always in shorts, precocious at art and reading. Wants to be a farmer or forestry worker when he grows up like his uncles in Sussex. Home is a three-bedroom council semi on a post-war housing estate just out of Leicester. From his large primary school full of committed teachers, only four children will pass the eleven-plus exam. His favourite teacher is Miss Shaw who will end up teaching all five of his siblings.

14 Up
The photograph is in colour but it faded badly with the years. His precociousness has won him a place at a boys’ grammar school two bus journeys away in a different world of detached houses and received pronunciation. At home, they now consider him posh; at school he is occasionally happy with inspirational teachers. He doesn’t look at the camera; embarrassed by his recently acquired teenage spots; in fact, few pictures of him exist from this time.

21 Up
We are back to black and white in this photograph; he’s printed it himself. After a mixed bag of ‘A’ levels, he’s pursued his passion for art to a college in Kent. His natural facility for drawing holds little currency in this world of abstraction and conceptualism so he explores his world and environment through photography and writing. Tutors are mainly conspicuous by their absence. He has survived the culture shock of moving from an all boys’ school to the mixed, multi-cultural world of the art college and he finds it liberating, embracing feminism and the delights of the protest march.

28 Up
A colour photograph in a self-adhesive album with a padded shiny cover. It’s 1984 and it’s feeling pretty Orwellian too. Mrs Thatcher’s in power and she believes herself to be invincible. He’s in his third year of teaching at a school in Essex. He’s married with a three year-old daughter. He still feels the need to do his own work. Out of college, conceptualism seems meaningless. He’s gone back to painting and is preparing for a big exhibition in a converted church. The pressures of being a father, teacher and artist build up and something’s got to give.

35 Up
It’s a picture in a holiday album of the family in a Greek taverna. They moved to Norfolk in 1985 as his wife gained a job in an art college. He gave up his teaching job and for about a term managed to be a house-husband. The need for money pulled him into supply teaching and he is now a full-time teacher of art again. In 1989, they had a second child, a boy. He is a governor at his daughter’s primary school. Summer holidays are spent in France or Greece. School work is manageable but his own painting is now on the back burner.

42 Up
It’s one of many newspaper photographs. He’s in a suit standing next to a government minister on the steps of the Treasury. For a few weeks, he is famous. He entered a competition to design a new £2 coin and he won. The shock of his life, he dances around the house with his young son. He gets used to TV., radio and newspaper interviews. He buys a piano, goes back to school and it’s as if it never happened. It’s a surreal experience.

49 Up
It’s a photograph from The French Album, volume 1. He is cutting the grass whilst his wife is painting an ancient set of gates. They have a plan. Two years ago, they bought the shell of a house in France for not a lot of money. They will both take early retirement and when the house is habitable they will live the expat dream. Full-time teaching has pushed them both towards exhaustion. Perhaps it’s time to address the life/work balance, live healthily and take the hit on the bank balance.

56 Up
It’s a digital photograph on ‘Facebook’ of him holding a giant fifty pence piece. They took their teacher pensions a year ago. He continues to supply teach on a regular basis. The French plan is on hold until the children finish university. They are glad they took their pensions before the goal posts were moved. Happy too, because he has another coin in circulation, this time for the Summer Olympics in London. It’s good to feel you’re a (little) part of it all. He likes to think that he still has the enthusiasm of the seven year-old smiling out at the world, although on many mornings he sees his father’s face staring back at him from the bathroom mirror.

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Editor’s Note Continued…

I carried out some research after reading Bruce’s StepBlog and found the following links:

http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/highlights/highlight_objects/cm/b/bimetallic_%C2%A32_coin.aspx

http://www.royalmint.com/discover/uk-coins/coin-design-and-specifications/two-pound-coin

http://www.royalmint.com/shop/london_2012_sports_collection_sailing

I’m delighted that we have unearthed the hidden talents of one of our supply teachers through our StepBlog.  Well done Bruce and thanks for sharing this.

Ah, the wonders of Google (other search engines are available). I’m covering a Construction class and the group have been set the task of researching materials used in plumbing. I’m no plumber but even I am pretty sure that a Yorkshire tee-joint is probably going to be made of copper or brass and certainly not have thousands of little perforations.
Once again, the child is the victim of Google’s predictive spelling. He is uncertain of his own spelling so allows kind Google to spell check and change words to the point where the original search becomes lost in the linguistic jungle that is the English language.

Personally, I’ve switched predictive texting off on my mobile phone. I now have to consciously select every letter. In time, you become almost as quick as using the predictive method, but you avoid sending texts (that you haven’t proof read) that can cause confusion or upset. On my old phone, for some reason, it was happy to come up with ‘dad’ but didn’t like ‘mum’ which always came up as ‘nun’. Receiving a text from ‘dad and nun’ can be disconcerting to a daughter.
We solve the tee-joint problem by simply putting in the word ‘plumbing’ to our search and, lo and behold, there it is in all its shiny copper glory.

So now, as well as the pupil, I know what a Yorkshire tee-joint is, and that fact gets logged in my memory. It’s one of the joys and unexpected benefits of supply teaching (there are, of course, many) that pushed into subjects that one is not qualified as such to teach, one picks up a mass of trivial facts that could make one the star of a quiz team, if only they asked questions on plumbing. However, I am also a firm believer in the finite capacity of the human brain. To take the computer analogy, there are many times when I would love to be able to attach an external hard-drive to add that extra gigabyte or so. If the brain is finite, then for every new bit of information that goes in, there must be an equal shedding of stuff, which probably explains why I can’t find my keys on a regular basis.
When I think of my brain, which isn’t often, the picture that emerges is not one of a computer with its neatly organised files for documents, pictures, videos and downloads. My brain closely resembles the stock cupboard in a room where I was recently teaching. At first, I thought one of last summer’s rioters had been in there; in a deliberate act of vandalism dragging materials and equipment from the shelves and depositing them on the floor, mixing exercise books with text books and so on. But the more I looked, and I had to because I was searching for something essential for the lesson, the disorganisation was of a very personal kind. Filing cabinets might have labels on the drawers but the chances of the contents having anything to do with the labels were remote. Half-drunk mugs of coffee sat precariously on piles of precious photocopies. I think the problem lay with the teacher finding it nearly impossible to decide how to divide and segregate the mass of stuff that a teacher has to deal with on a daily basis. Such is the inside of my head.

I’m teaching plumbing, or to be more exact covering a plumbing lesson, because thanks to Step Teachers (other agencies are available) I have a ten-week block in a school that will take me through to the summer. So no more early morning ‘shall I or shan’t I get dressed?’ moments; steady and guaranteed work but with, that bonus of the supply teacher, an end point. Then, there might be a chance to re-organise the filing system in my brain, clear out some redundant stuff and leave a little room for all the new stuff that will undoubtedly arrive soon.

192 hours during the Easter holidays (56 of which were spent on a bus) with 36 teenagers is enough to make any sane person twitch and their hair go grey.  As that did not happen to me, presumably the logical conclusion must be that either I was one slice short of a toast rack or that I really was doing this purely for fun.  There was no timesheet to complete and no day rate. The reason?  Skiing in Austrian Alps.

I was pleased to accompany a rural secondary school from Somerset who were a mixture of seasoned skiing staff from the Humanities Department with mainly keen teenage beginners who had no clue of what enjoyment lay before them. Regretfully, for half of the pupils, they had delighted rather too much in the Burger King at the fuel stop in Luxembourg, before realising they had been parted from the majority of their week’s pocket money in ‘un moment’.

We arrived in blistering heat at the valley hotel, with the kind of jet lag you can only get when there is a time difference of one hour having journeyed through 99.9% of the EU.  We immediately sat down for a delicious dinner, marred only with the bitter disappointment of learning that the waiter’s translation of the menu meant that ‘profiteroles’ turned out to be the plain croutons with the soup. Later that evening, fitting the youngsters with boots and skis was all a bit of a blur, as the pupils forgot their surnames, translated their shoe sizes into kilometres and proclaimed being advanced skiers after just half a day on the dry ski slope.  We smiled at their enthusiasm as the adults’ eyelids fell heavy and some of theirs widened.

 The next day the drivers cheerfully, and (fortunately) undeniably soberly, took us to the slopes.  We were instantly reminded that we would need resilience, patience and ingenuity with us, as one pupil forgot their lift pass and his teacher aka his saviour Mr Marsh surrendered his own.  “You owe me an A* for your coursework!” he joked, with what I detected as rather a sinister undertone – the exam board’s deadline was fast approaching after all.

Brusque and sturdy Gita, the ski school manager, divided the pupils into three and assigned them their instructors “No changes to ze groups.  Zey vil learn zuper.”  Well, Mickael with steamy eyes and a heavy Italian accent suited the beginners group of A level girls very well thank you, kind Helena charmed the boisterous middle group and dynamic Lee showed the top group a thing or two with his straight talking manner.  Chelsea, a year 11, despite me trying hard to explain what a PMA stood for (positive mental attitude), tried out all three groups but as she sat in the snow with the mountain top view “It was too flipping difficult, Miss.”

The sun continued to beat down on the slopes, confusing the pupils who had remembered to equip themselves well with stylish jackets and gloves, but thought they were beyond water and sunscreen.  Those PSHCE lessons in taking responsibility for ones own health sank in.  We enjoyed the warm white stuff and learnt to propel ourselves downhill, proving that as humans we are all very capable of learning, even if the style we adopted was far removed from that we’d been instructed.  All the pupils had an incredible time, including the overnight hospital visitor with mild concussion and five stitches, yet very pleasingly so did all the school staff and I.  Next year? Yup. Ski on!

Teaching in three different schools in one week, as I did recently, can be confusing.  I drove a quarter of a mile in the wrong direction; right direction for one school, just not the one I was meant to be going to.  On one day, I taught four year eight music classes.  The next day, I received my timetable for the day.  I didn’t recognise any of the year eight pupils on the class registers; again, two schools fifteen miles apart.

Having left full-time teaching four years ago, I am still getting used to being asked by conscientious pupils ‘What is the WILF today?’ or its partner, WALT.  They sound like a couple of elderly American uncles.

As supply teachers, we sometimes feel like vultures circling over the educational savannah, waiting for a teacher to fall, and then we dive in to scavenge what slim pickings remain. When in schools, we must maintain a diplomatic sympathy for the absent member of staff, whilst secretly thinking, ‘I hope it’s nothing trivial’.  As winter approaches, I am first in line for my flu jab.

The pleasures of supply teaching are sometimes hard to fathom, but for those of us with many years of full-time teaching behind us, we need to remind ourselves that we have a more equitable work-life balance.  We can take holidays outside of the school holidays (note to myself: don’t go to Crete in October ever again; biblical rain and half the country on strike).  The other balance is of course, that between time and money.  I recently asked a full-time colleague how much does he get paid an hour.  He said he couldn’t possibly work it out as one does the hours necessary for the job.  He had worked out that last year he had probably done an extra hundred hours on top of the statutory time which is the equivalent of another three and a half weeks on the school year.  As a supply teacher, I know my exact daily and hourly rate.  This means if you are stuck in the middle of a difficult class, you can work out exactly how much you are being paid for your agony.  Bad lessons always seem appalling at the time and of course very little learning takes place (apart from you learning never to teach that lesson again) but in retrospect, it can be hard to pinpoint the problem.  Some would gain that Ofsted judgement that for some reason doesn’t appear on their observation forms: ‘Nobody died’.  Time can seem to stop and sometimes it would be fun to call in the caretaker to check the clocks; it would at least take a few minutes.

Recently, the best lesson I have taught was a blues-song writing exercise in a music lesson. I spotted a guitar and managed to knock out a reasonable impression of a blues.  I offered to play back to the class any verses they made up.  The enthusiasm was infectious and it was that rare lesson; one in which it seems a shame to stop.

The real pleasure of supply teaching is the general acceptance of you by the vast majority of pupils.  As long as you dress like a teacher, act like a teacher, and then they will accept that this is exactly what you are and behave likewise.  Other pleasures include being a listening post, like a taxi-driver or hairdresser, for other teachers when a colleague has been absent for some time.  Of course, you also meet up with other wandering supply teachers.  You build up a network of contacts and gain an overview of schools, constantly surprised at how different schools can be when only a few miles apart.  Inevitably, you put the various schools into a rank order according to various criteria; quality of cover work; quality of tea, coffee and biscuits; state of the teacher’s desk and stock cupboard; pupils with the largest number of badges for good work, leadership skills, etc.

Of course, none of this could happen without the agency.  A friendly, sympathetic voice at the end of the phone; sometimes a persuasive voice first thing in the morning.  A sense of trust and mutual understanding is important along with a good relationship with the client schools.  However, I have the feeling that ‘Go home and drink a large glass of red wine through a straw’ might be the default advice for any panicky phone-call.

Finally, I have had the delight this year of having taught Harry Potter, Laura Ashley, Katie Price and Jack Daniels (absolutely true! Their names were on the printed class lists).

9.30 am on a sparkling beautiful Monday morning, in a school slap bang in the centre of Plymouth City, I’ve been charged with teaching RE and we are all meditating. It’s a good start.

In another time and setting, this could have been a nightmare, but this particular loveable bunch of year five and sixes made it work. I’ve been doing supply work with some of these children for twelve months and, if I am not mistaken, we immediately hit it off. Buddhism is not a subject I know much about but I was able to begin a discussion that evoked real thought. My lesson was a reflection of what the class teacher had prepared for me and I received what I gave.

As I am probing the class with open questions on the Buddhist faith, I am peering at faces that are happy, engaged and keen. With the quality of these responses, I am starting to believe that Bradley could imminently become an MP and Lisa is sitting her GP final medical exams this weekend. I pinch myself. Even Akeem has stayed in the Buddha pose for the entire session and at least Jumpy Jimmy has been using his ears and eyes because it looks like he is trying to mimic my attempt of a tree pose at the back.

We began to explore the heart of the awe inspiring pillars of the faith – the noble truths and the ultimate truths. I showed enthusiasm for how significant these concepts were, for I was aware that today I am very much a learner myself. Pennies are dropping as we realise money doesn’t matter and we discuss the favourite things we own. D. S. Derran admits he has once, and one time only in his life, got bored with his computer and Kali audibly gasps as she realises the mobile phone she was once so desperate to get for Christmas she no longer wants (which anyway just stopped working last week for totally no reason and in any case it wasn’t so cool any more as it had a diamante cover and she wasn’t into the design now she’s into something better).

‘I want happiness’ as a sentence gets destroyed. Try removing the ‘I’ from the sentence because that is ego. Remove ‘want’ because that is desire. Then you are left with ‘happiness’. Flip me! This is one ‘heckuva’ Monday (for those unfamiliar with Plymuff slang, heckuva in many contexts means extraordinary)!

In groups, we talked and wrote notes about how Buddhists would live their lives. Euan made it tricky for Jessica because they wouldn’t share, but I reminded them not to bicker with each other because Euan is only a product of his actions right now – in the next moment ourselves and others can behave differently and nothing is permanent. Besides, could Euan perform an action that is genuinely a gift for someone else and return the pens to Jessica?

I listen attentively to Ryan’s discourse about who exactly was wrong and who was right in the last squabble with his neighbour Simon. However, as I see him forgetting to breathe, I remind him that every human has suffering and what matters is that these feelings will pass.

“Was Buddha greedy?” I ask and the discussion that follows concerns obesity, exercise and the importance of deep breathing. We couldn’t be serious for too long so we take ten belly breaths then giggle – we were choosing the middle path. The bell rings and the class leave calmly.

What on Earth is going on today? I ask myself as I complete my play time duty. Not a squabble on the playground and the fight I went to break up was, in fact, genuinely good humoured play. I have an earnest Aaron on my side who I ask about his upcoming secondary education but he returns to say how he is actually thoroughly enjoying his present school. I recall how children do that so well – living in the moment.

“Well done for this morning; it was a good lesson” he says, kindly. I nearly choke on my snack, first with shock, then suspicion, before I remember that Buddha advised us to say only nice things to others. “Get off the grass…” I shout across the playground yet incredibly I hear the reply “Sorry Miss” so I feel almost honoured to holler back “Thank you!”

Numeracy comes and goes like a dream as I link the complications of having thirty children building cuboids from paper with the struggle to attain enlightenment. Before long, the bell rings and the lunchtime supervisor made responsible for break time detentions arrives at the door.

“Any naughty ones?” she asks expectantly.

“Nope,” I reply and I see her tired eyebrows rise up in silent surprise and relief.

Perhaps today, I got closer to Nirvana.

Well I hit a milestone this past week as a newly certified supply teacher in New Brunswick, Canada. I landed my first full week of bookings, something many supply teachers are finding difficult to do in recent times around here, especially in urban areas. The highlight of this week was being placed outside my educational training for 3 days into the shoes of a physical education teacher. I have to confess, it would be a lie to say it is completely outside my comfort zone though, considering the many years I dedicated to athletics growing up.

As a class we organized some ultimate frisbee and dodgeball, but the lesson/weekly event I wanted to highlight for the purposes of this blog, so that I may use it again someday, was known as ’Fitness Fridays’ at the high-school I supplied at. About 15-20 fitness stations were set up around the gym prior to class, includng such things as; jump rope, different yoga stretches, wall tapping, catch with the medicine ball, quarter jumps, situps, pushups, shuffle steps and more. In pairs, students started at one of the fitness stations, doing the exercise posted on the wall for that station. When the whistle blew they would leave that station and jog laps around the gym until it blew again signalling to students to begin on a new station. With twenty minutes on the shot-clock, as the teacher I would blow the whistle or hit the buzzer approximately every 30-45 seconds, pushing and encouraging students all the while. After the twenty minutes are up, students are rewarded by being allowed free range to play catch or shoot basketball etc. for the remainder of the period.  I saw a high level of participation on this day and smiles.  Be creative when constructing your own fitness stations!

The above quote has always been a bit of a joke in my family:  my sister is a vet and I’m a teacher!  I love teaching, mostly because of the relationship you build up with your students and I think that’s what I really miss now I’m doing supply work.  Let me take you through a day in the life of a supply teacher:

6.30am – wake up and hastily grab the phone that has so rudely interrupted your beauty sleep.  Talk somewhat blearily to your agent who tells you which school you’re in that day.

6.45am – crawl out of bed, rather clumsily most of the time.  Have a wash (cold water, the heating’s not on yet – sad times); get dressed in least crumpled, smart outfit; put ID badge and whistle around neck; hunt for some lunch-like things in the cupboard; look up post code for school, grab bag of “tricks”.

Bag of tricks:  I have a notebook with emergency lessons for every year group from nursery to year 6, books to read, time fillers, time sheets and handover comment sheets, a ball of wool, a variety of pens and pencils, a ream of plain paper, sellotape, a whistle and an Elmer toy!

7.15am – wait for Sat-Nav (aka: Suzie…alliteration, got to love it) to realise it’s morning and wake up in a manner reminiscent to you.

8am – Arrive at school, be shown (hopefully) to the classroom you’re in.  Hunt for potential planning that may or may not have been left.

8.10am – Find the planning under a pile of letters about nits (beautiful!) and try to make sense of what you’re meant to be teaching.

9am – Introduce yourself to the children, try not to panic.

9.05am – teach 30-35 unknown children for 6 hours. Panic about 10 times an hour on average.

3.30pm – Mark all the work they’ve done, try to find a pen in the right colour.  Most schools like green, but occasionally its pink or purple.

5pm – All done! You survived! No one died!  You’re not cowering under the desk! Neither is a child! :)  Yay! 

So there you have it.  I must say, it’s stressful as a lifestyle.  I can be in 5 different towns, schools, classes, and year groups in a week.  That’s about 150 new children :s

On the plus side, I like the freedom of choosing which days I work (at the moment whatever I can get because my bank account has stopped talking to me in protest).  I like that if I have a bad day, I never have to go back.  I like the variety, the experience, the fact that it is anything but boring!

I can’t imagine not working with children, they brighten up my day and make the hard work…well at the risk of sounding like a certain shampoo advert…worth it.

Lots of love,

Rainbow x*x

PS. Thank you for all the follows /likes

1. Pray persistently that the floor will swallow you up. Or that there will be a fire drill (the latter is probably more probable, especially in the summer months when setting off the fire drill becomes as popular as fly fishing amongst balding middle aged men – the exception being not-quite-so-balding middle aged men) which will free you from this horror of an experience.
2. To excuse yourself from the classroom due to a contagious illness (best to fake a case of German measles, Spanish influenza, or even syphilis, formally so called ‘French disease’ in Italy- you learn something new every day!).
3. To hide under the desk.
4. To take a seat in the middle row amongst the pupils and pray, once again, that they don’t notice you.
5. Fall off your chair.
6. Cry.

Or if you are really brave :

7. Scream at them in French and then, using your massive PGCE teaching file as a weapon hit them over the head and run as fast as you can to your mentors office and take shelter.

Next time: the types of supply teachers

On entering the staffroom, you cross an invisible barrier which you will find yourself conforming to without even realising. A common British staffroom* can be divided into the following :

a) the TAs (or teaching assistants; like the PGCE students, the TAs generally find themselves almost as classroomless as the PGCE, however, even more so because they change classrooms every lesson, depending on which student they are assisting). The TAs form the lowest part of the staffroom hierarchy, however, these are usually the most sympathetic to your needs and those who will offer you a biscuit after one of your many closeted-trips to the toilet.

b) the supply teacher (or I say, those who unfortunately failed to make the cut as an NQT due to a lack in classroom management techniques, yet still consider themselves slightly senior to yourself); if ever you have a free period, it is granted that you will see at least one supply teacher in the staff room. One wonders when they actually manage to ‘supply teach’ and sometimes I have questioned as to whether schools simply employ ‘supply teachers’ just to make sure that there is always somebody to guard the staffroom against naughty year 9 students who are trying to steal  Friday’s tea and biscuit supply. Either way, if ever you happen across somebody sat with their feet up reading yesterday’s edition of the sun, you can quite confidently state that here indeed is a supply teacher.

c). the English teachers : maybe because they are the masters of communication, or simply because they have a curriculum which is not as demanding as MFL teachers, you can always guarantee to find a smattering of English teachers in the staffroom. English teachers seem to stay in packs, rather like dogs, hunting together, eating together, sleeping together, need I elaborate … evidently why Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is such a popular choice at GCSE.

d) Lastly, but of course not least, the PGCE students : those who haven’t quite discovered where the library is, will be found in the staffroom. Of course this is dependent on whether you were already sent away for dressing like a year 11 and looking too young, or simply because you were too scared to be faced with the scary-looking English department, the staffroom can also be found to contain several PGCE students. Most PGCE students are often berated for working in the staffroom, I’m sure you yourself have been glared or tutted at because you dared to use the staffroom’s only computer to word process yet another wretched lesson plan. Yet, when empty of the English department and free from the TAs, (the staffroom will never be free of the ever-present supply teacher), the staffroom presents a getaway for most PGCE students. Rather like an oversized classroom, the staffroom is the only place where you can guarantee to your students that you can be found at lunchtimes, that is of course if they can pronounce your name at the door, until you are told by your colleagues that the staffroom is not for you and you alone (hmmpff then where are we supposed to inform students that they may find us, I ask myself … the toilets naturally!). What would Ed Balls say if he knew teachers were using toilets as offices….

* from my own teaching experience the French staffroom is packed on a Tuesday morning when the weekly chocolate and bread allowance is distributed.

Brace yourself for the next installment: the supply teacher.

I took this picture yesterday on our way to the grocery store.  It was down at the (high/Secondary) school near there. It says “it’s nice to be important but it’s more important to be nice.” I quite like that.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day this morning.  I’m sitting here typing away while Jake sits on the printer next to the window, sunning himself.  I was up an hour earlier than Steve because I fell asleep about 30 minutes before he was done on the Xbox.  We planned on going to the park today and having a nice, relaxing Sunday – looks like the weather is perfect for it.At this moment in time it’s only 3 degrees cooler than Titusville, Florida.  Wow.  It’ll get up to 78F today (I’m still not sure about the Celsius temperatures. I just know that 26C – 30C is pretty dang warm.)

Tomorrow starts my first week of maybe, probably starting back to teaching in some capacity.  It will be nice to have a pay check again, needless to say.  I have lunch makings and my coffee pot timer set to 6:30 instead of 7:30 in the morning.  I didn’t realize that there are plenty of Secondary (high) schools in the area so I should be set for substitute teaching.  I also have Newcastle, Sunderland and Durham where I could run down to (with a day’s notice at least due to my lack of car).  I should be set for the wonderful world of substitute teaching!

But for now I’m going to enjoy my Sunday.  Steve is up and making his tea.  It’s breakfast time and then on to the park.  I have plenty of bread for the ducks today.

Anyways, yes it is now officially Easter Holidays! Two full weeks off! Maybe. There are two school councils I supply for. One just had two weeks off so they’ll be back at school starting on Monday. However, that board doesn’t have as many schools with my agency so it’s fairly unlikely that I will be called for supply, but it’s possible. So cross your fingers and toes for me, as even one or two days over the next two weeks would be very helpful!!

It’s Sunday night now, and feeling quite pleased that I don’t have to go to work at my school tomorrow! Two weeks off will be very nice. Then I go back Tuesday (as the Monday is a bank holiday), to a crazy two weeks ahead of me. The year 6s will have four days left to prepare for their SATs testing so I will be left with half of the year 5s while the 6s have the full week to prepare. Then, the following week is the testing so again I will have the year 5s while the 6s are completing their tests. I even have to make lesson plans for it. Hopefully something brilliant comes to me soon so I don’t have to spend too much of my holiday doing lesson plans. They have to be very thorough too because as I mentioned before they are expecting OFSTED to come at any time so must have something good prepared! Pressure, pressure!!

Onto non-teaching related topics! Some fun details of the month: I met another Canadian a few weeks ago! She’s from Ontario as well, and teaching through the same agency, though at high school level. We went out after work one Friday night and got to exchange stories and how, obviously, the Canadian education system is just SOOO much better than here! It was great to meet another Canadian and have a good chat with. She hasn’t explored the area too much yet so we may take a day trip to York or somewhere over the break.

Also went to see Footloose the musical a couple weeks ago! James’s friend was nice enough to invite me along a couple months ago, so it was a nice ladies night out! The musical was fun, though nothing too special. No Les Mis or Chicago that’s for sure! Still a good night.

Last weekend we were very lucky to have an amazingly nice weekend weather wise. It was above average in temp even for August here (seriously), at a peak of 22! So we made the most of it by getting up early and heading up north to the Lake District for the day. We started off by going to Sizergh Castle, close to Kendal, and then headed south to the sea, to a town/village called Grange-over-Sands where we walked along the “water” for a bit before then walking up a hill for fabulous 360 views of the water, the surrounding area, and even to all the peaks of the Lakes District. I say “water” because when the tide is out it has less water than a shallow, muddy marsh. See what I mean:

Apparently the tide can come in the whole way, but it certainly looks to be rare with the amount of grass growing here! We had to laugh when we saw this too: 

Certainly this can’t be used too often? Stuck in the mud perhaps??

The view from atop the fell though was beautiful! Just such an amazing panoramic view that stretched so far on such a nice day. The extremely talkative man in the tourist info shop was going on about how this weather is very rare and we would be silly not to walk up today as if we ever came back we’d surely not see much from the top then. He must have thought I was right off the plane from Canada though as the first thing he said when he heard my voice was “make sure you stay to the left!”

The picture isn’t as clear as it could have been as it was late afternoon by the time we got there, and getting a bit hazy, but you get the idea. Love the view of the “mountains” in the distance.

After this we went to the birthplace of Sticky Toffee Pudding! My FAVOURITE English dessert! Soooooo good! It’s a small quaint town called Cartmel, that also had a pretty priory that is over 800 years old. This excited James and I, as we’re HUGE fans of the Pillars of the Earth and World Without End books, which is about life in a village based around its priory, so was quite cool to see one as old as the one in the book. The town was sooo pretty too. Streams running through it, beautiful old church, lots of gorgeous old stone houses, views of the countryside, lots of little lambs everywhere… so pretty. James has decided we’ll be living there one day. Though I pointed out that there won’t be much work for an Engineer who has studied neutron diffraction in a tiny village like that! I’d have no problem though, you should see the adorable little school house!

In other news, we have booked our holiday to Greece! We are going over half-term at the end of May/first week of June. We were originally planning on finding our own little studio apartment to rent for the week as they can be very very cheap, but since it’s half term the price of flights were over £200 so after feeling down about that I decided to look up holiday companies and found a crazy cheap deal in the exact area of Corfu I wanted to be in, for £250 including flight, accommodation and breakfast every morning, and they have a pool and the views are to die for!! The reviews on tripadvisor were sooo good too, so we’re feeling very good about it. Since we were expecting accommodation and flight to be nearly £400 each, we’re going to splurge a bit and rent a car for the week. We both aren’t huge fans of just spending a week on a beach, as we love love love to explore, especially areas that are less touristy so this will be great for that. Looking forward to just drive aimlessly and find cool little villages or churches, monestaries, hidden beaches, etc. Sooo excited! I have wanted to go to Greece ever since studying it in university. I really wanted to go to Athens but I hear it’s just soooo touristy, and not near any good beaches, so Athens will have to wait for another time.  Can’t wait though, the countdown has already begun….. 43 days to go! Hopefully James doesn’t get too burnt….. after a few hours out in the sun on Saturday he was as red as a tomato….oh dear, poor deprived English skin.

This weekend has been good too (though I wish I had been at a certain little girl’s birthday party instead!!!). We went to see Manchester Orchestra last night. It’s a really good American band that named itself after Manchester because of its famously good music scene. It’s not orchestral music at all. I got James hooked on it awhile back and it’s become one of his favourite bands, so it was really good to be able to see them in their namesake! They haven’t taken off here as much as they have in North America so ticket prices were cheaper than getting into a nightclub here, and it was a relatively small audience, so all round great gig!

Today we just took it easy. We went to a local cafe and had a hot chocolate while playing cards! Love doing that, and plenty of cafes down the road to do so in.

Next weekend we’re going to be going down to James’s mums’ for Easter. Hopefully it will be nice so we can get out and explore a bit again. James’s dad is getting back from the mainland over the Easter weekend as well so one day over the weekend we’re going to head down to where he’s set up his little motorhome and have a visit.

Off to have some “bangers and mash” for dinner!!

Happy Easter everyone! Wish I was home!!

xo Meg

By Michael MacLeod

A NURSERY nurse who swindled over £20,000 from a council by faking head teachers’ signatures on time sheets has avoided a jail term.

Isla Heenan, 31, spent three years claiming cash for supply shifts she had never done by signing-off her own documents under the names of teachers from schools across the capital. 

The court was told she was suffering from severe anxiety during her criminal spell, but “maintained a façade of normality” to her colleagues.

But eventually council staff spotted her handwriting on the forged documents and police charged her with defrauding the City of Edinburgh Council.

The mother of one confessed to the scam, claiming she was depressed and dependent on medication.

She was ordered to do 180 hours of community service today (Wednesday) at Edinburgh Sheriff Court after earlier admitting fraud.

But Heenan will have to return to court in March to face a confiscation hearing, where she will be ordered to pay the cash back.

Guilty

Last month she pled guilty to obtaining £24,494 by fraud between May 9, 2005, and March 14, 2008.

Fiscal depute Gerard Drugan had told the court that the Penicuik woman was employed as a supply nursery nurse on a rota basis and would be called in by schools when needed.

But she was “full and frank” when officials snared her ploy to pocket cash for made-up shifts.

He said: “Apparently the accused’s father passed away in 2004 and thereafter she suffered from depression and became dependant on medication.

“She accepted that the forged signatures on the claim forms were all done by her hand and she received the money she was not entitled to.

“It would appear that during the interview she gave a full and frank admission to her sole involvement.”

“Panic attacks”

Defending, solicitor Jennifer Cameron said Heenan tried to cover up her mental crisis, but often couldn’t go into school.

She said: “Mrs Heenan’s father passed away in June 2004 and at that time she was suffering from severe anxiety and having panic attacks.

“She was sometimes travelling to school and then failing to be able to leave the car park.

“Yet she was able to maintain a façade of normality despite her difficulties.

“She accepts full responsibility for her actions and has been assessed as being of low risk of reoffending.

“She is someone who has found the criminal justice process extremely upsetting.

“She has been employed for most of her working life, has a stable family life and her husband has accompanied her in court throughout.”

“Alternative to custody”

Sheriff Kathrine Mackie said: “Mrs Heenan, you are clearly aware that this is a serious matter.

“And given the nature of the offence, a custodial sentence must be in contemplation.

“I have considered the information before me, and what has been said on your behalf, as well as particular regard to a medical report.

“In the circumstances I am satisfied that there is an alternative to custody.”

A confiscation hearing regarding the cash owed by Heenan was scheduled for March 17.